Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fire crackled softly in the hearth of the Wayne Manor study, casting flickering shadows against the walls lined with bookshelves. The room was quiet except for the faint clink of ice against glass as Bruce swirled the whiskey in his tumbler. Across from him, Harvey Dent lounged with his usual casual ease, nursing his own drink and scrolling through his tablet.

“You ever think about it?” Harvey asked, his tone light but with an edge of curiosity.

Bruce didn’t look up. “Think about what?”

Harvey tilted the screen toward him, revealing the polished website with the bold heading Rehabilitation Center for Unclaimed Property . The page was sleek and impersonal, more like a luxury catalog than what it actually was—a marketplace for omegas and their pups who had nowhere else to go.

Bruce frowned, the sight of it unsettling. “No, I haven’t. And I’m not about to start.”

Harvey huffed a laugh, his fingers lazily swiping through the listings. “Don’t get so self-righteous. You’ve got the space for it. Besides you’ve already got a track record of taking in other people’s pups. What’s one more?”

“This is different,” Bruce said sharply.

“Sure, it is,” Harvey replied with a shrug. “But someone’s going to buy them. Better you than some Alpha who sees them as nothing more than property.”

Bruce didn’t respond, his gaze flickering toward the screen, engrossed despite himself. The page displayed rows of profiles, each one starkly transactional. More photographs of omegas and their pups stared back at him, accompanied by cold statistics—age, health, compatibility. No names, just numbers and summaries.

“It’s barbaric,” Bruce muttered.

Bruce clenched his jaw, nausea creeping in as he thought of the grim realities. Pups of unclaimed omegas were treated as burdens until they presented—kept at arm’s length if they were useful, discarded if they weren’t. Omegas were often retained, exploited for their submission and utility, but alpha and beta pups were deemed liabilities. Their secondary genders granted them rights that exceeded their omega parent’s, making it unprofitable for households focused on extracting value. Bruce knew the system wasn’t designed to care—it was designed to use.

Alphas didn’t care about another Alpha’s pups. Bruce’s choices had always been unconventional. He had adopted Dick at eight, after the boy’s parents were killed beneath the flaming wreckage of a circus tent. He had taken in Tim, who’d been left alone at three, surviving on crumbs in a neighbor’s house while they vacationed and the housekeeper failed to show. Damian, his youngest, was his own flesh and blood, the result of a brief but tumultuous relationship with Talia al Ghul. But Talia had abandoned them three weeks after Damian was born, leaving behind a colicky, screaming infant who tested every ounce of Bruce’s patience and resolve.

For a fleeting moment, Bruce imagined another set of hands—soft, steady, omega hands—soothing Damian, helping him shoulder the chaos. The thought flickered, tempting, but he pushed it aside. He wouldn’t exploit anyone. That wasn’t who he was.

“It’s is,” Harvey agreed with a shrug. “But it’s how things are. Better someone like you takes them in than—”

“I’m not going to participate in this,” Bruce interrupted.

Harvey smirked but didn’t push further. Instead, he tapped on a profile, enlarging the image. “Look at this one, though.”

He tapped the screen, enlarging a profile. Bruce sighed but leaned forward, his attention drawn to the image.

A thin, pale omega with dark hair stared back at him, her expression hollow with desperation. Her eyes were sunken, her posture stiff, like she was bracing herself for something. Next to her stood a boy, small and wide-eyed, his face blotchy as though he’d been crying. But his eyes—the bluest shade Bruce had ever seen—cut through the image, haunting in their clarity.

“Catherine Todd,” Harvey read. “Twenty-four. And her pup, Jason. Six years old. Their Alpha died three weeks ago. No family claimed them, so here they are.”

Bruce didn’t speak, his gaze lingering on the photo. The boy’s hand was clutching at the omega’s, his grip tight, as if letting go would mean losing everything.

“She’s listed as healthy,” Harvey continued. “Kid’s too. High compatibility scores. It’s only one unclaimed pup and he’s already able to be put to work. They’ll go fast.”

Bruce’s grip tightened on his glass. “It’s wrong. People shouldn’t be sold like this.”

“It’s wrong,” Harvey agreed, setting the tablet down. “But you’re still looking. And you know what’ll happen if someone else gets them.”

Bruce’s mind wrestled with the weight of it. He’d never planned to claim an omega. It went against everything he believed, but the urge to protect them—to shield that boy from whatever horrors awaited if he didn’t step in—gnawed at him.

He drained his glass and set it aside. His hand hovered over the tablet before he finally picked it up. With every swipe through the details, the knot in his chest tightened.

“You think you can save them,” Harvey said, his tone quieter now.

Bruce didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His finger paused over the purchase button. The world was cruel enough to them already.

Someone had to.

Chapter Text

The gates loomed like iron sentinels, the sound of their creaking echoing through the cold autumn air. Catherine shivered as she stood at the edge of the driveway, clutching Jason’s cold small hand as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality.

His fingers were pale where her grip pinched too hard, but he didn’t complain—he never did. His other hand clung to the hem of her dress, his slight frame trembling so faintly it could be missed if you weren’t looking.

But someone was looking.

The handler, a woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper demeanor, stood beside them, her clipboard clutched tightly to her chest. Beta Calloway was all efficiency, her stiff posture and crisp dark blue uniform as unyielding as her personality. She smelled like aloe vera and disinfect. Beta Calloway cast a glance down at Catherine, her lips thinning when she saw the way Jason leaned into her side, seeking comfort.

“Keep him upright, Omega,” Beta Calloway snapped, her tone devoid of warmth. “The Alpha won’t tolerate such an unruly behaviour. Do you want him rejected?”

Catherine’s back stiffened, her free hand moving automatically to Jason’s back, her thumb tracing small circles through the threadbare fabric of his shirt. “Yes, Beta Calloway, Ma‘m,” she murmured, though the words barely carried past her lips.

Beta Calloway didn’t bother responding. Instead, she pivoted sharply on her heel, her polished boots crunching against the gravel as she turned her attention to the figure approaching from the manor.

Bruce Wayne, the Alpha, emerged from the grand oak doors like a shadow cutting through the pale morning light, carring a faint wooden scent outside. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing in a way that seemed effortless. The tailored lines of his suit moved with him. His eyes, dark and calculating, swept the scene before him with a weight that pressed down on Catherine, rooting her feet into the gravel beneath her.

Her instincts screamed to move—to step back, to shield Jason behind her—but she didn’t dare. Her heels locked against the driveway, her gaze fixed on the ground, as was proper. Her breath caught in her chest when Jason pressed closer to her side, his trembling so faint it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

Beside her, Beta Calloway stood unyielding, her posture a blade of exacting precision. Her uniform was spotless, dark blue and severe, like the woman herself. If the air was cold enough to seep through Catherine’s thin dress, Beta Calloway didn’t show it. She advanced, each step deliberate as she closed the distance between herself and Bruce.

“Mr. Wayne,” she greeted briskly, her tone as clipped as the sharp angles of her jaw. She inclined her head—a gesture of acknowledgment, not submission. “The Omega and her dependent, as requested. Both are in acceptable health. All records have been sent to your office.”

Alpha Waynes gaze flicked to Catherine and Jason, his expression unreadable. Catherine felt her stomach twist under the weight of it. Jason, silent and watchful, pressed closer to her side, his small body curling inward as if he could disappear into the folds of her dress.

“They’re yours as soon as the signatures are finalized,” Beta Calloway said, her voice crisp and clinical, slicing through the cold air with precision. She extended a clipboard toward Alpha Wayne, her movements brisk and devoid of emotion. “The facility’s terms are clear. The pup is unbonded and unpresented. If you accept, he must remain in your household until presentation, at the very least. The Omega has proven compliant and will follow protocol.”

Alpha Wayne took the clipboard without comment, scanning the papers with a brief, focused intensity. The faint tightening of his jaw was the only crack in his polished exterior before he lowered the clipboard, pen already poised to sign. When his gaze returned to Catherine, it lingered longer, as though peeling back the carefully constructed layers of her composure.

The moment stretched unbearably until he returned the clipboard to Beta Calloway, who took it with efficient precision, handing over a small dark plastic bag, that held all of Catherines and Jasons meager belongings. As soon as Alpha Wayne accepted the bag, Beta Calloway turned her attention to Catherine and Jason.

“Defer to your Alpha, Omega,” she commanded, her tone sharp.

Catherine dropped to her knees with practiced ease, the gravel biting through her dress into her skin. Jason, obedient and silent, sank down beside her, his small frame trembling faintly as he bowed his head. His hands remained clenched in his lap, pale and too still.

Alpha Waynes voice broke the silence, low and deliberate. “Please stand.”

Catherine’s head snapped up slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes before she tamped it down. Beside her, Jason didn’t move, his shoulders hunched as he stayed perfectly still.

Beta Calloway’s brows rose fractionally, the only sign of her own surprise, before her voice cut through the tension like a blade. “You heard your Alpha,” she barked. “Stand.”

Catherine scrambled to her feet, her movements sharp with practiced urgency. Her hand immediately returned to Jason’s back, her fingers tracing the smallest of circles in silent reassurance, begging him to stand with her fingertips. But Jason remained frozen, his head bowed and his body curled inward.

“I said stand,” Beta Calloway repeated, her voice sharper now, the desinfect stinging in Catherines nose. And before Catherine could coax Jason up, the Beta stepped forward and seized his arm, yanking him to his feet with an efficiency that bordered on cruelty.

Jason stifled a whimper, his small frame jerking at the sudden force. Catherine clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching at her sides as she forced herself to stay still. The hand on Jason’s back returned, gentle and protective, even as she swallowed down the instinct to pull him close.

Alpha Waynes expression shifted, subtle but unmistakable—something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes as he watched, the wood in the air smelled crisp, as if set on fire. He stepped forward, and Catherine instinctively angled her body, shielding Jason as much as she dared without drawing more attention.

Her heart hammered in her chest as Beta Calloway straightened. “The Omega has been instructed to defer to you in all matters,” she said smoothly, her voice devoid of emotion. Her eyes flicked briefly to Jason. “The pup is yours to discipline for his insolence.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted painfully, but she kept her face carefully neutral, her hand firm against Jason’s back.

The Alphas gaze lingered on the boy, then shifted back to Catherine, his expression still unreadable. “I see,” he said finally, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative.

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the house. “This way.”

Catherine hesitated, her feet unwilling to move. The weight of the open sky, the gravel beneath her shoes, the cold that seemed to seep into her bones—everything about the moment felt exposed and precarious. Jason trembled beneath her palm, the rhythm a steady reminder of what was at stake.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, leaning down so only Jason could hear. “We’ll follow.”

Jason nodded silently, his grip tightening on her dress as they began to walk.

Behind them, Beta Calloway remained rooted in place, clipboard tucked neatly against her chest. “They’re yours now, Mr. Wayne. Enjoy,” she said, her voice carrying across the driveway before she turned sharply on her heel and walked back toward the gates.

Alpha Wayne didn’t respond, his focus on the small, trembling child and the wary woman at his side.

The manor’s interior enveloped them in an oppressive warmth, the air thick with the scent of polished wood, aged books, sugar and faint spices. Catherine didn’t now if it was the manor inhabitants or it’s interior.

But whatever it was: It was too much. The grandeur, the softness, the sheer opulence of it all made Catherine’s throat tighten. Her hand slid instinctively to Jason’s cold shoulder, her fingers resting lightly but firm enough to guide him to stand just behind her. It was a defensive gesture, subtle but deliberate. She didn’t know what would happen next, only that she needed him close.

Alpha Wayne left the plastic bag with their personal items on a chest of drawers near the entryway. Catherine hoped he wouldn’t just throw it sway. She hoped for a chance to beg for their things, to show herself useful enough to somehow earn them. For Jason.

Alpha Wayne moved through the halls with a measured grace, his footsteps muffled by thick rugs that looked impossibly expensive. Catherine followed, her own steps careful and silent. She was conscious of every detail: the faint squeak of her worn shoes against the glossy floor, the way Jason’s small, shuffling movements trailed hers like an echo.

They reached a sitting room, the space as intimidating as the rest of the manor. The walls were lined with dark, gleaming wood, accented by heavy drapes that softened the sunlight filtering through.

A low table dominated the center of the room, holding a silver tray with porcelain cups, a teapot, and a neat arrangement of cookies. The furniture was plush, upholstered in fabrics that Catherine couldn’t name but instinctively knew she shouldn’t touch other thean to clean them.

The Alpha gestured toward the couch, his expression unreadable but his tone calm. “Please, sit.”

