My Heart Belongs to You (Forever Bound #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Solana

The buses idle outside Harmony House, their engines rumbling low enough to vibrate through the soles of my bare feet.

I stand in line with the other omegas, watching the wardens check clipboards and bark instructions.

Everyone around me buzzes with barely contained excitement, whispers rippling through our group in waves of nervous energy.

"I heard it's a real horse race," someone says behind me.

"With actual crowds?"

"We haven't left Harmony in months."

I keep my mouth shut and my eyes down. Excitement feels dangerous. Hope feels worse. Harmony House taught me that lesson early. Want nothing, expect less, and maybe you won't shatter when they take it all away.

"Solana." My name cuts through the chatter. Alpha Graves stands at the bus door, pen poised over her clipboard, her expression as severe as the bun pulling her hair back from her face. "You're in group three. Bus two."

"Yes, ma'am." The words come automatically. That's what they want. That's what keeps you safe.

I climb the steps into the bus, gripping the metal handrail as I go. The seats are worn vinyl, cracked in places, but they're clean. Everything at Harmony House is clean and sterile, as if they can wash away what we are if they just work hard enough.

I slide into a seat near the middle, close to the aisle as Cara drops down beside me, practically vibrating with energy. She's younger than me by almost a decade, with deep crimson hair that’s nearly the color of blood, a prominent attraction for some of the Alphas who have visited Harmony.

"Can you believe it?" She grips my arm, her fingers digging in just enough that I feel the bite of her nails through my dress sleeve. "We're actually going somewhere. Somewhere real."

I manage a smile, though it feels thin on my face. Being let out of Harmony House is just for show, a way to tell the world that the center is doing good work. Taking in poor little Omegas and giving them the life they'd never have elsewhere. "It's just a horse race."

"It's outside." Cara's eyes shine with unshed tears, and I can smell the spike of emotion in her scent before the suppressants dampen it back down. "When's the last time you saw something that wasn't these walls?"

I don't answer because I don't remember.

Harmony House has swallowed weeks, months, maybe years of my life.

Time moves differently here, measured in rounds of suppressants and behavioral evaluations instead of sunrises.

I'm thirty-one years old, and I've been here so long I barely remember what life looked like before.

More Omegas file onto the bus, everyone hesitant to keep themselves under the radar so they don’t get thrown back into the center while we all get to leave.

Alpha Graves starts counting heads, makes a few notes on her clipboard, and then counts again.

She's meticulous. They all are. Can't risk losing one of their inventory, I tell myself bitterly.

That's what I am. What we all are. Property of Harmony House, held under the legal fiction that we're incapable of caring for ourselves.

The government gave them that power decades ago, wrapped it in pretty language about Omega protection and safety.

But the truth is simpler and uglier. We're merchandise.

We stay here until someone claims us and takes us off Harmony's books in exchange for an egregious sum. Until then, we belong to them.

I'm one of their favorites, the one they parade out when donors visit or government inspectors come calling. Look at Solana, they say. Thriving in our program. So well-adjusted. So grateful for the structure we provide.

I want to vomit every time.

The alternative to gratitude, though, is punishment.

I learned that early too. The Omega before me in processing, a fierce girl named Maya who refused to comply, spent three weeks in isolation.

When she came out, something vital had been scraped away.

She was adopted within a month by an Alpha twice her age. I never saw her smile again.

So I smile. I comply. I'm good.

I’m always good.

"Everyone seated?" Alpha Graves' voice carries over the low hum of conversation, sharp enough to cut through the excited chatter.

"Remember the rules. Stay with your assigned group at all times.

No wandering. No unsupervised contact with Alphas.

Anyone who causes problems will be brought back immediately and face appropriate consequences. "

The threat lands exactly as intended. The excited chatter dies down to nervous murmurs, then fades to silence.

We all know what "appropriate consequences" means.

Isolation. Withheld meals. Extra suppressant doses that leave you foggy and sick.

Or worse, the quiet rooms where they break you down and build you back up in whatever shape they prefer.

The ones who try to run come back broken. Always.

