5. Olive #2
I stare at the blank hospital wall. I wonder how my predictable, organized life turned into a total nightmare in less than two days. Those Alphas walked into my ward and destroyed everything I built.
A knock on the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
Susan from HR steps into the isolation room. She holds a sleek tablet against her chest. Her tailored gray suit looks out of place in the sterile medical environment. Pity shines in her dark eyes.
Susan stops near the foot of the bed. "Olive. We need to discuss your employment status with the hospital."
I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the sick churn of the suppressants in my stomach. "I feel much better. The drugs worked. I plan to return to the pediatric floor by Monday morning to check on Sam."
Susan shakes her head. "We have a massive liability issue on our hands.
Unbonded Omegas face strict workplace regulations in this state.
Dropping into a surprise heat on a high-stress pediatric oncology floor puts the patients at a severe risk.
You saw the chaos you caused in the hallway.
The hospital refuses to take that chance again. "
Her words knock the wind out of my lungs. "You're firing me?" I stare at her, my voice rising in panic. "I excel at my job. I run the Child Life program. The kids need me."
"My hands are tied." Susan sighs, her professional mask slipping for a second.
"You're incredible at your job, Olive. I want to keep you on staff.
I plan to research possible avenues and loopholes to get you back in here.
If I find anything, I'll be in touch. But for now, the board made the decision an hour ago.
I need your signature right here on the tablet.
HR plans to process your severance package by the end of the week.
I also need your ID badge and your ward keys. "
My hands shake. I trace my name onto the glowing screen with a trembling finger.
Reaching over to the bedside table, I grab my lanyard.
Handing over the plastic photo ID feels like severing a limb.
I worked for years to earn that title. I sacrificed my social life to build that program.
Susan takes the tablet and the badge, dropping the plastic card into her suit pocket.
"I suggest you look for remote work in the meantime, Olive. I'll call you the second I find a loophole." She offers a sympathetic grimace and leaves the room. The heavy metal door clicks shut behind her.
I stare at the closed door. My dream job vanished in ten seconds. Everything I went to school for, all the late nights comforting sick kids, gone. Wiped out by a biological glitch.
Discharge takes another grueling hour. I scroll through screen after screen of humiliating digital forms on a hospital tablet, acknowledging my new Omega status.
The state requires medical registration for all presenting Omegas.
The sheer volume of electronic signatures makes my head pound.
A bored security guard escorts me down the back stairwell to avoid the main lobby.
The hospital treats me like a walking biohazard instead of a dedicated employee.
I step out into the humid afternoon air and slide into the backseat of a yellow cab.
The ride back to my apartment feels like attending my own funeral.
Staring out the smudged window, the bustling city streets look hostile.
Every passing Alpha looks like a threat.
The heavy suppressants make my limbs feel like lead.
They keep the raging heat buried under a layer of chemical numbness, but they do nothing to protect me from the gross reality of my new life.
People will look at me different now. They will smell the vulnerability on my skin.
The cab drops me off in front of my building. I drag my exhausted body up the stairs and unlock my door. My beige sanctuary offers no comfort. The space feels temporary.
My landlord left a printed eviction notice taped to the kitchen counter.
I pick the paper up. My hands tremble as I read the bold print.
Four days. I have ninety-six hours to break my lease, pack my life into boxes, and surrender the keys.
The building enforces a strict Beta-only policy. No exceptions.
I drop the paper and sink into the plush cushions of my sofa. A crushing weight settles on my chest. I have no job, no apartment, and a designation I hate.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. Calling my older sister feels like admitting defeat. I pride myself on never needing help. I love my independence. But beggars lack options. I tap Chloe's name in my contacts and press the phone to my ear.
Chloe picks up on the second ring. "Olive. Are you okay? You never call this early on a Friday."
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "I lost my job. And my apartment. I have four days to pack my stuff and get out."
A sharp gasp comes through the phone speaker. "What? Why? What happened?"
I squeeze my eyes shut. A rogue tear slips down my cheek. "I presented. I'm an Omega."
Dead silence stretches over the line. I hear the muffled sound of a television playing in the background of her house.
Chloe lets out a heavy breath. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved your life the way it was."
"They fired me because of the liability. My apartment complex is Beta-only." I wipe the wetness from my face with the back of my hand. "I have nowhere to go, Chloe. My entire life fell apart in two days."
Chloe shuffles something in the background. "You come here. We have the spare bedroom. Rick uses it for his gym equipment, but we can clear it out. You can stay with us until you figure things out."
Guilt twists my stomach. Chloe's husband, Rick, always rubs me the wrong way.
He wears stained t-shirts and makes crude jokes.
The casual, familiar vibe of my sister's husband always puts me on edge.
The idea of living under his roof as an unbonded Omega makes my skin crawl.
He will look at me like a piece of meat.
"Are you sure?" I sniffle, staring at my empty living room. "I don't want to intrude. I know Rick likes his space."
"You're my sister." Chloe uses her firm, big-sister voice. "You pack your stuff. Take the four days. Don't rush. When you finish, you drive straight here. We will figure this out together."
"Thank you." My voice cracks on the words.
"Do you know who triggered it?" Chloe lowers her voice. "I read in an article that a strong Alpha usually sets off a late presentation."
My jaw clenches. The phantom scent of crisp citrus, cedar, black pepper, and thunderstorms burns my nostrils.
I picture Finn's massive shoulders, Malcolm's dark eyes, and Lawrence's easy smile.
Then Victor's arrogant, sneering face flashes in my mind.
The whole pack stood in my hospital and ruined my life.
"Yeah." I grit my teeth. "I know exactly who triggered it."
"Are you going to contact them? They owe you for the fallout."
"No." I spit the word out. "I refuse to be some submissive little plaything for a pack of arrogant hockey players. I want nothing to do with any of them."
"Okay, Olive. Take a deep breath. We can talk about it more when you get here."
I hang up the phone. I drop the device onto the cushion next to me.
Silence settles over my beige sanctuary. I look at the framed art on the walls and the clean, minimalist furniture. I have four days left in this space. Four days of grace before I lose my safe haven forever and move into a cramped suburban cage with a creepy brother-in-law.
The pack of millionaire athletes caused this entire mess. A furious, burning anger takes root deep in my gut. They broke my world, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at them as my Alphas.