He Called Me Omega, Then Begged for My Help

The morning sun didn't bring hope; it just illuminated the devastation. I sat on a milk crate in the middle of *The Golden Crumb*, surrounded by the glittering shards of what used to be my life. Mrs. Higgins had come and gone, weeping into her handkerchief, telling me not to worry about the insurance, but I knew the truth. Vincent hadn't just broken windows; he had broken our sanctuary.

The bell above the door chimed—a miracle it was still intact. I didn't look up. "We're closed," I rasped, my voice hoarse from crying. "Permanently."

"I'm not here for a croissant, Ms. Bishop."

The voice was calm, professional, and entirely out of place in this wreckage. I looked up to see a man in a charcoal suit stepping carefully over a pile of ruined dough. He held himself with the quiet confidence of a high-ranking wolf, but his eyes weren't hostile. They were curious.

"Who are you?" I asked, gripping my broom handle like a weapon.

"My name is Marcus Thompson. I'm a private investigator," he said, pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket. Inside lay the crushed remains of a watch. My father's watch.

My breath hitched. "Where did you get that?"

"I retrieved it from the sidewalk outside Blackthorn Legal," he said gently. "But I've been tracking this specific timepiece for six months. It's a custom piece, commissioned by the Hamilton family thirty years ago. It went missing... along with their youngest son."

The room spun. "My father wasn't a Hamilton. He was a mechanic."

"He was a refugee who hid his identity to keep you safe," Marcus corrected. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sealed kit. "I know this is sudden, and I know you have no reason to trust me. But if I'm right, you are in grave danger here. Please. One swab."

I looked at the graffiti on the wall—*KNOW YOUR PLACE, OMEGA*. I looked at the ruin of the bakery. I had no fiancé, no home, no job, and twelve dollars to my name. I had absolutely nothing left to lose.

I opened my mouth.

***

Four hours later, I wasn't in Seattle anymore. I was sitting in a leather seat on a Gulfstream jet, watching the clouds roll by beneath me. The DNA test had been a rapid field unit, the kind only the military or the ultra-rich could afford. When the bars turned blue, Marcus had bowed to me. Actually bowed.

We landed on a private airstrip nestled in the mountains of Montana. A motorcade of black SUVs whisked us through iron gates taller than the apartment building I used to live in. We pulled up to a mansion that looked more like a European castle, all grey stone and ivy, radiating power.

Waiting on the steps was an old man leaning on a cane. He had silver hair and eyes that looked exactly like mine.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, the scent hit me—cedar and old parchment. It smelled like... home. The old man didn't wait for protocol. He dropped his cane and stumbled forward, his arms open.

"My girl," he sobbed, pulling me into a crushing embrace. "My lost girl."

I stood stiffly at first, overwhelmed, but the grief in his voice cracked something open inside me. I buried my face in his shoulder and wept. This was the Hamilton Patriarch. My grandfather.

Later, in a library that smelled of leather and history, he told me the truth.

"You aren't a Beta, Riley," he said, his voice trembling with rage as he looked at my thin frame. "You are a Hamilton Omega. The rarest of our kind. Your wolf isn't weak; she's dormant. Starved by stress and malnutrition."

I touched the bruise on my arm where Vincent had grabbed me. "Vincent called me an Omega to hurt me."

"That boy is a fool who played with fire," Grandfather growled, his Alpha aura flaring so hot the fireplace rattled. "In our world, an Omega is not a servant. She is the heart of the pack. She is royalty."

Before I could process that, a woman with a clipboard and a terrifyingly efficient bun swept into the room. "We have work to do," she announced. This was Elena Vasquez.

For the next three days, I didn't rest. I was scrubbed, polished, and waxed. Elena looked at my rough, baker's hands with disdain and soaked them in oils that cost more than my car.

"We need to erase the poverty," she muttered, applying a stinging serum to my face. "The debut is in ten days. You cannot look like a victim."

I stared at myself in the mirror. The dark circles were fading. My hair, usually a frizzy mess, now fell in glossy waves. But my eyes... my eyes still looked haunted.

On the fourth evening, Grandfather called me back to the library. He looked tired.

"Riley, we have announced your return. The world knows the Hamilton heiress is home," he said heavily. "But that puts a target on your back. Rival packs... they will see you as a prize to be stolen. A way to get to our fortune."

I twisted the new diamond ring on my finger. "What are you saying?"

"I cannot protect you alone. You need a mate. A strong one. Someone who can stand beside you and hold off the vultures."

He slid a folder across the mahogany desk.

"Declan Wagner. He is a tech billionaire, a Beta with Alpha strength, and a trusted ally of this family. He has agreed to the union."

I looked at the photo. The man was handsome, with intelligent eyes and a jawline that suggested stubbornness. But all I could see was Vincent's face in the candlelight at *Le Canard*. The promise ring he gave me. The lies.

I had given my heart for love once, and it had destroyed me. Maybe a business transaction was safer. Maybe love was just a weakness I couldn't afford anymore.

I didn't ask if Declan was kind. I didn't ask if he would love me. I only had one question.

"Is he powerful enough to make sure no one ever hurts me again?"

"Yes," Grandfather said without hesitation.

I closed the folder. "Then I'll do it."