Catherine hesitated. Her first instinct was to kneel by the door, to lower her gaze and await instructions. Alphas didn’t invite Omegas to sit, not unless they had something specific—something personal—in mind. She swallowed hard, the unspoken implications sending a ripple of unease through her.

Still, she obeyed, perching on the very edge of the couch, her back straight and her feet planted as if bracing for an impact.

Jason climbed up beside her, mimicking her posture with the rigid obedience of a child who had learned to survive by taking cues. His back was as straight as hers, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor. Catherine’s hand rested on his back, her touch gentle but steady, both for his reassurance and her own.

The Alpha settled into an armchair across from them, his broad frame dwarfing the seat, though his movements remained controlled.

The coffee table between them created a polite barrier, one that Catherine wasn’t sure was meant to soothe or distance. The tray of drinks and cookies, however, only heightened her unease. Hospitality wasn’t something she was used to.

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” he said and it was nice to know even if Catherine would never dare to call him by his name instead his honorific.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” The Alphas voice broke the silence again, as Catherine remained silent. His voice was  deep and even, though it carried a formality that made her wary. “Tea, coffee, water?”

Catherine froze. Alphas didn’t ask . They gave, and you accepted. Or they took, and you submitted. The offer was foreign.

To accept might mark her as presumptuous, greedy. To decline might seem ungrateful. Her mind raced, searching for the right answer, but with Alpha Wayne, she couldn’t read the cues. He didn’t seem the type to play games, but how could she knew after minutes of belonging to him.

Finally, she inclined her head, her voice low and cautious. “If it pleases you, Alpha… tea would be appreciated.”

Bruce’s mouth softened, a faint curve that might have been relief or approval. “Of course.”

He poured the tea himself, his large hands moving with a care that seemed almost unnatural for someone of his stature, adding a spoonful of sugar and a tad of cream.

Catherine watched the gesture, unable to stop herself from imagining those hands as something harsher, using her body like Alpha Willis had. Touching her, like it was his right to. But there was no edge to his movements as he handed her the cup, the delicate porcelain warm against her trembling fingers.

“Thank you, Alpha,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly as she accepted. She wished she could offer Jason as sip. It had been so cold outside. And he was so very thin, always had been, he could use the sugar and cream to fuel his growing body.

Alpha Bruce leaned back slightly, his gaze still on her, though the sharpness she expected wasn’t there. If anything, it had softened, though she didn’t trust it.

His attention shifted to Jason, who had remained utterly still beside her. “And for you, Jason? Would you like something to drink?”

Jason froze, his small frame locking under her palm. His head remained bowed, his shoulders drawn inward. He smelled like musty cotton.

Catherine’s pulse quickened, panic threading through her chest. He had to answer. Her grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, a silent plea for him to find his voice. When he didn’t, she forced herself to speak, her voice sharper than she intended. “Jason, answer Alpha Wayne.”

The boy flinched, his lip quivering, but no sound came. Catherine’s stomach churned, dread pooling low in her gut. She knew what happened when a child failed to respond quickly enough. She knew too well.

When Catherine had failed to answer her own Alpha father fast enough, the punishment had been swift and unrelenting.

His hand would snap out before she could brace herself, grabbing her wrist and dragging her closer, his grip bruising against her delicate skin. “Did I stutter?” he’d bark, his voice a venomous growl that cut through her like a blade. “You don’t make me wait, omega.”

Sometimes it was a slap, sharp and ringing, that left her cheek stinging and hot, her ears buzzing. Other times, it was worse.

He’d take her by the hair and force her head down. “Apologize,” he’d say, his grip tightening until her scalp burned. “Beg for forgiveness like the worthless little thing you are.”

And if she still didn’t answer quickly enough, he’d make her kneel in the corner, silent and trembling, while he listed all the ways she’d failed him. Sometimes it was hours before he’d let her move, her knees aching and her pride in tatters.

“You’re lucky I don’t toss you out on the street,” her Alpha Father would sneer when he finally let her up, his voice dripping with disdain. “Ungrateful, stupid Omega. You think anyone else would tolerate you?”

But then Alpha Willis had wanted her, claiming her and Alpha Father had not objected, accepting Alpha Willis car - that he’d stolen a couple weeks prior - a sufficient payment.

But Alpha Willis hadn’t like when she failed to answer him either.

“Got nothing to say?” he’d sneer, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her roughly toward the nearest surface—a table, a counter, even the wall. He’d pin her there, his fingers digging into her jaw until her lips parted from the pressure. “Guess I’ll find a better use for that mouth of yours, then.”

He’d push his fingers into her mouth, she could taste the dirt under his nails and the tobacco as if it was a cigarette in her mouth. He liked to play with her tongue, pinchig it, stroking it until he grew bored and would  shove her to her knees on the filthy floor.

The linoleum always smelled of old grease and spilled beer, and the sharp edge of his belt buckle pressed against her temple as he worked the leather free.

“You’re good at this,” he’d mock, his voice thick with disdain. “It’s the only thing you’re good for, isn’t it? Shut up and do what you’re told.”

So now, when Jason hesitated, she gripped his hand too tightly, the panic crawling up her throat. The sound of her Alpha Fathers relentless voice rang in her ears, and she could taste Alpha Willis finger in her mouth. All she could think was please, Jason, answer him. Please. Because she knew what happened when an Alpha’s patience snapped.

But Jason didn’t answer.

“My apologies, Alpha Wayne,” she said hastily, bowing her head lower, but slighty to the left side, offering her throat in submission. “He’s… shy, Alpha. Please …”

Alpha Wayne raised a hand, the gesture halting her. His brows furrowed, his expression less stern than puzzled. “It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice softer now. “He doesn’t have to—”

“Tea, please, Alpha Wayne,” Jason whispered suddenly, the words almost lost in the air between them.

The Alpha stilled, his gaze shifting back to the boy. For a long moment, he said nothing, and Catherine braced herself, every instinct screaming that they had failed some unspoken test.

But when Alpha Wayne moved, it was only to pour another cup, more sugar and cream than he‘d poured for her, making it sweet enough for a childs pallate.

He didn’t comment on the boy’s trembling fingers as Jason accepted the offered tea cup. He didn’t acknowledge the tension radiating from Catherine’s frame as she steadied her son’s hand. He simply waited, his expression unreadable but somehow not unkind.

“Thank you, Alpha Wayne,” Jason said, his voice soft and steady but so careful it almost trembled.

The Alpha paused, his sharp, assessing eyes softening just a fraction. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, kind enough to seem genuine but distant enough to remind Catherine of his status. “You’re welcome.”

Silence pressed down on the room, thick and uncomfortable. Catherine’s hand rested lightly on Jason’s back, her fingers brushing his too-prominent spine. She tried to project calm even as her heart raced, her instincts screaming at her to keep Jason small, unobtrusive, safe .

Alpha Wayne cleared his throat, the sound startling in the quiet. His gaze flickered to the plate of cookies resting on the coffee table, their golden edges glistening in the warm light of the room.

“You know,” he began, his tone light, almost conversational, “Alfred makes the best cookies in Gotham. Would you like to try one?”

Jason tensed immediately, his muscles locking beneath Catherine’s hand. She felt his shallow, rapid breaths and fought to keep her own steady. She felt how her own scent was all over the place but she tried to breath deep, to concentrate on releasing the calmest fragrence of lavender she could muster.

“Go ahead, Jason,” Alpha Wayne encouraged, leaning forward slightly, though his voice lacked the commanding edge that usually accompanied an Alpha’s words. “They’re really good. Take one.”

Catherine’s throat tightened as her son turned wide, searching eyes up to her, his silent plea clear. Her stomach churned at his hesitation. Jason knew better than to make a choice without permission. But it wasn’t her permission he should be looking for when their Alpha was in the room. He should know better.

Still she nodded faintly, keeping her expression neutral. “It’s okay, Jason,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady enough to guide him. He only had her and she wouldn’t let him down. Her own omega mother had never really tried protecting her, to set in her believe that the Alpha of the House stood above everything. Catherine knew it was supposed that way but to her Jason had always been the most important thing in the world.

Alpha Willis hated it when Catherine put Jason first. And he always knew when she did. It was like he could smell it on her, the faint trace of defiance hidden beneath her fear.

The first time Alpha Willis caught her putting Jason’s needs before his, the look in his eyes had been enough to freeze her blood. Jason had been shy of one, still in diapers, crying inconsolably from teething pain and fever.

Catherine had been desperate to soothe him, kneeling on the filthy kitchen floor with Jason cradled against her chest, humming softly as she dabbed at his swollen gums with a cool cloth.

Alpha Willis had come home early, reeking of cheap beer and sweat. The moment he saw her on the floor, his face twisted into a snarl. “What the hell is this?” he barked, dropping his jacket onto the table.

Catherine flinched, her hands tightening around Jason instinctively. “He’s in pain,” she said softly, not daring to meet his gaze. “I was just—”

“You were just ignoring me,” AlphabWillis interrupted, his voice rising. “Dinner’s not on the table. This place is a goddamn mess, and you’re down there playing nursemaid to him.” His glare burned into her, then shifted to Jason, who had gone silent, sensing the danger in the room. “Little shit’s tougher than you think. You spoil him too much.”

Catherine opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it, lowering her gaze. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’ll clean up. I’ll—”

Alpha Willis was on her in an instant, snatching Jason out of her arms with a rough yank. The boy whimpered, his little hands reaching back for her.

“You think he’s the Alpha in this house?” Alpha Willis growled, shaking Jason lightly. “Huh, Catherine? Is that what you’re teaching him?”

“No!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet, panic clawing at her chest. “Please, Alpha Willis, don’t—he’s just a baby—”

But Alpha Willis ignored her, his focus on Jason. “You think you can cry and get whatever you want? Think again, you little shit.” He set Jason down roughly on the floor, pointing a finger in the toddler’s face. “Stay there, and shut the hell up.”

He’d grabbed her hair, yanking her head back painfully, and forced her to crawl after him into the living room.

“You listen good,” he hissed as he shoved her down. “That little shit’s nothing without me. You’re nothing without me. I’ll remind you who puts food in your mouths.”

And then he’d force her to kneel, his belt snapping free from his jeans, and she’d brace herself, desperate to endure without making a sound. Because the quieter she was, the faster it would end—and the sooner she could go back to Jason.

Catherines fingertips gripped the back of Jasons shirt, clinging in secret to her little boy, trying to shake the memory of his pain. He had been so little and Alpha Willis had been so cruel, when he came home drunk and angry.

With painstaking caution, Jason reached out, startling Catherine. His fingers hovered for a moment before selecting the smallest cookie on the plate, his touch so light it seemed as though he feared the treat might disintegrate beneath his hand. He pulled it back into his lap, holding it like a fragile, forbidden treasure.

“You can eat it,” Alpha Wayne encouraged, leaning forward slightly. His voice was warm, but the authority beneath it was unmistakable.

Jason hesitated only a moment longer before taking the smallest possible bite. His reaction was immediate. His eyes widened as the taste registered, his lips parting as though he might speak, though no words came. Instead, a small sound escaped him—half gasp, half laugh—breaking through the room’s oppressive quiet.

The sight made Catherine’s chest ache. The joy on Jason’s face was pure, unguarded, and it broke her heart because she knew how rare it was. Alpha Willis had made sure of that. Sweets were expensive and food was to be earned.

The silence stretched again as Jason quickly another bite of the cookie, his small tongue darting out to catch a crumb at the corner of his mouth before freezing in sudden panic. His gaze darted between her and the Alpha, his cheeks flushing as though he’d been caught acting like an unruly animal.

Catherine pressed her palm firmly against his back again, her fingers brushing the delicate curve of his shoulder blades in a quiet attempt to calm him.

The Alphas smile grew, his posture easing as he watched Jason take another careful bite. “It’s good, isn’t it?” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial, as though sharing a secret. If Catherine didn’t new better she’d almost think the room turned sweeter. But no Alpha ever had smelled like sugar. It must cling to the house. Maybe there were other Omegas living here. The building was large.

Jason nodded, eyes wide, his now empty hand seaching to grab at the fabric of his mothers dress, trying to find comfort in her welking lavender scent.

Chapter Text

The Alpha leaned back in his chair again, studying the boy with an expression Catherine couldn’t quite decipher.

“I think you’ll get along well with my boys, Jason,” he said, his tone lighter now, conversational. He smiled faintly, the look not unkind, though it carried the weight of expectation.

Catherine’s stomach clenched at the words. Her fingers reflexively tightened on Jason’s shoulder. Of course, the facility had explained this. The Alpha’s sons were paramount, their happiness and well-being the household’s highest priority.

His love for them was unquestionable, fierce, and all-consuming. Her role was clear: to ensure their needs were met, even if it meant Jason’s were set aside.

