Chapter 15
Charlie
The book lay open in my lap, but the words refused to land. My eyes moved across the page, skimming sentences I couldn’t hold onto.
Nothing stuck.
My mind wouldn’t settle, not with the phone call echoing in the back of it. I tried not to think about it. Tried to stay in the quiet, in the warmth of the room, in the safety Alpha Harris offered without asking anything in return.
But Lockswell House had a way of reaching into places I thought I’d escaped.
I never expected them to check in. And definitely not Alpha Merrick Vale himself. I couldn’t even remember meeting him. His name sounded familiar, though.
It wasn’t unusual for the handlers at Lockswell House to know where we went. They were required to, probably under the guise of safety. But safety had never felt like the point.
The bracelet still clung to my wrist—thin, discreet, but unmistakable. I was certain it tracked me. Kept tabs in ways I wasn’t meant to understand.
The fact that Alpha Merrick Vale had called. That didn’t feel like a check-in. It felt like a warning. And I had no idea which client had asked for me.
There weren’t many and I never knew their names. They never offered. They didn’t need to. They used my body the way they saw fit—like I was a service, not a person. And now one of them wanted me again. Wanted me enough to make a call.
I didn’t know if Alpha Harris could stop it. Or if anyone ever really could.
The bracelet on my wrist felt heavier than usual. Not physically. But in a way like it knew I was thinking about it.
I turned my arm over, fingers tracing the smooth band. It wasn’t locked with a clasp. It was sealed. Fused. Designed to stay on until someone with clearance decided otherwise.
Still, I tried. I dug my fingernail beneath the edge, searching for a seam. There wasn’t one. I twisted it, pulled, pressed against the underside. Nothing. It didn’t budge. Didn’t even shift. Like it was part of me now.
I exhaled, slow and quiet, and let my hand fall back into my lap.
The bracelet gleamed faintly in the low light as a reminder of where I came from. Of who had access to me.
Alpha Harris said I was safe. But this thing on my wrist said otherwise. And I didn’t know which one to believe.
I knew I’d have to go back to Lockswell. It was where my entire life was, and would be. But Alpha Vincent Harris was showing me a kind of life I was starting to crave. A life filled with easy days and companionship that I hadn’t known existed.
I shook those thoughts out of my mind. They didn’t get to creep in. Having such things wasn’t in the cards for me.
Alph Harris wouldn’t want to keep me. He was nice, as he said he was, but if Alpha Vale offered enough money, I wouldn’t be here for more than another day or two.
Money always talked louder than words.
I set the book on the nightstand, switched off the light, and turned onto my side, facing the door out of habit. I’d spent so many nights lying in bed, thinking, surviving, waiting for morning. It had become second nature. Even here.
This was only my second night in this house, and the silence still felt strange. No distant screams. No muffled cries rising from the basement. No Betas pacing the halls, checking doors to make sure we stayed put. No Omegas returning from the service rooms, eyes vacant, steps slow.
Just quiet.
It should’ve felt peaceful. But peace was unfamiliar. And unfamiliar still felt dangerous.
***
I woke without knowing why. There was no sound, no nightmare, to cause my eyes to flash open in the dark.
The room was still, not a single soul other than myself.
I lay there for a moment, listening and half expecting footsteps in the hall, the creak of a door, the distant echo of someone crying.
There was just silence.
I sat up slowly, blanket slipping from my shoulders. The bracelet on my wrist caught the moonlight, a dull glint that made my stomach twist.
I rubbed at it absently, not trying to remove it this time, just trying to forget it was there.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. I didn’t know if I was allowed to leave the room, but no one had told me I couldn’t. And that was almost worse.
I stood, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to see the hallway—empty, dim, still. I didn’t step out. Just stood there. Waiting for something to tell me what to do.
But nothing came.
Just quiet. And the soft, steady beat of my own heart.
Being out of bed during the night hours, unless it was to use the restroom, would be an instant punishment. Was here the same?
“Charles?”
I jerked, the door hitting my foot at the movement. My eyes glanced up at Alpha Harris, only to return back to the floor half a second later.
“Are you okay?”