The bus lurches forward with a groan of gears and I grip the seat in front of me as we pass through Harmony's gates, watching through the window as the tall iron bars swing open.

The world opens up beyond the fence, trees lining the road, their leaves caught in that perfect moment between summer green and autumn gold.

Houses dot the landscape, real homes where real people live real lives. Free people.

My chest tightens as I suck in a breath and press my forehead against the cool window glass, feeling the vibration of the road beneath us.

"You okay?" Cara's hand finds mine, her fingers warm against my cold skin.

"Fine." I force myself to breathe slowly, counting the inhales and exhales the way they taught us in the calming exercises. "Just not used to this."

She squeezes my fingers. "Me neither."

Cara's been here three years. Still young and pretty enough, she'll probably get claimed soon. Some Alpha will come through on one of Harmony's carefully orchestrated "meet and greet" events, and she'll go home with them. Whether she wants to or not.

Trying not to think about that, I start counting telephone poles, trying to memorize the shape of mountains in the distance and the way the peaks cut sharp against the blue sky. I try to capture something, anything, to hold onto when we're back inside those walls.

The fairgrounds materialize ahead of us nearly thirty minutes later, sprawling across acres of land.

There’s so much to see that it’s almost overwhelming, parking lots full of trucks and trailers, vendor stalls with bright striped awnings, and food that actually smells like food instead of the nutritionally balanced paste Harmony serves three times a day.

And people. So many people, moving freely, laughing, and living without wardens monitoring their every breath.

Living like they have choices.

The buses pull to a stop away from the main entrance as Alpha Graves stands, smoothing her blazer with both hands. "Groups of five. Stay together. Your handler has a radio. If anyone needs anything, you ask them first. Understood?"

A chorus of "yes, ma'am" rises from the Omegas.

We file off the bus in our assigned groups.

I end up with Cara, two quiet Omegas I don't know well, and our group leader and warden, Alpha Marcus.

He's one of the neutered Alphas Harmony employs specifically for Omega supervision.

No scent, no threat, just blank professionalism and a radio clipped to his belt.

The fairgrounds swallow us whole the moment we step past the entrance gates.

Colors assault my eyes. Sounds batter my ears.

The smell of fried food and livestock and earth and sweat creates a cocktail so intense, my vision swims, my body screaming for a bit of peace.

I press closer to Cara without meaning to, overwhelmed by the sheer muchness of everything.

My senses haven't processed this much stimulation in years.

"This way." Alpha Marcus gestures toward the grandstands. "We have reserved seating."

Of course we do. They can't risk us mingling with the general population and having some Alpha decide to claim one of us without the proper paperwork and payment to Harmony House.

We navigate through the crowd in a practiced formation, people glancing at us, before turning away as if they weren’t caught staring.

They can tell what we are. The way we move in our tight cluster, the way our wardens flank us, the slight wrongness of unmated Omegas without full scents.

We might as well wear signs. Property of the State. Handle with Care.

Most people avert their eyes. Guilt, maybe, or discomfort with the system they benefit from but prefer not to examine too closely. A few stare openly, assessing and evaluating us the same way they'd evaluate livestock at auction.

Ironic for where we are.

Alpha Marcus points to a row, the couple of us filing in and taking our seats without saying a word, though the vast expansion of horses, the staging area, and the red dirt stretching out in an oval is breathtaking.

"They're beautiful," Cara whispers beside me, her voice soft with wonder.

She's right. The horses move with a kind of freedom I've only imagined, powerful muscles rippling beneath their glossy coats as they shift and turn.

They toss their heads and dance sideways, barely contained energy straining against their training.

When the riders mount up, settling into their saddles with practiced ease, the horses don't lose that wild edge.

I want that. The choice to cooperate instead of the forced compliance that fills my days.

The first race starts with a bell that rings clear across the fairgrounds.

Hooves thunder against packed earth, sending up clouds of red dust as the crowd roars, the excitement settling into my bones.

Even as overstimulating as it is, this is something real.

This must be what it’s like to feel alive, to feel free. This is everything Harmony House isn't.