I nod, throat too tight for words.
In my room, I sit on my twin bed and pull out my books. Marriage guides I've been collecting since I was sixteen.
Building a Blessed Home. The Omega's Role.
Children: A Blessing From Above.
I'd thought I knew what my life would look like. Instead, I get Alexander Colborne: a drunk party animal who probably doesn't even remember what day it is half the time. How do you build a life with someone like that? How do you trust them with your heart, your body, your children? How am I supposed to follow his divine wisdom as my alpha? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I don’t understand.
I curl up in bed and try to meditate on the one thing I want to believe.God wouldn't give me more than I can handle.
I close my eyes and try to believe it. I have to believe it because tomorrow I meet the devil I have to marry.
3. Alex
My head is pounding like a jackhammer and the Bureau's fluorescent lights aren't helping.
I slump lower in the plastic chair, trying to find a position where the light doesn't stab directly into my retinas. Last night's pre-wedding doom drinking seemed like a good idea at the time. Three bottles of champagne and half a bottle of whiskey later, here I am, about to meet my government-mandated husband while my brain tries to escape through my eye sockets.
"Sit up," Diana hisses from beside me. "You look like death."
"Ifeellike death." The words scrape my throat raw. Even my voice has a hangover.
Ricky leans over from my other side, pressing two aspirin into my palm. Thank God for Ricky.
I knock them back, grimacing at the bitter taste. My stomach churns in protest.
The waiting room reeks of industrial cleaning products. Other couples sit scattered around, some holding hands, some looking like they're about to bolt. At least I'm not the only one who thinks this whole thing is fucked.
"Tell me again what you found out about him," I mutter to Ricky.
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through notes. "Jonah Wells. Twenty-one. Youngest of six kids. Home-schooled. Never went to college. No social media accounts.”
Thank God for that.
“Lives with his parents,” Ricky continues. “Member of something called Faith Heritage Fellowship."
"Which you said sounded like—"
"A cult, yeah." Ricky keeps his voice low. "They believe in traditional alpha-omega roles. Very traditional. Like, omegas-shouldn't-work-or-be-properly-educated traditional."
"Fantastic."
"He's probably never even kissed anyone," Ricky adds helpfully.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. This is Diana's idea of making me settle down? Might as well handcuff me to a priest.
The door opens. I don't look up immediately—the movement would make me puke—but Diana's cough forces my eyes open.
Fuck.
It's like being hit by lightning. Every nerve ending in my body fires at once, my skin too tight, my lungs forgetting how to work. The hangover vanishes, replaced by pure, concentratedwant.
Jonah Wells is... I don't even have words. Dark hair trimmed neat and conservative, but I can see how it would curl if he let it grow. Slim build in a suit that's clearly his best—the fabric's decent but it's been worn to too many church services, pressed too many times. His shoes shine like mirrors, the kind of polish job that takes real effort.
But it's his face that kills me. Classic omega features but sharper somehow, like a Renaissance painting that could cut you. Full mouth, strong jaw, eyes the color of good whiskey—
He's not looking at me. He keeps his gaze down, focused on his clasped hands as his parents flank him like bodyguards. His mother, a soft-looking woman in a floral dress, leans close to whisper something. I catch the words "Remember this is God’s will."