The Alphas gaze flicked between them, his smile widening just slightly. “Dick, my eldest, just presented as an Alpha. He’s eleven now,” he said, his voice warming as he spoke of his son. “He’s full of energy—always climbing, running, getting into things. He’s been looking forward to meeting you. He’ll probably want to show you the treehouse out back.”

Jason’s fingers twitched in his lap, betraying his interest, though his face remained carefully blank. Catherine could feel the tremor returning to his small frame, a subtle shiver of nerves. He wasn’t used to other children. At the facility, there had been other kids of course but they had kept to their omega parent just as Jason had been.

And before, Willis barely allowed him outside, let alone to school. Jason had been so excited earlier that year, counting down the days until he could start first grade. He looked forward to learning and to finally make a friend. But Willis loved loopholes and when he realised they could just register Jason as homeschooled he‘d made his decision.

Catherine had tried to argue. The first blow had been for her insolence, a backhand that sent her stumbling into the wall. The second had been for Jason, who had cried out in fear, drawing Willis’s fury. A small body couldn’t outrun a grown Alpha.

By the end of it, they’d both been left with matching black eyes, and the paperwork had been sent in the next day.

Catherine had tried to make it work, teaching Jason what little she could. But without proper materials—or even a basic understanding of first-grade curriculum—her efforts had felt like empty gestures.

At least she’d had some schooling before her own life had been derailed. Until she presented, Catherine had been allowed to attend classes, her days filled with books, theather class and seeing her friends. But that had ended abruptly, as if a switch had been flipped.

One night to the other, her Alpha Father was pulling her out of school. "Your place is at home," he’d said, his voice like iron. From then on, her days had been filled with endless chores and the constant demand to make herself useful. Her mother, an Omega who barely spoke above a whisper, had simply nodded in silent agreement, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“And Tim,” Alpha Wayne shoke her out of her memories, his expression softening further. “He’s five, so closer to your age. He’s quieter than Dick but sharp. Curious about everything. He’ll probably ask you a thousand questions the moment he meets you.”

Catherine pressed her lips together as Jason glanced up at her again, his expression unsure. She tightened her hand against his back, forcing herself to keep her grip steady.

Jason had always been a quiet child, he wouldn‘t be good at answering a thousand questions. But Catherine couldn‘t do anything. Jason had to learn to defer not only to a new Alpha but to the Alphas children and if it needed him to amuse the boys than he had to learn to do that. She would help him learning, as much as she could. But her heart ached for her sweet baby.

Her hand slid firmly across his back, a touch meant to ground him as much as herself. He needed to do everything perfectly. They both did. There was no room for error here. Not this early on when they barely knew to look for cues of Alpha Waynes anger.

“Thank you, Alpha Wayne,” Jason said, his voice soft and precise, the syllables clipped and measured. They were words drilled into him, not natural, as though politeness could serve as armor. “I uh … I look forward to meeting them, Alpha Wayne, Sir.”

The lie wasn’t obvious unless you knew Jason’s tells. Catherine saw it in the slight droop of his shoulders, in how he kept his hands tightly clasped in his lap to hide their trembling. He was terrified. She could feel it in his silence, in the way his body remained taut under her hand as if bracing for a punishment he couldn’t predict.

Alpa Wayne smiled again, oblivious to Catherines dark thoughts.

“And then there’s Damian. He’s just a baby—ten weeks old,” tha Alpa said, a faint, self-deprecating smile flickering across his face. “Mostly just crying and eating. Occasionally sleeping, if we’re lucky. We managed to get him down just before you arrived.”

Catherine kept her head down, she didn’t respond, wouldn’t dare to without being directly addressed.

Back when Jason was newly born, Catherine had devoted herself to him completely. She nursed him every couple of hours, her arms trembling from exhaustion as she rocked him gently in the darkness, whispering soothing words to keep him quiet. It wasn’t just about his comfort—it was survival. If Jason woke Willis in the middle of the night, there would be consequences.

Jason had been a sweet baby, rarely crying unless something truly upset him. But Catherine didn’t dare take chances. Even the softest whimper could stretch her nerves taut. She kept his needs met with obsessive care, changing every diaper the moment her other obligations allowed, no matter how sore her hands were from scrubbing or how heavy her body felt from lack of sleep.

Willis didn’t tolerate disturbances. He despised the screaming toddlers next door, frequently muttering about "Omega brats with no discipline." Once, during one of his tirades, he’d looked straight at Catherine and said, "You’d better raise him with manners. I won’t have him turning out like them."

Catherine had nodded meekly, swallowing her fear. She knew what he meant—Jason had to be quiet, obedient, and invisible unless Willis decided otherwise. So, she’d done everything in her power to ensure her son never became a source of irritation.

When Jason was fussy, Catherine found ways to soothe him before his soft cries could escalate. She rubbed his tiny belly in slow, gentle circles, humming low and sweet, or patted his back until he released the gassy discomfort in quiet little burps. Jason responded to her efforts, relaxing against her with tiny, trusting sighs that made her heart ache.

But she was always tense, watching the clock, calculating how much time she had before Willis came home or stirred in the next room. She loved Jason fiercely, with a protective instinct that consumed her, but she lived in constant fear that her best efforts wouldn’t be enough to shield him from the storm that was his father.

Alpha Waynes tone shifted slightly, a thread of exhaustion creeping in. “I’ve handled plenty of challenges, but this…” He hesitated, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of unease. “Well, Damian is vocal. ”

Jason’s gaze didn’t waver from the floor, but Catherine noticed his fingers tightening, pressing harder into his small palms. Damian. The Alpha’s true child. Even at ten months old, Damian’s position was secure in a way Jason’s never would be. There was no risk for Damian, no question of whether he would be allowed to stay or sent away. He belonged here by birthright just like his older brothers, the way Jason never would.

The Alpha let out a humorless laugh. “Alfred says he’s strong-willed. I think he’s just determined to break me. He cries for hours, sometimes over nothing. I’ve tried everything—rocking, pacing, singing…” His lips twitched into a wry smile. “Apparently, I’m not as good at this as I thought I’d be.”

Catherine swallowed against the dryness in her throat, her mind already racing. Damian would need constant care, more than the older boys. She could already picture the long nights, the hours spent tending to the baby. The other boys would surely demand their share of time, their needs prioritized.

She’d have to make it work, somehow. Jason couldn’t demand too much of her time. It would reflect badly on both of them if he did. Jason would have to fend for himself.

The Alphas gaze lingered on them for a moment. “You’ll do well with them,” he said, glancing at Catherine. His tone was kind, but Catherine felt the weight behind it, the unspoken expectations. “They’ve been asking when you’d arrive. I think they’ll be happy to have someone else around.”

Catherine bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, Alpha,” she said, voice demure. Jason couldn’t expect her to put him first anymore. This was Alpha Wayne’s home, and his children were his priority, so they had to be Catherines as well.

The room settled into a tense quiet, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire. Alpha Waynes gaze lingered on the plate of cookies on the table, his brow creasing slightly before he looked at Jason.

“Jason,” he said suddenly, his voice light, “you can have another cookie if you’d like.”

Jason froze, his wide eyes darting to Catherine for a fleeting moment before dropping to his lap again. He was not doing as well, as Catherine had hoped. Every night during their weeks at the facility she‘d explained to him that one day, they‘d go to live with a new Alpha and that he had to behave and do as commanded. Jason understood, he was a smart little boy, but he was scared and overwhelmed.

Catherine wished, she could do more. She wished, she could just wrap him in her arms or pull him on her lap, shield him from the large new Alpha in his life.

After a long, fraught pause, Jason reached out, his movements careful and deliberate. He picked up another cookie and cradled it in his hands. Slower this time, he nibbled at his cookie. There were crumbs on his fingers and a single one strayed to his shirt. That was not good. Catherines hand against her childs back trembled.

But the Alpha smiled at the sight, a soft curve of his lips that might have been reassuring if Catherine had been able to trust it. This was only the beginning. Jason would need to learn quickly, to understand that his place here was precarious, dependent entirely on Alpha Waynes good graces.

Catherine wasn‘t looking forward to it, but she wondered if this was the first test of many. Of course Jason had to take another cookie, as it was so kindly offered by the new Alpha in his life, but Jason should have been less messy. He was a big kid already. He should have been able to eat his cookie without crumbling all over the place.

The bowl hit the floor with a hollow clatter, and Catherine froze, her breath catching in her throat. The stew splattered across the wooden floor in thick streaks, steam rising faintly from the mess. She barely had time to kneel and reach for the shattered bowl before the sound of heavy boots thudding against the floorboards made her blood run cold.

Her father’s scent hit her first—iron and scorched fields, sharp and suffocating. Then his shadow loomed over her, a heavy weight pressing down on her small frame.

“What the hell is this?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ll clean it up,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’ll make it right, Alpha, I promise.”

His hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her down until her nose nearly touched the puddle. “You’re damn right you’ll clean it up,” he hissed. “But not with a rag. Not with your hands.”

Catherine’s breath hitched, her body trembling. She knew better than to resist.

“Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Say it louder.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she repeated, louder this time, though her voice cracked.

“Good,” he sneered. “Now, lick it up. Show me you understand how to take responsibility for your failures.”

Shaking, her tears dripping onto the rough floorboards, Catherine leaned down, her breath hitching as she stuck out her tongue. The taste was foul—stew mingled with dirt, grime, and the bitter tang of humiliation that burned worse than the splinters cutting into her knees.

“Faster,” her father snapped from above, his tone clipped and sharp. His boot tapped impatiently against the floor, the thud of it matching the erratic pounding of her heart.

She obeyed, her tongue dragging across the mess in frantic strokes, every muscle in her body trembling. The stew was lukewarm and greasy, and she gagged as bits of grit clung to her mouth. The edges of her tongue scraped raw against the coarse wood, the faint taste of iron mingling with the slop as blood welled where splinters tore into her.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. “Good little Omegas clean up their messes, don’t they?”

Her stomach churned, bile rising, but she swallowed it down, her body reacting before her mind could protest. She couldn’t stop—not until he was satisfied.

His heavy boot landed inches from her hand, startling her, and she flinched violently. “Missed a spot,” he growled, pointing to a chunk of carrot smeared near the table leg. “Do it properly, or you can sleep out in the yard tonight.”

Hot shame coursed through her veins, but she didn’t dare pause. She lowered herself further, her tongue dragging over the filthy wood as fresh tears blurred her vision. The stew mixed with the acrid taste of dirt, and she felt a splinter lodge into her lip, but she didn’t dare pull back.

When she finally finished, the floor was slick with spit, and her tongue felt swollen and torn. Her father crouched beside her, his scent sharp and oppressive, his breath hot against her ear. “Next time you waste food, you’ll lick it off the floor in front of the neighbors.”

She remained on the floor, her body trembling, her mind blank with humiliation.

Blood pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed hard, the taste mingling with the lingering flavor of dirt and grease. For a moment, she thought about spitting it out, but the thought of his reaction stopped her cold. Instead, she wiped at her tear-streaked face with trembling hands, her body heavy with exhaustion as she dragged herself to her feet.

Catherine clutched her arms tightly around herself, her chest hollow as she shuffled out of the kitchen, her head bowed. The shame would cling to her long after the taste was gone.

It was just one tiny crumb, her mind screamed at her, an not even on the floor but that was surely enough for Alpha Wayne to show Jason his place at the bottom row of the manor.

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her face neutral, her hand firm and grounding against Jason’s back. She couldn’t let him see her fear. Not now.

The Alpha leaned back in his chair, his gaze still on Jason, who was sitting impossibly still beside Catherine. His small frame was tense, his hands resting carefully in his lap now that the cookie was gone. He seemed to fold in on himself, his shoulders hunched as though bracing for something unseen, too.

“You’ll have a lot to explore here,” Alpha Wayne said finally, his tone carefully warm. “There’s a big yard out back. Dick’s usually out there when the weather’s nice, climbing trees or running around. I think you’d like it.”

Jason didn’t react, his gaze locked on the floor. Catherine pressed her thumb into slow, steady circles against his back, though she felt the tension thrumming in him like a live wire.

“There’s also a library upstairs,” he continued, adjusting his tone slightly. “It’s quiet, and there are books on just about everything. It‘s next to the playroom of the boys, they have a lot of fun toys and games.“

Jason’s head tilted just slightly, a barely perceptible movement. His eyes flickered upward for half a second before dropping again. Catherine’s lips pressed together in a thin line. A library sounded like something Jason would adore, but she doubted he’d be allowed to touch the books any more than the childrens toys. Maybe she could beg Alpha Wayne for a book to read with Jason, once she‘d managed to get in his good graces.

