To ruin an Omega

Chapter 284: The golden cage

LYSANDER

The hot water beat against my skin. I stood under the shower spray and let it wash away the remnants of the dream. Steam filled the bathroom. It curled around me like a living thing. I braced both hands against the tile wall and dropped my head forward.

The water ran down my back in rivulets. It should have felt cleansing. It didn’t. Nothing could wash away the feeling of her weight on top of me. Nothing could erase the phantom taste of her lips.

I stayed there longer than I needed to. The water started to run lukewarm. Only then did I finally turn it off and step out. I grabbed a towel and dried myself mechanically before getting dressed in the clothes I’d laid out which happened to be dark trousers, a white shirt and a cest that matched the trousers. The uniform of an heir apparent.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror. I looked the same as always. Put together. Composed. The perfect son.

None of it felt remotely real though.

I left my room and made my way through the halls of the estate. My footsteps echoed off the marble floors. Morning light streamed through the tall windows. Everything looked golden warm and suffocating.

I hated it all so much.

The dining room doors stood open. I walked through them to find the long table empty. The chairs sat vacant. I went to my usual spot and pulled out the chair. The wood scraped against the floor. I sat down.

Father liked me here early. He said it taught me to manage my time. What it really taught me was how to wait. How to sit perfectly still while my mind wandered to places it shouldn’t go.

I stared at the table. At the empty plates. At the polished silverware that reflected the chandelier overhead.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. Multiple sets. Light and quick.

Three of my sisters walked in together. They were talking amongst themselves. Their voices soft and musical. They saw me and their conversation died. Smiles appeared on their faces instead.

“Good morning, Lysander.”

“Morning.”

They took their seats, arranging themselves prettily. They fixed their hair and their skirts. I watched them without really seeing them. My mind was still in that meadow. Still holding that scrap of bloodstained cloth.

The doors to the kitchen swung open. The Omegas rushed in. They carried heavy trays laden with covered dishes. Their faces were pinched and worried. Their eyes darted to Father’s empty chair.

When they saw it was vacant, their shoulders dropped. Relief washed over them so obviously that it made my stomach turn.

They bowed low. First to me. Then to my sisters.

“Good morning, Alpha Lysander. Good morning Lunas.”

I nodded. My sisters murmured their greetings. The Omegas straightened and began to serve.

Father’s plate came first. Always first. They set it at the head of the table with careful hands and made sure the placement was perfect. That everything was exactly as he liked it.

Then they came to me. My plate appeared. Steam rose from the food. It smelled good. I didn’t care.

The Omegas moved on to my sisters. The sound of dishes being set down filled the room. Cutlery clinked. Glasses were filled with juice and water.

The main doors opened again and that was when Father walked in. His footsteps were heavier than my sisters’. More deliberate. He surveyed the room with a single sweep of his gaze. His eyes landed on the empty chairs. The ones that belonged to my brothers.

He scoffed.

The sound cut through the quiet like a blade. Sharp and dismissive. I’d heard it a thousand times before. It never meant anything good.

His jaw tightened. His mouth pulled into a line. Disappointment settled over his features like a familiar mask. He expected better. He always expected better. And they always let him down.

Then his eyes found mine.

His face changed. The hard edges smoothed out. The disappointment faded. Something that might have been satisfaction took its place.

He walked to his chair and sat down. The movement was fluid, as it was controlled. He picked up his napkin and spread it across his lap.

“Good morning, Lysander.”

“Good morning, Father.”

My sisters chimed in with their own greetings. Sweet voices saying the same thing. Father lifted one hand and waved it in their direction. A casual gesture but dismissive nonetheless.

He didn’t even look at them.

My stomach twisted. I kept my face blank. My sisters fell silent. They picked up their forks and focused on their plates. Like they hadn’t just been ignored.

This was normal. This was how it always went. I was the center of his attention. The heir. The chosen one. The son who did everything right.

My siblings hated me for it.

Some of them were better at hiding it than others. My sisters smiled at me, spoke kindly and sometimes even included me in their conversations. But I could see it in their eyes sometimes. That flash of resentment. That bitter edge.

My brothers didn’t bother to hide it at all. They wore their disdain openly. It showed when they refused to sit at this table when they knew Father would be here. That I would be here too. They simply refused to play that game.

I appreciated that, in a way. At least they were honest. At least I knew where I stood with them.

