Chapter 27
Charlie
“I know, it’s a lot to get used to.” Adrian rested his head on my shoulder, gazing out across the back yard.
It was as nice as I thought it would be. The grass was green and full, almost in need of a mow. The few trees that were in the yard shaded parts of the ground.
A row of sunflowers, or maybe even three, would make the tree lines so much more appealing.
“You’ll like it out here, away from Lockswells. It's refreshing.”
If he said so.
I was just trying to breathe for a moment. Take a moment to let my mind accept the fact that Alpha Vincent Harris, an Alpha, wanted to keep me.
He had loose plans for dates way out, months in advance. He wanted to include me in things. To him, they were simple, but to me, they meant everything.
Planting flowers. Having a day that I’d get something I wanted.
But then the doubts crept back in just as quickly.
What did Vincent want in return? I didn’t think whatever he wanted would be painful, since in the last week he hadn’t dared lift a hand in anger towards me. He was careful with every touch. With every movement.
Like he knew that the wrong move, the wrong speed, would force me to run and hide into the shadows that wanted to claim me.
“When Moore told me that he was going to keep me, I was confused and angry and happy all at once. I know we’ve heard stories, told that we’d someday be gifted to an Alpha.“
They were just fairy tales. Or so I thought. Because there were always so many older Omegas at the compound, it was hard to believe an Alpha would want one of us to be treasured, as an equal.
Right now, I couldn’t see myself as an equal to any Alpha.
“There are a lot of fun things to do. Shopping, and events for all sorts of things.”
Adrian kept going on, explaining what things he’s enjoyed in life on the outside. His words, not mine.
I didn’t see the appeal in any of it. I still felt like there was a chain holding me hostage, linking me to an Alpha.
I didn’t want to go shopping. Didn’t want to tag along to events or outings with Adrian and his Alpha, pretending I knew how to exist in places like that.
I just wanted Vincent to step in. To say he’d handle everything. To take the decisions off my plate and tell me what came next, because I didn’t know how to choose for myself.
And that terrified me.
I wasn’t like Adrian. I didn’t see the world in color or possibility. I didn’t crave things I’d never had. I didn’t need them.
What I needed was structure. Schedule. Protocol.
The kind of order that told me where to stand, when to speak, how to breathe.
The handlers at Lockswell used to say I thrived under rules. I never believed them. I still felt like a failure. But they weren’t wrong about one thing. Without rules, I didn’t know who I was.
I didn’t think time here was going to change that.
***
I found myself pacing the house, steps light and quiet. Nothing was dusty; nothing had changed from when I was here before.
The pictures were all in the exact places. There were still no signs that anyone lived here.
A perfect posed house for a magazine. And not in a cozy way, either.
“Charlie?” Vincent’s voice caught me mid-step as I passed the office door, cracked just enough to see the edge of his desk.
I paused, peeking in, hands clasped tight in front of me. Had I done something wrong? Did he need something?
“Come here.”
I didn’t run, but my feet moved faster than usual, stopping at the side of the desk, keeping it between us like a buffer I hadn’t asked for but needed.
“Tell me your thoughts,” he said.
Not what I expected. I glanced around the room, then back at him.
“The house doesn’t look lived in,” I said slowly. “I’m trying to figure out why.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. “When I bought this place,” he said, “I hired a decorator. Told her to do whatever she wanted. I wasn’t home much back then, just needed a bedroom to crash in at night.”
He shifted, pushing his chair back slightly, the space between us stretching but not breaking. And for the first time, I wondered if he’d ever really let himself belong here. Maybe he was like me, feeling like he didn’t belong in a space called life.
“I love the kitchen, but the rest of the space is just…not me, I guess you could say. Maybe, together, we could redo it all. Pick colors and furniture and pictures to hang up to make it feel more homey.”
“I’m…I’m not good at that.” I shook my head.
“You never know, we could try. Hire a designer to listen to what we want. I want this place to feel like your space, too.”
“If you want, Sir.” Please press it, I thought.