Sometimes, after a night Willis deemed well spent—when he’d taken his fill of her body and his temper seemed to settle for a while—Catherine would gather what courage she had and ask for things.

Small things.

She never asked for herself. She wouldn't dare.

A pair of shoes, because his feet were blistered and bloody, his little toes curling painfully in the too-small ones he’d worn until they practically fell apart. A scrap of paper and a cheap pen so she could teach him to write, squeezing lessons into the rare, quiet minutes they shared. Sometimes, just a little more food—enough to fill Jason’s belly so he wouldn’t wake in the night, crying from hunger.

Sometimes, her requests bore fruit. A pair of shoes with holes in the soles, barely holding together, but big enough for Jason to grow into. A promotional pen with a cracked cap, scrounged from some gas station, and a wrinkled piece of paper already stained at the edges, that Willis picked up who-knows-where.

A little extra food, but only after Willis had taken the lion’s share, leaving Catherine to scrape the bottom of the pot for what was left.

On those days, Catherine almost dared to hope.

But sometimes, Willis said no. And those were the worst times.

“No,” he would say, his voice low and dangerous, before grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip. "You think you get to ask me for anything? After I keep you here, feed you, clothe you? You ungrateful little bitch.”

Sometimes he’d shove her to her knees right there in the kitchen, forcing her to crawl to him and beg, tears streaming down her face as Jason watched, wide-eyed and silent.

"Say it," Willis would hiss. "Say you’re nothing without me." And she would, voice trembling, her head bowed so low her forehead touched the floor.

He’d laugh, a sound that sent ice down her spine, then lean in close, the scent of cheap tobacco and stale sweat suffocating her. “You want something? You better start giving me a reason to be generous,” he’d sneer, grabbing her roughly and dragging her to the bedroom. It always hurt more on those nights when he was angry, his grip bruising, his teeth biting harder than they needed to.

Jason never cried. He never even moved. But sometimes, when Willis was finished and Catherine limped out of the bedroom, bruised and raw, she’d find Jason sitting in the hallway, his small legs pulled to his chest. He wouldn’t say anything, just look at her with those wide, solemn eyes.

And Willis didn’t let her forget her place.

Once, when Jason was around four or five, she’d asked him for some food for herself and Jason once, Willis had tossed them a half-rotten apple, its brown, mushy spots spreading across the skin. "If you’re so damn hungry," he sneered, leaning back in his chair, "then eat the whole thing. Core, stem, and all. Don’t waste a damn bite."

Catherine picked it up, her stomach twisting at the sour, decaying smell. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to eat food well past its prime, but she knew what mold could do.

She didn’t dare scrape away the worst parts. Willis’s sharp gaze followed her every movement, daring her to defy him. "Well?" he drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. "Better get started. Or maybe you think you’re too good for my generosity?"

Catherine bit into the apple, her teeth sinking into the mushy, mold-ridden flesh. The bitter tang of rot filled her mouth, and she forced herself to chew and swallow, her throat constricting with each gulp. The sickly juice dripped down her chin, and Willis laughed, a deep, mocking sound.

"That’s it," he said, gesturing at her with his cigarette. "Wouldn’t want your precious baby to eat the bad part, huh?”

He was right, she always tried to spare Jason the mold, thinking it couldn’t be good for children. Sometimes, after eating spoiled food herself, she spent hours curled up with stomach cramps.

When she had eaten the worst parts, she handed the rest to Jason, her hands trembling. "Take small bites”, she whispered, her voice cracking.

Jason’s hands shook as he ate down to the core. When there was nothing left but the stem and seeds, he looked up at Catherine, his bottom lip quivering.

Jason held the core out to her, his lips trembling as though asking for permission to stop. Catherine took it gently from his small fingers, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. "It’s okay," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his head before raising the core to her mouth.

The seeds crunched between her teeth, bitter and sharp, and the fibrous center scratched her raw-fucked throat as she swallowed. The stem dangled awkwardly, but she forced it down, the sour juice dripping from her lips.

"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Eating garbage like the goddamn bitch you are. You oughta be grateful I didn’t toss that apple straight in the trash."

Catherine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, keeping her eyes fixed on Jason as she pulled him close.

She didn’t care what Willis said. All that mattered was Jason eating enough to get through another day, even if it meant swallowing every bit of her pride and every last piece of that rotting apple.

Another time, around half a year later, when she’d asked him for an extra blanket for Jason, who shivered in the night as the temperatures dropped below freezing outside and Willis hadn’t bothered to pay the bill but took all the blankets out of their pitiful nest in the corner of the bedroom to be warm himself, he’d laughed.

“Go help yourself,” he’d said, his grin sharp and mean. “There’s plenty of laundry hanging down in the communal cellar. Take one. Nobody’s watching.”

Desperate, Catherine had done it, stealing a threadbare blanket from the neighbors’ line in the middle of the night. Jason had clung to it, burrowing into the rough fabric like it was a gift.

But the neighbors found out.

When the burly Alpha neighbor showed up at their door, his face twisted with anger, Catherine’s stomach sank. She knew what was coming.

Willis, lounging near the doorway with a beer in hand, didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, he looked amused.

“Will. Caught your bitch stealing from me,” the neighbor barked, his voice loud enough to echo in the hallway. “Thought she could just help herself, huh?”

Willis took a lazy swig of his beer, his smirk widening. “Did she now? Damn Omegas, always thinking they’re entitled to things. You want to deal with her, Hank?” He stepped aside, gesturing toward Catherine with mock chivalry  

The neighbor didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Catherine by the arm, yanking her into the hallway. She stumbled, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud.

Jason was still curled up in the blanket inside, unaware of the horror unfolding just a few feet away.

The first slap caught her off guard, the force of it whipping her head to the side. The sting bloomed across her cheek, hot and sharp, and before she could recover, another followed. She staggered, her lip splitting under the force of the blow, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

“Pathetic,” the neighbor spat, his saliva landing on her cheek as he loomed over her. “You Omegas think you can just take what you want and get away with it?”

Willis leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed, as though watching a neighborhood scuffle. His chuckle was low, dark. “Teach her a lesson,” he said lazily. “She clearly needs it.”

The Alpha neighbor grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look up at him. “Where’s the blanket?” he barked.

Catherine’s voice trembled as she whispered, “Inside, Alpha Wilson.”

“Then get it,” he growled, releasing her roughly. “Now.”

Her legs wobbled as she stumbled into the bedroom room. Jasons eyes were wide with fear, his little hands clutching the blanket as though it would protect him.

“Mama?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice cracking. She reached for the blanket, prying it gently from his grasp.

He didn’t resist, just watched her with a silent, pleading gaze that made her heart feel like it was breaking in two.

She wiped her tears, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Stay here. Don’t come out, no matter what.”

When Catherine returned to the hallway, she dropped to her knees, the rough floor biting into her skin as she held out the stolen blanket with trembling hands, her head bowed low in submission.

Alpha Wilson snatched it from her, his lip curling in disgust. “How many hours did you have it?” he barked.

“Nine, Alpha Wilson,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of humiliation.

“Nine hours,” he repeated, drawing his belt from his waist with a deliberate slowness that made her stomach churn. The metallic jingle of the buckle echoed in the hallway, loud and menacing. “Nine lashes, then.”

Her breath hitched, she looked back to Willis, hoping desperatly that he’d protect her, stake his claim. Punish her himself. She’d take twice as many lashes, if only he could be the one to admister them.

“Get that filthy dress out of the way,” Wilson growled, snapping the belt against his palm for emphasis.

Her hands shook as she obeyed, trembling as she exposed her thighs and ass. It had been months since Willis had ripped her last pair of panties.

She bent forward, gripping the edge of the wall for balance, her face burning with shame as Willis laughed softly behind her.

Wilson barked a cruel laugh. “Look at her. Pathetic,” he spat, turning briefly to Willis. “This the best you’ve got?”

“She’s a good fuck,” Willis replied, leaning casually in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

The first lash of the belt landed hard, the leather searing across her flesh with a sharp crack that echoed in the hallway.

Catherine’s body jolted forward, her forehead thunking against the wall as she fought back a cry.

“Keep quiet,” Wilson snapped. “Don’t you dare make a sound.”

She bit down on her lip until the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, her tears falling silently onto the floor. Another lash, and another.

By the fifth, the buckle whipped her skin, tearing it open, and she gasped in pain, her legs trembling under the strain of holding herself up.

“Last one,” he said with mock sympathy, leaning closer. “Make it count.”

The final strike landed harder than the rest, cutting deep into the already bruised and bloodied skin. Catherine crumpled to her knees, her body giving out beneath her as pain and shame consumed her. She stayed there, her head bowed low, her trembling hands pressed against the floor.

"Next time, you’ll pay with more than just your hide," Wilson sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. He spat at her, the warm, wet splatter hitting her cheek as she flinched but didn’t dare wipe it away. His heavy boots echoed down the hallway as he turned and stalked back to his apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

Catherine stayed frozen, her body broken and trembling, her blood staining the cold, unforgiving floor.

Willis stepped closer, crouching so his face was level with hers. “You’re lucky,” he said, his tone almost conversational, though the cruel smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Could’ve been worse.”

He stood up, stretching lazily, and stepped over her like she was nothing more than discarded trash. Without a second glance, he disappeared into their apartment, leaving her crumpled in the dimly lit hallway.

Jason’s small form appeared moments later, creeping out from behind the bedroom door. His bare feet were silent against the floor, his face pale and wide-eyed.

He moved hesitantly, his bare feet silent against the floor, his wide eyes locking on his mother’s crumpled form.

“Mama?” he whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside her, his small hands reaching out but hovering, as if unsure if touching her would hurt more.

Catherine forced herself to lift her head, her tear-streaked face meeting his frightened gaze. She offered him a weak, broken smile, though the effort made her lip split further, sending another trickle of blood down her chin.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Go back inside. Mama just needs a minute.”

But Jason didn’t move. Instead, he knelt closer, curling himself beside her, his little body shaking. His small hand finally found hers, his grip firm despite his trembling fingers.

“I’ll stay,” he said softly, his voice resolute. His scent damp damp damp.

Catherine closed her eyes and leaned into her pups touch, letting his quiet presence soothe her battered spirit.

“And Alfred, our butler,” Alpha Wayne added, startling her, “spends a lot of his time in the kitchen. He is a great cook. If you’re interested, Jason, I’m sure he’d enjoy showing you a thing or two.”

Catherine’s heart sank at the mention of the butler and the kitchen. Jason stiffened under her hand, his trembling starting anew.

She knew what Alpha Wayne was implying, of course she did: Jason would be expected to help, to contribute in ways that fit his new place in the household. She had expected that. Cooking, cleaning—tasks that weren’t foreign to him after years of harsh, unrelenting rules under Willis.

But they had always done it together, Catherine able to cover for any small mistakes that Jason has made. When he was under the butlers watchful gaze while Catherine was catering to the needs of the other children or warming the Alphas bed, she couldn‘t shield Jason. He‘d be all on his own.

Catherine glanced at Jason, whose shoulders seemed to shrink further at the unspoken expectations. She swallowed her unease, keeping her expression steady as she lowered her gaze again.

“Thank you, Alpha,” she said softly, her voice carefully neutral. “Jason will be happy to contribute to your household in any way you see fit.”

Alpha leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze softened as it flicked between Catherine and Jason. “I know this is a big change,” he said, his voice steady but gentle. “It’ll take time to adjust. For all of us.”

“Yes, Alpha,“ Catherine said, keeping her voice demure. She inhaled quietly, her lips pressing into a thin line. She appreciated the softness in his words, but she knew better than to trust it. Words, no matter how kind, always carried an edge. Expectations could lie hidden beneath their surface, sharp and unforgiving.

Alpha Wayne leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, though the openness of his posture seemed uncalculated, a natural extension of his presence rather than a tactic. “We’ll take it one day at a time,” he said finally, his voice calm but carrying quiet certainty. “That’s all anyone can do.”

Catherine exhaled, though her chest remained tight, the knot of unease unmoved by his reassurances. She didn’t believe in promises of patience, not in a place like this.

The ease in the Alphas voice might have been genuine, but she couldn’t afford to trust it—not when Jason’s safety hinged on her ability to keep him in line. Jason needed this arrangement to work, needed her to make it work for him. She would ensure he met Alpha Wayne’s expectations

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the uncertain future that loomed ahead. Jason was still a pup, only six years old, but the years would pass quickly. Children often presented between the ages of ten and twelve—boys usually a little later than girls.

