Chapter 2 The Stakes & The Norm

Caelen POV

(Flashback - 48 Hours Before)

I woke before the alarm, the pale morning light slipping through the thin curtains as it always did. It hit the far wall first, warming the peeling paint instead of making it look tired. I stayed still, listening: pipes humming somewhere in the building, a neighbor's radio muffled through the wall, footsteps above me. Ordinary sounds I'd heard a thousand times, but that morning they settled differently.

When the alarm chimed softly and unassumingly, I shut it off immediately. My mother hated snoozing alarms, saying they taught the body to argue with itself. Even alone, I made the bed as soon as my feet hit the floor, sheets smoothed, pillow straightened, small acts of control in a room where nothing ever surprised me anymore.

The apartment was small but spotless. Everything had a place because it had to. The couch was secondhand, the table too small for more than two, the chair slightly uneven, but I arranged it all with care. Three plants sat on the windowsill, leaves turned toward the light. I watered them carefully while coffee brewed, counting drops: too much drowned them, too little made them brittle. I'd learned that the hard way.

The scent of instant coffee filled the room, sharp and familiar. I showered in the cramped bathroom, water pressure weak but warm, steam fogging the mirror until I stopped looking. I dressed in clean jeans and a sweater without holes, nothing fancy, just presentable, just enough.

Before eating, I checked my phone.

Good morning, sweetheart! Don't forget Sunday dinner. I'm making your favorite. So proud of you!

I smiled without realizing it.

Wouldn't miss it, Mom. Love you.

I set the phone face down, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the wall where my acceptance letter was pinned. Its edges curled slightly, but the words remained clear: Marketing assistant. Start date: Monday.

Two more shifts at the convenience store, I thought. Then I'd start my real career. It wasn't impressive, but it was mine. Maybe in a few years, I could convince Mom to retire, let her rest for once.

Breakfast was simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. I ate slowly, scrolling through my schedule. Saturday evening shift, Sunday off, Monday is the start of everything I've worked for. I touched the letter again, fingers lingering as if it might vanish if I wasn't careful.

At the café near campus, the doorbell jingled the moment I arrived. Mira was already there, her curly hair pulled back messily, fingers tapping her cup like she was vibrating. She grinned when she saw me.

"Three days," she said. "Three days until we're real adults."

I laughed and slid into the seat across from her. "You say that like we haven't been working since we were sixteen."

"That was survival work," she said, waving a hand. "This is career work. Totally different."

We split a muffin, tearing it unevenly, neither of us caring who got the bigger half. Neither of us even checked who got the bigger half. She asked if I was nervous. I admitted I was terrified. What if they made a mistake hiring me? What if I wasn't enough?

She told me to stop. Said I was brilliant. I called her biased. She said there's a difference.

When she brought up dating, I felt my shoulders tense before I could stop them. I stared into my coffee instead of at her.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe someday."

She didn't let it go, but she didn't push hard either. Said I deserved romance, love, the messy, beautiful parts of life.

"I've seen what happens when Omegas date the wrong Alphas," I whispered. "Control. Ownership. I'd rather be alone than belong to someone like that."

She argued softly that not all Alphas were like that. I didn't dispute it aloud, but didn't believe it either. I told her I hadn't met the exceptions yet.

"When you do," she said, "I hope they deserve you."

I laughed, a little bitterly. "That's a fantasy."

"Then you'll find a Beta, or another Omega. Or you'll be the first Omega to tame an Alpha with an actual soul."

"I'm not taming anyone," I said. "I'm focusing on my career, helping my mom, and maybe adopting cats."

She laughed, and I did too. It felt good, warm, real.

When she left for work, I watched her go through the window, sunlight catching her hair. For once, nothing in my life felt like it was about to fall apart.

At the store, the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered annoyingly. The smell of cleaning chemicals mixed with old hot dogs and stale coffee. I clocked in, restocked shelves, wiped counters, and nodded politely at regulars. Mrs. Ross asked about my mother. I said she was working too hard, as always. She told me my mother was lucky to have me.

Later, an Alpha in a tailored suit lingered too long. He commented on my scent and asked if I was an Omega. I kept my voice flat and professional, handed him his total, and told him to move along. When he left, I scrubbed the counter harder than necessary.

By 8:30 p.m., the store was quiet. Three men entered together, one an Alpha. I felt his presence before he spoke. When he leaned over the counter and asked for my number, I said no. When he pushed, I stayed calm. When his scent sharpened, I braced myself and told him to leave.

His friends dragged him out before it escalated. My hands trembled afterward. It never helped as much as I pretended it did.

At ten, I closed the store: swept, counted the register, filled out the report. The refrigerators hummed steadily, almost like breathing.

My mother called just before I locked up.

She sounded tired. I told her my shift was over. She told me to get home safely. We joked about who worked harder. She said she loved me. I said it back.

Just a few more months, I thought as I walked home. Once I settle in, I'll convince her to slow down.

Sunday afternoon smelled like roast chicken and home. Her apartment was warm, cluttered with memories. Photos of me at every age lined the walls. She looked smaller than I remembered, thinner, but her smile was bright.

She insisted it was a celebration: my first real job. She said my father would be proud. We cooked together in comfortable silence, grief and joy woven so tightly they felt like the same thing.

Mira arrived with her usual energy. Dinner was loud, full of laughter. My mother talked about dating. I groaned. Mira rescued me by asking for seconds of pie.

After she left, my mother sank into the couch, exhaustion finally showing. She took my hand, told me she was proud, and urged me to stay kind, to never let anyone make me feel small.

I hugged her longer than usual. Something in her voice made my chest ache, though I didn't know why.

When I left, she waved from the window until I turned the corner. The sunset turned the street to gold. I felt content, hopeful.

I didn't know how close I was to losing all of it.