“I’ll let you get used to being here first, then we’ll figure something out.”
“Okay, Sir.”
“Was there anything else bothering you?”
I shook my head, hoping he’d ignore the lie. There were many things, but nothing I wanted to voice. Like ever.
“You are free to talk to me, ask me whatever you want. I won’t be upset over your questions or concerns.”
I dipped my head in a nod.
“How about you pick out a book on the shelf over there and find a spot to read and relax. You’ve been walking the house for a good fifteen minutes.”
Glad to have something to do, I did just that.
The bookcase was full of different things. The history book would be the best choice, but my hand went to a different one. One that had words I didn’t understand.
BDSM, Submissive or Dominant.
Surely if Vincent didn’t want me to read it, he’d have told me.
Finding a chair, one that I hadn’t noticed the last time, set in front of a window, I curled up into it, legs pulled up under me, and started to read.
***
I didn’t notice him at first. Not until the shadow stretched across the page and I had to force my eyes up from the words.
Vincent stood there, gaze flicking over the book in my lap.
“Interesting choice,” he murmured, voice low and unreadable. “Why this one?”
I hesitated. “It’s something I haven’t learned,” I answered. A lot of the unknown things interested me
Well, sort of. I’d been trained in most of what the book covered. How to pose. How to serve. How to follow rules without hesitation.
That was my life.
To please the Alphas.
But submission, real submission, was different. This book said it was earned. Not demanded. Not forced.
And that was harder to understand than anything else. Because no one had ever asked me to give it freely. They’d just taken.
“Submission isn’t obedience,” he said softly in a matter-of-fact way. “It’s trust.”
The words settled in my chest like something unfamiliar. He didn’t sound like the handlers. Didn’t sound like anyone who’d ever taught me how to serve.
“It’s not about rules or posture or saying ‘yes, Sir’ at the right time,” he continued. “It’s about choosing to let someone in. Choosing to let go, not because you’re forced to, but because you believe they’ll catch you.”
I swallowed hard. That felt impossible. And yet… He said it like it was simple. Like it was mine to give.
“Your choice,” he added, voice quieter now. “Always.”
I didn’t know what to say. But I kept the book open, eyes still on the pages before me.
“Trust.” I read about that, it was the first thing, after the introduction about what the four letters meant.
“Trust,” he repeated, the word soft but weighted. He knelt, bending his knees and resting his hands between his thighs. “Hard to earn. Easier to lose. And the one thing that has to exist before anything else can.”
I stared at the floor, letting the word settle.
It wasn’t something I knew how to give. Or take. It felt too big, too full of things I didn’t understand.
It held more than rules, more than obedience.
It held choice.
And that made it heavier than anything I’d ever carried.
I stared at the book, but the words blurred.
Trust.
Vincent said it was a choice. Said it was earned. Said it was mine to give. But I didn’t know what that felt like. Maybe it’s when your body doesn’t flinch before your mind catches up. Maybe it’s when silence doesn’t mean danger. Maybe it’s when someone reaches for you, and you don’t brace.
I didn’t know.
But I wanted to.
I swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “Is it something you can learn?”
He didn’t answer right away. And I didn’t look at him.
If he said no, I wasn’t sure what that would mean for me. For the way I’d been built. For the way I’d survived.
But I needed to ask. Because somewhere in me, buried deep beneath the rules and the bruises and the silence, I wanted to know if I could be more than what Lockswell made me.
Vincent didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, steady, unreadable, like he was measuring the weight of the question before touching it.
Then he nodded.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It can be learned.”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right.
“It’s not easy,” he added. “And it’s not fast. But it’s possible.
” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, voice low and even.
“You learn it by watching who shows up when they don’t have to.
By testing the silence and seeing if someone stays.
You learn it in pieces, small ones. A hand offered without demand.
A promise kept without proof. A boundary respected without punishment. ”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Because no one had ever explained it like that. Not in words. Not in actions. And something in me—something quiet and buried—shifted.
Not enough to trust. But maybe enough to try.