Catherine’s throat tightened. She couldn’t imagine letting him go, not now and not then. If she pleased Alpha well enough, stayed in Alpha Wayne’s good graces, perhaps he’d let Jason remain at the manor even after he presented, regardless of whether he turned out alpha, beta or omega.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, stepping into the room. His calm, steady presence filled the space like clockwork. “The children are asking when they might come downstairs. Master Dick is rather insistent, as you might expect.”

The Alpha smiled, the faintest twitch of amusement at the edge of his expression. “Of course he is.”

His gaze returned to Catherine and Jason, the warmth still present but tinged with a faint uncertainty. “Dick and Tim have been waiting all morning to meet you both. If it’s alright, I’ll bring them in now.”

Catherine’s grip on Jason’s shoulder tightened just enough to steady herself, though to Jason it likely felt more like restraint. She nodded stiffly, her tone clipped but polite. “Of course, Alpha.”

Beside her, Jason froze. His body went rigid, the small tremor she felt under her palm betraying his fear. His scent had been like damp cotton for so long now it had almost turned a tang moldy.

Alpha Wayne rose smoothly from his chair, offering them a reassuring smile before turning to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Catherine turned to Jason. Her voice dropped low, urgent.

“Jase,” she said quietly but firmly, “listen to me, baby. When Alpha Wayne’s children come in, you will do exactly as they say. You will be polite, respectful, and quiet. Do you understand?”

Jason’s wide eyes flicked up to hers, uncertain but attentive. “Yes, Mama,” he whispered, the tremor in his voice barely concealed.

She smoothed a hand over his hair, her touch light and practiced, though her fingers lingered briefly against the soft curls at the back of his head. Her other hand found his cheek, cupping it just for a moment, the gesture more grounding for her than for him.

“And no more looking to me when Alpha Wayne speaks to you,” she continued, her tone soft but firm. “You must listen to him. Only him. Just like I told you. Do you understand, Jason? Only him.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Jason whispered, his lip trembling.

Her hand dropped away, as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, willing him not to cry.

Before she could say anything, the door opened again, and Alpha Wayne returned with two boys in tow.

Chapter Text

Jason straightened abruptly, his hands flying to his lap and locking together in a white-knuckled grip. His shoulders drew inward as though he could make himself smaller, folding tight against the weight of the unknown.

Dick was the first to bound into the room, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he grinned with unbridled enthusiasm. He moved with the careless confidence of a child who had never known fear, his energy filling the space, the air carrying a hint of buttered popcorn and chalk, before his words even reached the room. Taller than Jason, he strode forward without hesitation, a bright grin ardorning his handsome face.

“Hi!” Dick greeted, his voice warm and loud enough to startle. “You must be Jason! I’m Dick.”

Jason’s head dipped quickly, his gaze locking onto the floor. His voice, soft and uneven, barely carried. “Yes, Alpha Dick.”

Dick froze mid-step, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head, confusion briefly flickering across his face before his grin returned, just as wide as before. “You don’t have to call me that. Just Dick is fine. I’m just a kid. Dad said you might like books—do you like books? Or we could go outside later. There’s a treehouse in the backyard, and it’s awesome—”

“Dick,” his Alpha father interrupted gently, his deep voice a calm anchor against his son’s unchecked excitement. He placed a steadying hand on Dick’s shoulder, drawing his focus back. “Let him settle in first.”

Jason hadn’t moved. His hands were tightly clasped in his lap, his shoulders hunched as though shrinking beneath Dick’s effervescent energy.

Behind Alpha Wayne, a smaller, quieter boy lingered, his presence less boisterous but no less observant. Tim peered at Jason from behind his fatgers leg, his sharp, curious eyes darting between Jason and Catherine. The air around him carried the comforting scent of milk coffee, warm and inviting, mixed with a faint metallic tang, like a freshly pressed penny—sharp, but not harsh, more like the promise of something new and full of potential.

Slowly, he stepped out, his little button nose crinkling as he tilted his head and spoke with the bluntness only a young pup could muster.

“You smell like damp clothes.”

The child wasn’t wrong. Jason, when comforted and cradled close in Catherine’s arms, smelled like rain on a warm summersday and soft cotton—soothing her in those dark nights. But now, his scent had turned musty and sour, like a wet blanket left forgotten in a corner, heavy with the weight of unease.

“Yes, Tim,” Jason murmured quietly, his voice steady but small, just like Catherine had coached him to respond. He was doing good—braving this foreign space, this foreign family.

Tim stepped closer, his sharp nose twitching again as he took in Jason’s scent.

“You’re really quiet,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Do you talk at all?”

Jason’s fingers tightened around each other, his knuckles whitening. The air around him seemed to still, the room’s warmth pressing heavier against his small frame.

“Tim,” Alpha Way e said firmly, his voice edged with reproach. His gaze settled on the younger boy, steady and disapproving.

Tim shrugged, undeterred, though he moved forward cautiously. His eyes darted back to Jason, studying him with a curiosity untempered by tact. “I was just asking.”

Before the silence could settle too thickly, Dick dropped onto the couch beside Jason, his movements quick and full of unchecked energy. He leaned forward, his knees bouncing slightly as though sitting still was an impossible task.

“Don’t mind Tim,” Dick said with a grin, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s just nosy and kind of a dork. Of course you can talk. Timmy, you heard him talk. We’re gonna have fun, though, Jason. There’s so much to do here—you’ll see!”

Jasons shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. Catherine could feel his tension radiating off him like a pulse.

They’re too much, she thought. Too loud, too close, too eager. Jason doesn’t know what to do with them.

He thinks they’ll hurt him, Catherine thought. And maybe they will.

The innocence in their faces made it worse. She couldn’t trust their enthusiasm, no matter how well-meaning it seemed now.

Beneath their smiles, there surely was an expectation, a pressure she could feel radiating off them, even though Alpha Dick was still trying to make her pup feel at ease.

She let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself. There was no room for mistakes now. There was no time for her discomfort to show. Jason needed her.

“Thank you for being so accepting, Alpha Dick, Tim,” Catherine finally said, her voice quieter than she wanted it to be, but firm and formal, the words measured and precise.

She could feel the tension in her chest, the weight of the words as she spoke them, as if she were walking a tightrope. She dipped her head slightly, just enough to show respect, a subtle bow of deference she knew would be understood, but it also felt like a shield between them. Like a way to keep herself separate from their warmth, their openness. “We will do our utmost to not be a burden to you.”

The words left her lips and hung in the air between them, thick with the undertones she didn’t know how to hide. The meaning behind them was clear, a reminder of her place, of Jason’s place—too aware of the distance between them and the others, too conscious of what they weren’t and what they would never be.

Dick blinked, his bright expression faltering for just a moment as the confusion in his eyes deepened. It was almost imperceptible, but Catherine noticed it instantly—the flicker of uncertainty that softened the exuberance in his smile. His lips parted, as if unsure of how to respond to the gravity of her words. He shook his head.

“A burden?”he repeated, his voice dipping slightly, the brightness dimmed by uncertainty. “What do you mean? No way! It’s great to have more people here!”

Catherine forced a faint smile, though the expression felt tight and unnatural on her face. Dick’s excitement didn’t comfort her—it only made her warier. If he thinks Jason was here for entertainment, it would only make things harder.

Entertainment could mean a lot of things for young pups and recently presented Alphas , she thought, her mind racing as she watched Dick’s eager, open expression.

She couldn’t risk Jason becoming their punching bag—someone to mock, to challenge, to humiliate when the mood struck. Jason wasn’t like them; he had to endure, to accept every taunt with silent acceptance and thank the young Alpha and his kid brother for every mean word and harsh hand.

Her mind flashed back to the years she had spent with Willis, how he’d often used her as the target for his cruel jokes and frustrations. She could still hear his voice ringing in her ears, calling her useless and weak, laughing as he pushed her to her limits and beyond.

Jason hadn’t had the chance to ever experience something different. Something healthy. Catherine wasn’t dumb enough to expect it to be different in Alpha Waynes household. He might be fond of his own children, but that had nothing to do with her, a second-hand omega and her useless pup.

Jason sat silently beside her, his gaze fixed on his lap. He didn’t look at Dick, didn’t look at Tim, and certainly didn’t look at Alpha Wayne. His trembling had stopped once again, but Catherine knew better than to mistake his stillness for calm. He was waiting. Bracing himself. Just like she was.

Dick, oblivious again to the undercurrent of unease, chattered on with an energy that filled every corner of the den. “You should see the garden,” he said brightly, leaning toward Jason with his elbows on his knees. “It’s huge! There’s this big fountain with these cool stone fish, and we play hide-and-seek there all the time. Do you like hide-and-seek? Or tag? Tim’s terrible at tag, by the way.”

“I am not!” Tim shot back, perched on the armrest of a nearby chair. His sharp eyes darted between Jason and Catherine, their curiosity unfiltered and unnervingly direct. “I just don’t cheat like you do.”

“You’re just slow,” Dick quipped, his grin broad and teasing. “And little.”

“Jason’s littler,” Tim countered, his tone matter-of-fact. The words hung in the air longer than they should have, the truth of them striking Catherine in a way Tim could never understand.

It was true, Jason was smaller, thinner - a quiet testimony of what years of malnourishment could do to a childs body.

Catherine’s stomach twisted in shame. Her poor, sweet baby. She hoped—prayed—that Alpha Wayne might be persuaded to provide  Jason with food at least once every day. It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. But it was the barest of hope she could cling to.

“Jason?” Dick prompted, his grin softening as he leaned closer. “Do you have a favorite game?”

The boy glanced up briefly, his wide blue eyes darting to his mother before quickly returning to the rug.  “I… I don’t know, Alph—Dick. Just Dick. Sorry, sorry, Dick.” His words stumbled over themselves, tangling into an apology before he fell silent, shrinking even further into himself.

Alpha Wayne cleared his throat softly, stepping forward with a hand on Dick’s shoulder. His tone was light, careful, but it carried an undercurrent of caution. “Dick, there’ll be plenty of time to get to know Jason,” he said, his voice steady.

Dick blinked, his enthusiasm faltering. For a moment, he looked almost guilty, but he nodded quickly and leaned back. “Right,” he said, quieter now.

Tim, however, leaned forward, his sharp gaze narrowing as he studied Jason like he was a puzzle to solve. “Why’s he so scared, Daddy?” he asked bluntly, his head tilting with the casual cruelty of a child who hadn’t yet learned what words could do.

“Tim,” the Alpha said, a thread of steel creeping into his voice. His expression didn’t harden, but it grew more pointed, his eyes locking on his youngest with a silent warning.

Catherine felt Jason flinch beside her, his small body going rigid at the sound of Alpha Wayne’s warning tone. It wasn’t directed at him, but it didn’t matter—Jason had learned to brace for reprimands.

Her heart twisted painfully. She wanted nothing more than to gather Jason into her arms, to hold him close. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t challenge Alpha Wayne’s sons. Couldn’t do anything even if if Alpha Wayne’s sons hurt Jason, even if their careless exuberance turned physical—shoving him, hitting him—she couldn’t intervene.

She couldn’t reprimand them, couldn’t demand that they stop or that the Alpha handle his boys. This wasn’t her home, wasn’t her place.

These were the Alphas sons, and they stood so far above her and Jason in the household hierarchy, untouchable by anything she might say or do. The thought left her hollow, the weight of her helplessness pressing against her chest like a stone. She was powerless here, and Jason was vulnerable in a way that made her stomach churn.

Catherine could do nothing to protect her child and that broke her heart.

Her gaze darted to Alpha Wayne as he stood. His expression wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, measured. He was in control, the way Alphas always were. She met his eyes for the briefest flicker of a moment before her head dipped again, the ingrained submission automatic. Her fingers curled tighter against the fabric of her dress.

Jasons small hands were knotted tightly in his lap, the tension radiating from him palpable. His shoulders were hunched, his body pulled in on itself as if he could fold into the safety of his own shadow. The den buzzed with too much energy, too many unfamiliar voices and eager demands. It was overwhelming—loud in a way Jason wasn’t used to.

The Alphas voice broke through the noise, his tone softer now, laced with an unfamiliar gentleness. There was no mistaking the authority that underscored his words, but something about the way he looked at Jason—cautious, deliberate—made Catherine pause.

“Jason looks like he could use some rest,” Alpha Wayne said, his deep voice steady but far from harsh.

Still the words hit her like a shock of cold water. Catherine stiffened, her pulse quickening. Panic flared hot and bright in her chest, and before she could think better of it, the words tumbled from her lips.

“No, Alpha. Alpha, please.”

The desperation in her voice wasn’t loud, but it was there, edged with a rawness she couldn’t hide. She pressed a hand to Jason’s back, feeling the rigidity of his little frame, and her thumb began tracing slow, soothing circles. He needed her. She couldn’t leave him yet—not now, not after the day they’d had. She needed to see where Alpha Wayne planned to place him.