“Your brothers disappoint me again.”

Father’s voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up. He was staring at the empty chairs. His expression had gone cold.

“They could be busy.”

The words came out automatically. A defense I didn’t even believe. I reached for my cutlery and picked up my fork and knife and started cutting into the food on my plate.

“Busy with what?”

His tone suggested he knew exactly what they were busy with. Nothing important. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that could excuse their absence from his table.

I didn’t answer. There was no good answer to give.

Father sighed. The sound was heavy. Weighted with disappointment and frustration and something that might have been anger.

“You know what? Forget them.”

I chewed my food. It tasted like ash.

“I did want to tell you something.”

My head came up. I looked at him. Something in his tone had shifted and became lighter. He seemed almost pleased.

So this had to be good.

“What?”

“Your betrothed will be coming today to stay here in preparation for your marriage.”

The fork slipped in my grip. I caught it before it clattered against the plate. My heart was suddenly beating too fast. Too hard.

“What?”

The word came out sharper than I intended. Father didn’t seem to notice. He cut into his own food, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully before answering.

“I think it will give both of you the time to know each other better.”

No. No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Father, It’s an arranged union. There is no need for the—”

“I know. But I do think it will help you both.”

He said it so simply. Like that should settle everything. Like the fact that it was arranged meant we didn’t need time and all we needed the most was familiarity.

“I don’t hate the thought. Because I don’t want it to feel like duty for you. You’ll be married for a long time, after all. It’s easier when you have familiar ground to stand on. Without that, resentment will only grow.”

My hand tightened around the cutlery. The metal bit into my palm. I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him this was unnecessary. Wanted to say that having her here, in this house, sleeping under the same roof, would be torture.

But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut. Kept my face neutral. I was… the perfect son.

Then the words spilled out anyway.

“Are you worried because of the conversation we had? If that is it, you know I just had a moment of blindness, right?”

Father’s eyes met mine. He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes which told me a lot of it did have to do with our late night discussion.

“Of course. I know you would never defy me.”

The words should have been reassuring. But they felt like a threat.

“This is just what the bride to be and her family wants.”

Oh. So it wasn’t even entirely his idea. That made it worse somehow.

“I would love to be a host, but I have business outside the territory to attend to. So just stay home instead of following me and welcome them. That’s fine, right?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. He was telling me what I would do. Framing it as a choice when we both knew it wasn’t.

I nodded.

“Perfectly fine.”

“Good.”

He took one more bite of his food. Then he dropped his cutlery. The fork and knife clattered against the plate. He pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m full. See you later.”

His hand landed on my shoulder as he passed. A heavy pat that might have looked affectionate to anyone watching. It felt like a brand.

Then he was gone. The doors closed behind him. The sound echoed through the dining room.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. My hands started to shake. Just slightly. Just enough that I had to set down my cutlery before anyone noticed.

“I really feel sorry for you.”

I turned my head. One of my sisters was looking at me. Her expression was soft and pitying. It repulsed me a little.

Did I really look that pitiful?

“I get jealous a lot. With the care Father shows you. But his love is restrictive a lot of times. At least with how blind he is to our existence and how disappointed he is with our brothers, we get to actually live our lives.”

Something hot flared in my chest. Something that felt like anger, hurt and bitterness all mixed together.

I looked at her. Really looked at her. At the way she sat at this table. At the way she’d arranged herself just right. At the way she’d murmured her greeting to a father who barely acknowledged she existed.

“If you enjoyed living your life for yourself, you wouldn’t be here begging for scraps of his affection.”

Her face went white. Our other sisters stared at me with shock written across their features.

“We’re all the same. Dogs who want to be loved. I am just the one who wanted it bad enough.”

I stood. My chair scraped back. The sound was too loud. Too harsh. But I didn’t care.

I left my food mostly untouched and left my sisters sitting there in stunned silence as I walked out of the dining room with my spine straight and my head high.

I was the perfect son…The golden child… The heir apparent.

I couldn’t be pitied and looked down upon.

The facade held until I turned the corner and I was out of sight.

Then I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface as I tried to breathe.

Fuck. I hated this so much. I hated myself most of all.

But still… I wanted them to think I was lucky. That I had the love they wanted badly.

They didn’t need to know that the love came with rules. That the love came with conditions and that it was a love that could disappear the moment I stopped being perfect.