No, not by a long shot. Instead of answering, I backed up a bit, fear starting to creep in through the dark quiet.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“S-sorry to bother you, Sir.” My words were quiet, yet felt louder than they were.
“You aren’t a bother. I was about to make some warm milk. Would you like to join me?”
Warm milk?
“Sure, Sir.”
I’d never had milk warm before. Unless it was stirred into something—soup, oats, a sauce. But just to drink it, plain and heated? It felt strange.
Still, I was grateful for the excuse. Anything to avoid lying in bed, tangled in thoughts I couldn’t quiet.
“Come on then.” He tilted his head toward the stairs before turning to walk.
I followed, slower. Each step felt uncertain, like I was trespassing in a space I’d been told was mine but hadn’t earned.
The hallway was dim, quiet. It felt like I was breaking a rule just by being out here. The same feeling I used to get after leaving a client’s room—walking back to mine room with sore limbs and a hollow chest, hoping no one stopped me, hoping no one noticed.
But Alpha Harris didn’t look back. Didn’t question my presence. And somehow, that made the silence feel less like punishment but more like possibility.
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under-cabinet lights. I hovered near the doorway, not stepping in fully.
Alpha Harris didn’t comment. He just moved to the stove, poured milk into a small pot, and set it to warm. Like he’d done it often enough he could do it all with his eyes closed.
He reached for the cinnamon tin, tapped a little into the milk.
I stepped in slowly, bare feet quiet against the tile. I watched in something akin to amazement on how he moved so easily, so softly and sure of exactly what he was doing. He didn’t command the space, but more worked within its space.
He poured the milk into two mugs, then set one on the counter near me. I reached for it after a moment, fingers curling around the ceramic like it might vanish if I didn’t hold tight. Alpha Harris took his own mug and leaned against the counter.
We didn’t speak.
Just drank.
The milk was warm, quiet, grounding. And for the first time since the call, my thoughts settled.
Taking another sip, I let the thickness and creamy cinnamon settle on my tongue, trying to cement it to memory.
I didn’t want to think about what could happen back at Lockswell House. Didn’t want to think about what might happen if I went back. Not about what might happen if I stayed. And especially not about Alpha Harris.
He sat across from me now, eyes on his mug more than on me.
“My mother used to wake up in the middle of the night,” he said quietly. “Sometimes she couldn’t sleep. Sometimes one of us was up.” His voice was soft, steady. “She’d warm milk on the stove. Just like this. Said it soothed the soul.”
He gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I never believed her. But I think I do now.”
I watched him for a moment, unsure what to say. Then: “What was her name?”
He looked up, just briefly. “Evelyn.” The name felt gentle.
Like someone who tried to make the world softer, even when it wasn’t.
Even when it was cruel to people like us.
Because life didn’t care if you were kind.
Especially not if you were Omega. But maybe kindness still mattered. Even if it didn’t change the rules.
“She had this way of making space feel safe,” he continued. “Not by controlling it. Just by being in it.”
I took another sip of milk, the warmth grounding me more than I expected.
“She used to say that Omegas were the soul of the house. That if you listened closely, you could feel when one was hurting—even if they didn’t speak.”
I didn’t respond. Partly content that he was willing to share something with me, even if it was small. It made me see him just a little different. Not an equal, because we’d never be that. But something that could be close, if given time.
“She taught me how to listen,” he said. “Not just to words. To silence. To stillness. You remind me of her sometimes.”
I tilted my head, confused. All Omegas had things in common, mostly obedience and quietness. It was drilled into us from an early age.
“I wished, more than once, that she was never given to my father, to marry and have his children. He never treated her with the respect Omegas should be given.”
“She sounds nice.”
“She was.” Was, which didn’t need any questions.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
He looked at me and smiled slightly. “It’s been years,” his voice low. “My father made sure of that. He kept her away from me after I moved out.” He didn’t sound angry. Just tired. Like the distance had settled into him over time, layer by layer.
I didn’t know if that was normal. Didn’t know what families were supposed to look like.
So I didn’t say anything.
Just finished the last sip of warm milk, letting the heat settle in my chest.
It was already working—softening the edges of my thoughts, quieting the ache behind my ribs.
The Alpha didn’t speak again. And I didn’t ask.
Some things didn’t need answers. They just needed space.