She needed to settle him, to hold him close and let him cry, because she knew it was coming. The stress, the noise, the fear—it would all pour out as soon as they were alone, and she had to be there to catch it.

But she couldn’t let herself seem too protective. She couldn’t risk offending the Alpha in his own home. This wasn’t her place, and she couldn’t afford to challenge him or his sons.

She swallowed hard, her voice trembling just enough to betray her anxiety. “Jason is still young, Alpha, but he is hard-working. Please, if it would please you, Alpha, he could prove himself. If you have a chore, a task—any task—he will show you how diligent he is.”

The words felt thin, empty, and they left a bitter taste in her mouth. But they were all she had, a fragile attempt to plead for her son’s place without overstepping her own. To plead to be put to work with hin, hoping against hope for a quiet corner to hide and console her child.

“He’s young,” Alpha Wayne said finally, his voice careful, deliberate. There was a note of consideration in it, something measured but not dismissive. “Still a child.”

The words hung in the air, and Catherine felt her breath hitch. A child. She wasn’t sure if he meant it kindly or if it was an assessment—an observation of Jason’s worth, or lack thereof. Her pulse quickened as she tried to read his tone, to gauge his intention.

Catherine shifted slightly, her hand pressing against Jason’s back as if to anchor him—and herself. “Alpha,” she began, her voice thin but steady, “I understand. He is young, but he is eager to learn. Very eager.” She paused, glancing down at Jason’s pale face, searching for something to say that might shield him.

“He works hard, Alpha. Please, if you have any task—anything—he would be grateful to help. To show that he can be useful to you.”

From the corner of her eye, Catherine caught a slight shift in one of the older boy. Dick, leaning against the edge of the fireplace, crossed his arms, his brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and incredulity.

The Alpha blinked, his expression faintly startled. He tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting in a faint furrow. “There’s no need for him to—” He stopped himself, his tone shifting as he tried again, slower this time. “Jason doesn’t need to prove himself. He’s just arrived.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted. Just arrived. What did that mean? That he wasn’t yet expected to contribute? Or that there was no place for him? Her mind raced, grasping for clarity, but the way Alpha Wayne spoke—so calm, so detached—left her struggling to interpret his meaning.

“I see, Alpha,” she said quickly, lowering her head slightly, though her voice wavered despite her effort to keep it steady. “I only wish to ensure that he… that he understands his place here. That he can meet whichever expectations you might have.”

Tim, seated on the arm of the nearby couch, frowned slightly, his foot tapping in an irregular rhythm against the carpet. Dick’s jaw dropped, and he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Tim.

The Alphas jaw tightened. “Omega,” he said finally, his tone quiet but firm, “Jason isn’t expected to do anything right now. Your pup is tired.”

The way he said it—tired—sent a rush of embarrassment through her. Of course Jason was tired. Anyone could see that. But the word felt pointed, as though Alpha Wayne were calling attention to something she should already know, something she’d failed to address.

Catherine swallowed hard, her fingers flexing where they rested against Jason’s back. “Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, though her heart was pounding now. She looked down at her son, at the small, trembling hands in his lap, and her voice cracked before she could stop it. “It’s only… if I may… I would like to see where he’ll stay, Alpha. Please. Just to be sure ...”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, her nerves fraying at the edges, and she braced herself for some kind of rebuke, a slap maybe for her insolence.

But the Alpha only frowned, his expression shading toward confusion rather than annoyance. “Where you will stay,” he corrected gently, his gaze steady but unyielding.

Her brow furrowed, and for a moment she couldn’t understand what he meant. “Alpha?”

“You’ll stay together for now,” he clarified, his tone softening as he gestured toward the door. “Alfred will show you both to your quarters.” He paused, and something in his voice shifted again—warmer, almost tentative. “It’s not far. You’ll have time to rest before dinner.”

The rush of relief was so sudden, so overwhelming, that Catherine almost swayed. Together. She hadn’t expected that. She’d assumed Jason would be sent elsewhere, placed in some corner of the house until his presence was needed.

She nodded quickly, lowering her gaze to the floor to hide the sheen in her eyes. “Thank you, Alpha,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alpha Wayne straightened, glancing toward the hall as if to signal Beta Alfred, who had been waiting silently by the door. “I’ll check on Damian in the meantime,” Alpha Wayne added, his tone even but lacking the finality she’d expected.

The Beta stepped forward, his quiet presence somehow filling the room, unassuming yet commanding in a way that seemed to require no effort. His posture was impeccable, his movements precise, but his eyes carried a softness that contrasted with his formality. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward the hallway. “This way, please.”

She rose to her feet carefully, feeling the pull of Jason’s small weight as he instinctively leaned into her side. Her hand slid from his back to his fingers, which were cold and stiff in her grasp. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t squeeze back either. Catherine’s thumb traced an absent circle against his knuckles.

Jason moved obediently, his steps slow and deliberate, his head ducked low so that the wild tangle of his hair obscured his face. He didn’t look up, not even when they passed Alpha Wayne, whose gaze lingered on them for a moment before turning away.

As Beta Alfred led them toward the door, Catherine’s steps faltered, just briefly. She glanced back—not enough to draw attention, just a quick flick of her eyes over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the boys again. They looked like pups. Catherine avoided their eyes.

She tightened her grip on Jason’s hand, guiding him firmly through the doorway before the weight of their stares could follow them.

Dick and Tim’s open smiles, their playful banter, it followed hee through the halls od Wayne Manir. They were just boys, after all, and they should be allowed to be carefree.

No matter how sweet their smiles seemed, she couldn’t afford to see them as anything but potential threats. Children could be cruel in ways that didn’t make sense, twisting kindness into something much darker. Catherine couldn’t let herself linger on their eagerness and kindness, she told herself as she followed Beta Alfred through the halls.

The hallway was dimly lit compared to the room they’d left, the soft glow of wall sconces casting long, faint shadows across the dark wood paneling. Beta Alfred’s steps were quiet but deliberate, his presence steady as a metronome.

Catherine kept her eyes forward, her jaw set, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease. She tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jason’s small, shuffling steps beside her, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet, the distant murmur of voices that faded as they walked deeper into the manor.

Behind her, the faint echo of Alpha Waynes voice drifted from the room they’d left, but the words were too quiet to make out.

The house was too big, too quiet, and too clean. It felt like it was swallowing them whole, and Catherine couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how warm Beta Alfred’s voice had been, they were intruding on something they didn’t quite belong to.

Jason stumbled slightly over a raised edge of carpet, and she tightened her hold on his hand, steadying him before he could fall. He didn’t make a sound, but his fingers curled slightly around hers, seeking some anchor in the vast unfamiliarity of the space.

She looked down at him, her expression softening despite her own unease. His face was pale, his lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes darted nervously between Beta Alfred’s back and the floor ahead.

“It’s all right,” she whispered to low for anyone to hear. “Just a little farther.”

Ahead of them, the Beta paused at the base of a grand staircase, turning slightly to glance back. His expression was calm, his movements precise as always, but there was something unreadable in his gaze—something Catherine couldn’t quite place.

“This way,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured toward a narrower hallway branching off from the main one, its dim light offering the promise of privacy, of somewhere they could settle.

Catherine nodded, her grip on Jason’s hand easing slightly as they followed. She didn’t look back again.

Chapter Text

The power your own child holds over you was wildly terrifying and hopelessly addicting. Like standing in the path of a flood you’d gladly drown in. Catherine had learned that the moment she held Jason for the first time.

The delivery had been brutal. Quick and violent, her body had torn, leaving her in need of stitches. She’d walked alone through the darkened streets to Dr. Thompson’s clinic, three blocks from her apartment, the icy morning air searing her lungs with every step. Her water had broken suddenly—three weeks early—and with it had come the sharp, unrelenting pain that gripped her abdomen and left her trembling. She had no time to wait. Willis, her alpha, had been out all night drinking, unreachable.

She’d known the risks, the dangers of being an unprotected omega out in the open, especially in her state. The possibility of crossing paths with an Alpha was a shadow over every step. A lone omega, clearly in labor, was an easy target. Alphas could smell her vulnerability, and without Willis at her side, there would be no protection.

By the time she stumbled into the waiting room of the clinic, that treated omegas without a signature or the presence of their Alpha, she was drenched, her clothes sticking to her from the waist down, still leaking fluid.

A dull ache spread through her back as she sank into one of the hard plastic chairs, the faint scent of disinfectant mingling with the sterile hum of fluorescent lights. There had been other omegas there, watching her with quiet pity, and she’d bit down on her lip to keep from crying.

There was no soft encouragement, no hand to hold, no Alpha to guide her through the pain. Just the midwife’s firm, practiced voice and pain.

But then Jason was born, and everything changed.

The midwife handed him to her, a tiny bundle slick with blood and vernix, his face red and scrunched in displeasure at the world. She pressed him against her chest, marveling at the impossible weight of him, the heat of his little body against hers.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His nose was small and delicate, his tiny fists clenched with a determination far too big for his size, and his eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, blinked groggily up at her. It was as though he had always known her, had always been hers. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she leaned over him, her heart swelling to a size she hadn’t known was possible.

"Hello, my sweet pup," she whispered, her voice breaking as she stroked his cheek. Her fingers came away slick with vernix, but she didn’t care. The world had narrowed down to just this moment, to him.

And then she inhaled, and his scent struck her like sunlight after a storm. It was intoxicating, more powerful than she could have imagined, filling every corner of her senses. He smelled of new rain, clean and fresh as the earth's first sigh after a downpour. It was vibrant and alive, sharp with the coolness of petrichor but softened by a sweetness that lingered just beneath—a faint, haylike warmth that spoke of cotton plants in bloom. The smell was pure and perfect, untainted by the world, so strong and vivid that it took her breath away.

Her body responded instantly, every instinct within her alight with a fierce, protective need. She kissed the top of his damp head, her lips lingering against the downy softness of his hair as she inhaled again and again, imprinting every nuance of his scent into her memory. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced, binding her to him in a way that felt as eternal as the stars themselves.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that Willis wasn’t there. It didn’t matter that the clinic staff had eyed her with weary suspicion, or that she’d been reminded yet again how powerless omegas like her were in a world built to serve their alphas.

All that mattered was Jason. He was hers, and she loved him with a fierceness that bordered on desperation.

He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she would tear the world apart to keep him safe.

Jason was warm and soft against her chest, his little fingers still clutching her dress as he slept deeply, his breath turning slower and more steady.

The quiet of the room was almost too much to bear, but it was also a kind of solace she hadn’t known she needed. She felt Jason’s heartbeat against her own, a slow, rhythmic pulse that kept her grounded. He was the only thing that mattered now. She clung to the peace of this rare moment, where nothing else existed but her and her son.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Catherine allowed herself to relax. Her shoulders dropped, tension she hadn’t realized was there melting away as her eyes fluttered shut.

Time passed in a haze of half-sleep. Her mind drifted between conscious thoughts and restless dreams, her body too exhausted to stay alert but too anxious to fall into a deep rest. She didn’t hear the knock at the door.

But when the door opened, it creaked softly—just enough to disturb the fragile silence that had settled in the room. Catherine’s eyes snapped open, her heart jumping into her throat before she had a chance to make sense of the sound.

The figure that stood in the doorway was unmistakable—tall, imposing, and yet… hesitant. Alpha Wayne.

Catherine froze, her body rigid in a flash of panic. Her first instinct was to move, to hide Jason, to cover him with something. She felt her pulse hammering in her throat, the blood rushing to her ears as she instinctively tried to make herself small, to shield her son from the intrusion.

Jason stirred in her arms, a slight movement, but he didn’t wake. His soft, contented breathing continued, and Catherine held him tighter, the panic rising inside her chest like a tidal wave she couldn’t stop.

Alpha Wayne didn’t move at first, just stood there in the doorway, the air thick with the scent of rich wood and warm brown sugar, as if the room itself was absorbing his presence. It was overwhelming, a silent weight that seemed to stretch through every corner, every inch of space.

His presence, his smell, was overwhelming, filling the room with a quiet pressure. It was as if he was waiting for something, maybe for her to speak or make a move. But Catherine couldn’t do either. She was frozen, her heart thumping in her ears as she tried to calm herself. She knew—knew—that she couldn’t let him see Jason like this. In her lap. So vulnerable.

She wasn’t supposed to coddle him, not in front of anyone, least of all someone like Alpha Wayne.

Behind closed doors, Jason was her entire world—her reason for enduring everything she had to. But in the world outside, she couldn’t risk showing it so openly.

