To ruin an Omega - Chapter 328: Sis, Manifest 1

Chapter 328: Sis, Manifest 1

HAZEL

“Fuck you,” I said.

And then I sat down.

The gasp that followed was almost musical. Three separate sounds, three separate mouths, hitting the air at nearly the same pitch. One of the girls pressed her fingers to her lips. Another stared at me like I had just set the tablecloth on fire.

“Haven’t you been told the rules?” the composed one said.

She said it like she couldn’t believe it. Like I had just walked into a cathedral and urinated on the altar.

I froze.

Not because I was afraid. More because the weight of what I had just done landed slowly, the way cold water did when it seeped through a shoe. Gradual and then all at once.

The boy laughed. He started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop, leaning back in his chair like the whole morning had paid off in this one moment.

“You broke two rules, too,” he said, when he’d gathered himself enough to speak. “Two.” He held up two fingers and looked delighted by them. “Imagine what I could do to you if I was a cruel bastard.”

He paused as he looked at me. Then he smiled with his teeth.

“You know what. I want to be a cruel bastard.” He tipped his chin toward me. “Apologize. Or you might suffer some more. And trust me when I tell you my father doesn’t like wild beasts he cannot tame. Even if he is very obsessed with that very taming. Every part of that taming.”

The table was very quiet.

My pride sat in my chest like a stone. Heavy and hot and certain of itself. It told me not to move my mouth. It told me that the words he wanted from me were worth more than whatever consequence waited on the other side.

But I was not an idiot.

“I apologize,” I said.

He burst out laughing again. A real laugh this time, not the controlled one from before. Unguarded and bright. The girls looked at each other with the particular discomfort of people who have learned that the safest response to their brother was no response at all.

“I’ll let it slide,” he said finally, wiping the corner of his eye with his knuckle. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not all about stupid rules the way my father is. Or my dear brother. Your husband-to-be.” He picked up his phone from the table and glanced at it. “Speaking of which. The devil will be here in twenty seconds. Where the hell are those Omegas? Do they have a death wish or something?”

Then I heard loud clinking footsteps which made me turn toward the door before I could stop myself.

Lysander walked in at exactly that moment. Nineteen seconds. Maybe twenty.

He came through the threshold the way he seemed to exist in every space, like he was aware of every surface in the room and where he stood relative to each of them.

He was dressed like he was going for a board meeting, instead of breakfast.

His shirt was crisp white, the kind that held its shape without a single crease, cuffed neatly at the wrists with understated silver links that caught the light when he moved. A charcoal waistcoat fit him perfectly, tailored close to his torso as though it had been measured against his skin. The trousers were pressed sharp enough to cut, the line down the front precise and deliberate. Even his shoes were polished to a quiet shine, dark leather reflecting the morning sun that slipped in through the windows.

There was not a single thing accidental about him.

His hair was combed back with intention. With not a strand out of place. His watch rested heavy and expensive against his wrist, more statement than necessity at this hour. A faint trace of cologne followed him, clean and controlled, something chosen carefully rather than grabbed in haste.

For breakfast?

It felt excessive. Performative.

As if he were not simply coming to eat, but to be seen eating. As if the table were another stage and we were the audience whether we agreed to be or not. Even the way he adjusted his cuff before stepping fully into the room carried a quiet declaration. He was prepared. Composed. Impeccable.

Too impeccable for what could as well come out and be coffee and toast.

His eyes found me.

I felt them. And then I looked away.

It was quick. Automatic. It felt a lot like pulling your hand back from something hot before your brain had finished telling you it was hot. And the second I did it, I felt disgusted with myself. Like I had performed a trick I hadn’t been taught yet and some part of me had already learned it on its own without my permission.

I felt like a dog sitting before it is told to sit.

I stared at the surface of the table.

Lysander moved toward one of his sisters. The chair nearest to her pulled back slightly and then stopped.

He took a long pause.

Long enough that I noticed it without looking.

Then he turned to my direction and that followed with the sound of a chair pulling out beside me.

He sat down next to me.

His brother made a sound low in his throat. “Ohhh,” he said, dragging it out like he was tasting it. “Lovebirds.”

Lysander’s hands were on the table. I could see them from my peripheral. They closed slowly. Fingers pulling inward. Controlled.

“Shut up, Sofiane,” he said. Quiet, as it was even and utterly cold.

Sofiane said, “Sorry,” without meaning a syllable of it.

That was when the door opened again.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I felt it before I saw it. Because there was an immediate shift in the room. Like the temperature dropped a single degree and everyone registered it in their spine at the same moment.

Everyone straightened.

It was almost invisible, the way it happened. No one announced it. No one gestured. They just did it. Their backs found the backs of chairs and their chins leveled quick. The terse conversation was gone. Even the breathing in the room seemed to become more deliberate.

And then Alpha Wenzel came in.

I looked at Sofiane from the corner of my eye. He had straightened too. His spine was flat against the chair, shoulders squared, the easy careless posture gone. Just for a moment. And then, slowly, deliberately, he let himself slouch again. His shoulders dropped. One elbow returning to the armrest. Like he was correcting the correction. Like the pull to sit up straight was still there in his muscles and he hated that it was.

I filed that away carefully and said nothing. A black sheep with something to prove was an important piece to have.