But here he was, curled up on her lap, his face still blotchy from earlier tears, his little fingers tangled in her dress. She’d tried to put him down after he fell asleep, she really had. But every time she’d started to move, the way his hand clung to her had stopped her. He needed this, needed her. And she… couldn’t deny him. Not after everything he’d been through.

But she knew how it looked—Jason, so small and vulnerable, cradled in her arms like he was a baby.

“Alpha Wayne,” she said, her voice a little too quick, a little too breathless as she tried to mask her unease. She shifted slightly, as if she might still manage to put Jason down without drawing too much attention to it. But Jason stirred, his hand tightening in her dress, and Catherine’s heart clenched.

“Good evening, Catherine. I hope you rested well.” His tone was low, even, almost soft, and the unexpected gentleness of it made her heart clench.

“Yes, Alpha,” she replied, her voice rushed and too eager, betraying her nerves. She swallowed hard, knowing she couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him. “Please, Alpha, pardon me coddling him. It is not a regular thing. He is usually not like this. Jason understands his place in your household, Alpha.”

Her words came too fast, a flood of excuses that made her feel small and exposed. She hated how desperate she sounded but couldn’t stop herself. She had to make it clear that Jason wouldn’t be a burden, that she wouldn’t allow him to be.

“It’s fine,” the Alpha said, his voice calm, steady. “Please don’t stress about it.”

Catherine blinked, startled by the answer. He didn’t sound angry, didn’t look annoyed. Instead, he stood there with a quiet weight in his posture, his broad shoulders just slightly slumped. His face, sharp and imposing in the sharp angles of the hallway light, softened at the edges. There was a gentleness in the way he held himself, the way his hands rested loosely at his sides instead of clenched, his voice lacking the sharpness she’d grown used to from Alpha Willis.

“It’s a new place for him here,” he continued, his gaze lingering on Jason’s sleeping face. “And an exciting day, I suppose.”

“Yes, Alpha. Sure, Alpha,” Catherine answered quickly, nodding so fast it made her feel lightheaded. She needed to get this right, needed to show her gratitude. “Thank you for choosing me as your Omega. I’m beyond grateful, Alpha Wayne. We both are.”

She was babbling now, her hands clutching Jason just a little tighter as she tried to force her heart to slow down.

Alpha Wayne stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. He stopped a few feet from the bed, far enough that she didn’t feel cornered but close enough that the air between them seemed heavier. Catherine’s breath caught, and her mind raced. This was it, wasn’t it? He would claim her now. Bite her, mark her. Jason was asleep—he wouldn’t notice. It would be fine.

But tge Alpha didn’t move closer. He stood there, his gaze fixed on Jason’s slack face, and Catherine couldn’t read him. She didn’t understand what he was thinking.

“I’m sure he needs the rest,” he said finally, his voice low. “But he also needs to eat. Dinner is served, and I was coming to get you.”

Catherine froze, her mind scrambling to catch up. Dinner. He wanted them to eat. Something settled in her chest, a flicker of relief that she tried to stamp out before it could grow. It didn’t mean anything. It was too soon to hope for anything.

Still, the thought of food stirred something deep in her stomach, something raw and hollow. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the facility. Jason hadn’t either, except for the two cookies and the sips of tea. But they were used to getting by on less.

If Alpha Wayne hadn’t come for them, she wouldn’t have dared to ask for anything until tomorrow. Not breakfast—they’d need to prove themselves first, show that they weren’t useless, that they could pull their weight. After that, she might have begged him for something small for Jason, maybe a little for herself.

But now… dinner. Could it really be true? That they would get to eat tonight?

The thought twisted into a new worry. What if they were only supposed to serve the family during dinner? That would make sense. They were new here, unproven. But that was fine too. She and Jason could wait, could stand at the edges of the dining room and make themselves invisible. If they did well, maybe there would be leftovers. Enough to quiet the gnawing ache in Jason’s belly before bed.

“Thank you, Alpha,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted slightly, trying to steel herself for whatever came next.

Jason mumbled in his sleep, but didn’t stir at Catherine movements or the voices in the room. She subtly let her fingers brush his hair, her thumb tracing his cheek, the soft skin that she adored more than anything.

He was so small, his body still curled protectively against her. It felt wrong to wake him when he looked so peaceful, but Alpha Wayne was watching, waiting, and she had no choice.

“Jason,” she whispered softly, leaning close. Her lips almost grazed his ear as she called his name again, gentle but firm. “Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”

Catherine rubbed at her aching eyes, the weight of the day settling deep into her bones. It had been relentless—caring for her sweet pup, preparing meals, cleaning the messes Willis left behind. She had been on her feet all day, every moment spent ensuring Willis was comfortable and satisfied, that nothing was amiss.

Time had slipped by in a blur, the hours bleeding into one another until the exhaustion made her eyelids feel like lead. She hadn’t even undressed yet, still sitting perched on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging slightly beneath her, her knees pressed together and her hands resting limply in her lap.

The fabric of her dress clung to her, stained with the remnants of the day’s work—a smudge of flour from the bread she’d baked that morning, a damp patch from where her pup’s tiny fingers had tugged at her hem after spilling milk. It was a catalog of her efforts.

The hum of the bathroom fan buzzed faintly in the background, punctuated by the occasional grunt or cough from Willis. She knew better than to expect him to hurry. Willis had a routine. He would sit on the toilet for as long as he pleased, sometimes scrolling on his phone, other times simply enjoying the solitude he claimed as his right. He never seemed to care that Catherine’s own needs were left waiting, dangling precariously on the edge of her exhaustion. She didn’t mind—or at least she told herself she didn’t.

Willis had a routine. He liked her naked at night, her body available and ready, so she never lingered in the bathroom for long—just brushing her teeth, quickly undressing, and if she was lucky, she might have enough time to braid her hair before she climbed into bed next to him.

If she climbed into bed dressed, even in something as modest as a nightgown, he would see it as an affront—a failure to meet his expectations. So she waited, her legs aching, her back stiff from the long hours on her feet. She had learned long ago that her comfort came second, a distant afterthought to his desires.

The air from the bathroom drifted into the bedroom, thick and sour, a pungent reminder of his presence. She swallowed the instinctive grimace that rose to her lips. Even the small act of wrinkling her nose felt like a rebellion she couldn’t afford. Instead, she sat still, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her, the edges of her vision blurring as her exhaustion weighed heavier with each passing second.

Her head dipped forward, the heaviness in her eyes impossible to fight. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but the quiet weight of her exhaustion had overtaken her. She barely noticed the moment her mind drifted, until a sharp bark of her name snapped her awake.

“Catherine!”

Her heart lurched into her throat, panic flooding through her as she jolted upright. Her body felt stiff and disoriented, the sleepiness lingering in her limbs. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the figure standing in the bathroom doorway. Willis loomed there, his shirt untucked, the ends hanging loosely as if they could barely contain the fury building beneath them. His belt dangled from his hand like a threat, his face flushed with anger.

“Yes, Alpha!” she gasped, her voice thick with panic.

“You fell asleep?” His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and incredulous. “I’m in there, after busting my ass the whole day, and you think you get to just doze off? Like your work’s done for the night?”

Catherine’s mouth went dry. Her hands trembled as she scrambled to her feet, unsure of what to do, her body already tense from the anticipated punishment. “I’m sorry, Alpha,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to?” His voice raised an octave, full of disdain. He stepped toward her, his boots thudding heavily against the floor as he moved. He smelled like wet woolsocks, left lying around for to long. “The least you could’ve done is wait with the damn lighter. Or is it too much for you to care if I have a smoke after I shit?”

His words hung in the air, sharp and biting. Catherine’s eyes dropped to the floor, her heart sinking lower as she felt the weight of her failure settle over her. She had failed to be attentive—again.

She had forgotten the lighter on the nightstand. But she knew better than to say so. “I’ll get it for you, Alpha,” she murmured quickly, reaching for it.

“Don’t bother,” he snapped, snatching it off the table himself. He lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke in her direction. She didn’t know if the pundent smell of tobacco was Willis own scent or the cigarette.

“Pathetic,” he spit.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” she repeated softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He sat heavily on the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. “What else did you forget, huh? Did you get the other blanket out? Or am I going to be freezing my ass off again tonight because you’re too lazy to care?”

Catherine moved quickly, her feet barely touching the floor as she darted into the hallway. Willis’s words rang in her ears like the echo of a storm, loud and inescapable. She hadn’t forgotten, but explaining that to him would only make things worse. Her hands trembled as she approached Jason’s little nest in the corner of the hallway. Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of it, at how small and vulnerable her pup looked, curled up beneath the meager covering she’d managed to provide. There was so little left for him now, and even less for herself. But Willis’s needs came first; they always did.

Jason stirred as she carefully unbundled one of the two blankets he had, his tiny fist clutching at the fabric instinctively. Her throat tightened as she worked to free it without waking him, whispering soft, soothing nonsense under her breath. “Shh, my love, just a moment,” she murmured, tucking the remaining blanket snugly around his small frame.

Satisfied he wouldn’t be cold, she turned and padded back to the bedroom, clutching the blanket to her chest. Willis sat slouched on the edge of the bed, his massive form dominating the space. He looked at her with impatience, his expression darkened by a day’s worth of petty irritations he would inevitably take out on her.

“You’re so slow,” he muttered as she draped the blanket over his side of the bed, smoothing it carefully so it lay just how he liked it. “Always dragging your feet like I’m not sitting here waiting. What would you even do without me to tell you what needs fixing?”

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” Catherine said softly, bowing her head as she stepped closer to him. She knew better than to defend herself, better than to say she hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t slacked off. The truth didn’t matter to Willis—not when he’d already decided she was at fault.

“Come on,” he grunted, leaning back slightly and lifting one booted foot toward her. “How long do I have to wait around here to get out of these damn boots?”

Catherine dropped to her knees without hesitation, her body moving automatically into the position that had become second nature. She pressed her fingers to the thick laces of his boots, tugging them loose with careful precision. The weight of his gaze bore down on her, heavy and oppressive, and she kept her eyes fixed on her hands, never daring to meet his.

The first boot came free with a sharp pull, its sole caked with dirt and grime that scattered onto the floor as she set it aside. She would have to sweep tomorrow, maybe twice, just to clean the trail he’d left through the apartment. But for now, her focus remained on his feet, on peeling away the layers of filth that clung to him.

His socks came next, damp and rank with the sour stench of sweat. Catherine’s stomach churned as she worked them free, the moist fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin. She didn’t let her revulsion show, didn’t wrinkle her nose or hesitate, because Willis would notice. He always noticed.

“You should wash my boots tomorrow,” he said, his tone casual but laced with expectation. “They’re a mess. Can’t have me walking around in trash, can we?”

“No, Alpha,” Catherine murmured, setting the damp socks aside and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I’ll take care of it first thing.”

“Good.” He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and flexing his toes. “You’re lucky I’m not making you clean them right now. Maybe I should, just to teach you not to forget things like the damn blanket.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to nod, to keep her voice steady and submissive. “Thank you, Alpha. I’ll do better.”

Willis’s lips curled into a smirk as he reached down to pat her head, his large hand heavy against her hair. The gesture was more demeaning than affectionate, a silent reminder of her place beneath him. “Yeah, you will,” he said. “You’re not bad at this stuff, Catherine. Just need a little more training, that’s all.”

She swallowed hard, her head bowing lower under the weight of his words. “Yes, Alpha,” she whispered.

Catherine’s heart sank as Willis’s smirk widened. His thick fingers lingered for a moment on her scalp, pressing just hard enough to remind her of his dominance, before withdrawing. She knew that look, the calculated glint in his eye that told her he wasn’t finished. He leaned back into the mattress with a groan, shifting his weight so his feet stretched out in front of him.

“Since you’re already down there,” he drawled lazily, gesturing to his bare feet, “might as well make yourself useful. Rub ’em. They’re killing me after today.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine murmured, her voice soft but obedient, as she shifted onto her knees once more. The floorboards dug into her legs, a dull ache she didn’t dare acknowledge, as she reached for his feet. The damp, clammy skin made her hesitate for the briefest moment, but she forced herself to push past her revulsion. Her hands worked methodically, kneading his calloused soles with practiced precision. She focused on the motions, pressing and rubbing as he liked, knowing too well the consequences of getting it wrong.

Willis sighed in satisfaction, exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke that curled into the air above him before descending in a noxious cloud around her face. The acrid smell burned her nostrils, stinging her eyes, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she kept her head bowed, her fingers diligently working over the rough planes of his feet.

“You’ve got some strong hands for an omega,” Willis commented with a snort, his voice tinged with mockery. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re scrubbing floors all day. Not exactly delicate, are you?”

Catherine’s chest tightened.

“No, Alpha,” she agreed, her hands continuing their dutiful rhythm.

Willis chuckled, taking another drag from his cigarette. The cherry flared brightly in the dim room, casting flickering shadows across his face. “You’re lucky, you know. Some alphas wouldn’t bother putting up with a lazy omega like you. They’d send you packing, let you rot in one of those shelters until you learned some gratitude.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine whispered, her fingers pressing into the arch of his foot. She hoped the steady motion would satisfy him, that her submission would quell his irritation.

He leaned forward slightly, blowing another plume of smoke directly into her face. She felt the heat of it against her skin, the sharp sting in her eyes, but she didn’t dare cough or pull away. Instead, she let the smoke envelop her, her breath shallow and controlled.

Willis chuckled softly, shaking his head as he studied her. “You know,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “you’re a funny one, Kitty-Cat. Always sitting there so meek, like a little doll, like you don’t got a damn opinion of your own.” He paused to take another drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light. “Guess that’s why I keep you around, huh? You don’t give me trouble like some of those other bitches out there. Don’t yap my ear off or demand stuff.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted at his words, but she only murmured, “Thank you, Alpha.”

“Damn right,” Willis muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips. “At least you’ve learned something.” He gestured with the cigarette, a lazy flick of his wrist. “But you still don’t smell as good as you used to, y’know. That pup’s really doing a number on you.”

Her hands clenched briefly before she forced herself to relax them, smoothing the fabric of her dress to hide the involuntary reaction. “I’ll try harder, Alpha,” she said quietly.

“You better.” He blew another plume of smoke toward her, leaning forward slightly. “You know how lucky you are, right?

Catherine lowered her head further, her voice trembling as she replied, “I do, Alpha. I’m grateful to be yours.”

“At least you’re still as cute as ever, Kitty-Cat,” Willis said, his voice thick with satisfaction. His scent became dryer, like a woolen sweater ironed for to long, as she continued to rub his feet, her hands moving with practiced care.

“Thank you, Alpha,” she murmured.

Willis chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her stomach twist. “Still remember that first night,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. “You lying there, wide-eyed and clueless. Didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle a real man like me. But I taught you, didn’t I?”

“You did, Alpha.”

Catherine’s eyes lowered instinctively, catching sight of the bulge beneath his jeans. A wave of nausea and dread rolled through her, as his scent thickened, but she kept her head down.

Willis finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray perched precariously on the edge of the nightstand. She had placed it there earlier, as he’d instructed, knowing he would expect it ready and waiting. The glass rattled faintly as he ground the butt into it, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room.

Willis stretched, yawning loudly as he leaned back against the pillows. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Go get yourself cleaned up or whatever it is you bitches do. And don’t take all night. I still got needs, don’t I?”

His hand dropped to his lap, boldly palming himself as his grin turned lecherous.

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine replied, rising to her feet with deliberate care. Her knees protested as she stood, the lingering ache a reminder of how long she’d knelt before him. She moved toward the bathroom without hesitation, her steps quiet and measured.

The bathroom door clicked softly behind her, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to exhale. The air in the tiny space was stale and damp, but it was a reprieve from the oppressive presence of the bedroom. She turned the tap, letting the cool water rush over her hands, scrubbing away the grime and sweat that clung to her skin. Her reflection stared back at her from the cracked mirror, pale and drawn, her eyes dull with exhaustion.

She didn’t linger. Willis hated waiting, and she couldn’t afford to test his patience. Drying her hands quickly, she began unbuttoning her dress, the fabric stiff and stained from the day’s labor. She would need to wash it tomorrow, along with everything else, but for now, she folded it neatly and set it aside.

Dressed in nothing she gave herself a quick wash down with the rag that Willis had used before her. As soon as she was finished, she braided her hair with deft fingers, ensuring it was neat and out of the way as Willis preferred.

The routine was automatic, a sequence of motions she performed without thought, her body moving on autopilot as her mind drifted to thoughts of Jason. She hoped he was warm enough, that the single blanket left for him would be enough to ward off the chill of the night.

When she returned to the bedroom, Willis was sprawled across the bed, his heavy frame taking up more than his share of the space. He was naked, his thick dick half-hard on his hairy stomach. He looked at her with a lazy smirk, his eyes raking over her as she approached.

“Finally,” he muttered, patting the mattress beside him. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” Catherine said, feeling the  breeze of the apartment on her peaky breast. She feels her nipple harden, reacting to the cold.

Willis, aparently liking what he saw, grabbed his dick, rubbing his hand up and down his thick shaft. “Come on Kitty-Cat. Show me what you have learnt.”

Chapter Text

Jason stirred with a groggy murmur, his small hand clutching at her dress before his eyes fluttered open. His face shifted from soft confusion to stark fear as his gaze landed on mamas new Alpha, looming just behind Catherine. Jason sat up quickly, his body stiffening, but Catherine smoothed a hand over his back to calm him.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly, though Jason’s breathing had already quickened, soothingly. But Jason was past listening.

Jason’s pulse roared in his ears as he shifted off his mother’s lap, leaving the safe nest of lavender and freshly mowed grass, Mamas smell. His small frame was trembling as he crawled to the floor. He kept his head bowed, his chin nearly touching his chest. His hands, tiny and unsteady, planted themselves on the ground to support him as he knelt in front of Alpha Wayne, too scared to look up.

He knew this was wrong. Knew better than to have let it happen. They’d drilled it into him at the facility—an Alpha might tolerate a bond between an Omega parent and their shared child, but Jason wasn’t Alpha Wayne’s pup. He was just a burden in this new house, a reminder of his mother’s past.

His voice, small and shaking, stumbled out before he could stop it. “I’m sorry, Alpha Wayne,” Jason whispered, his throat tight. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t—Mama didn’t mean to—” His words faltered, breaking as he sucked in a trembling breath. “Please don’t be mad at Mama.“

He waited, bracing himself for the inevitable. His own Alpha father had been quick with talking with his fists and even quicker with angry words. And Alpha Wayne was larger than life. Jason’s small shoulders hunched under its weight.

But instead the Alpha crouched down to Jason’s level. The sudden movement made Jason flinch, his arms snapping up briefly, as if to shield his head before dropping back down.

“It‘s all fine, Jason,” the Alpha said, his voice steady and quiet. There was something in Alpha Waynes scent that reminded Jason of the cookies he’d been allowed to eat earlier.

Jason’s chest tightened further, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t understand. Alphas didn’t speak like this. They didn’t kneel like this. They didn’t smell like this. His Alpha father had always smelled like damp wool and tobacco, even when he wasn’t smoking.

“You‘re fine. You‘ve had a long day,” the Alpha said, his tone impossibly calm.

Jason risked a glance upward, his wide eyes darting to Alpha Waynes face before quickly dropping again. It was a trick. It had to be. No Alpha stayed calm when rules were broken. No Alpha spoke this softly when they were displeased.

Jason hunched further, trying to make himself smaller. His knees hurt against the hard floor, but he didn’t dare shift. Alphas didn’t like it when you moved too much, when you didn’t stay where they wanted you to be.

Jason’s eyes darted toward his mother, desperate for guidance. Catherine hovered a few steps away, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if she didn’t know what to do. Her face was carefully composed, but Jason knew Mama well—he saw the tightness in her jaw, the faint tremor in her fingers. She looked at him with a quiet urgency, her lips pressing together as though she wanted to say something but didn’t dare.

Jason swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He wanted to run to her, to hide behind her skirt the way he used back home. His Alpha father mocked them for it. Calling them both week useless bitches but he didn‘t stop them from cuddling together in their makeshift next in the corner of the hallway when he didn‘t have any use for them.

Jason remembers that he also always had to stay in the little nest alone when his Alpha father needed Mama to relieve some stress. Only during Alpha fathers ruts Mama moved the nest into the build in closet, out if sight but not so far away that she couldn‘t still hear him.

Jasons gaze moved to the bed and then across the room. There was no nest, no built in closet were it could be hidden from sight. Alphas didn‘t like Omegas pathetic nests. Jason wondered where he was supposed to hide during Alpha Waynes ruts.

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to look back at Alpha Wayne.

He hadn’t moved. His hand hovered in the air now, a quiet offering, palm up and open. Jason’s gaze lingered on it, confusion prickling at the edges of his fear.

“Come on,” the Alpha said, still soft but firmer now. “We’ll go downstairs and get some food.”

Jason swallowed hard. His tummy growled at the word food, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He didn’t understand what the Alpha wanted from him. He glanced at Mama again, his little chest heaving.

She gave him the tiniest nod, her mouth all pinched like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Jason’s breath hitched. He had to do it.

He reached out, his hand small and shaky as it brushed against the Alpha’s palm. His fingers felt like they didn’t work right, stiff and scared. The Alpha’s hand closed around his, not tight like he expected. Just warm and big and… waiting.

Jason’s legs wobbled when the Alpha stood, and he almost tripped. His hand tightened in the Alpha’s, trying not to fall. He couldn’t fall. That would be bad.

“You’re alright,” Alpha Wayne said again, but Jason didn’t know if he was. He kept his head down, his free hand gripping his shirt so hard it bunched up under his fingers.

Mama followed behind them, her steps soft and careful, her scent calming him. Jason wanted to look back at her, wanted to make sure she was okay, but he didn’t. Alphas didn’t like it when you didn’t pay attention to them.

He didn’t know where they were going, what was going to happen. His tummy growled again, loud enough that he was scared the Alpha might hear it. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to be good. He had to be quiet. That was the only way to make sure nothing went wrong. Everyone had told him so at the facility.

Jason didn’t look up as the Alpha guided him into the dining room, his eyes fixed on the shiny tips of Alpha Waynes polished shoes. The room smelled warm and rich, and Jason’s nose twitched at the scents, his stomach tightening.

When Jason finally dared to look up he saw table stretched on and on, covered with plates and bowls of food that gleamed under the golden light. Jason’s steps faltered, his legs wobbling as he took it all in—roasted chicken, piles of mashed potatoes, bright green broccoli, bowls of roasted carrots, a basket of shiny bread rolls, and a dish of something cheesy and bubbling that made his mouth water even though he didn’t know what it was called. It looked like a feast out of the storys Mama used to read to him when she had time.

He spotted Alpha Dick right away, sitting close to Beta Alfred with an easy grin that made Jason feel small and clumsy in comparison. He remembered how the young Alpha had talked to him, full of energy and questions, his voice too bright and loud.

Then there was Tim, smaller than his Alpha brother and younger but taller than Jason, his sharp eyes peering at Jason like he was trying to figure him out. Jason thought there was not much to figure out about himself and he quickly look away.

The Alpha gently let go of his hand and motioned for him to sit. Mama lingered behind Jason, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. Jason glanced back at her, his chest tight, hoping she’d give him some kind of sign about what to do. But she just gave him a small nod, her face pale, so Jason climbed awkwardly into the chair Alpha Wayne had pulled out for him.

The chair was too big. His feet dangled far above the floor, and he gripped the edge of the table with both hands to steady himself. On Alpha Waynes sign, Mama sat beside him, her movements stiff and careful.

“Everything looks wonderful, Alfred,” Alpha Wayne said said, his voice calm and steady as he glanced at the older man across from him at the head of the table. Huh, nobody sat at the head. Jason remembered that Alpha Grandfather had always sat at the head whenever they were over to have sunday lunch at their house. Back home, there was no head of the table. It way retangular.

“Thank you, Master Bruce,” Beta Alfred replied smoothly, his voice warm but formal. “I trust it will be to everyone’s liking.” He glanced at Jason and Mama briefly, offering the faintest smile, but Jason quickly looked away, too nervous to meet his eyes.

Jason sat still as a statue as Alpha Wayne, and Alpha Dick began serving themselves.

Jason watched out of the corner of his eye, his mouth watering as Alpha Dick piled the cheesy noodles dish onto his plate, followed by a roll, some carrots and a big piece of chicken.

Beta Alfred leaned over, steady and deliberate, guiding Tim’s small hands as the boy struggled to spoon mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Careful, Master Tim,” the old Beta said, his voice warm but firm. Once the potatoes were settled, he asked gently, “Chicken and bread as well?”

Tim gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the table. With practiced ease, Beta Alfred placed a warm roll and a perfectly cut piece of chicken beside the potatoes. Tim’s frown deepened when the old man reached for the broccoli.

Beta Alfred arched one brow. Without a word, he spooned a modest portion of the green florets onto Tim’s plate. Tim didn’t protest, though he glared at the offending vegetables as if they were a personal insult.

He poked at them with his fork, his scowl deepening as Beta Alfred straightened .

“Broccoli builds strong bones, Master Tim,” Beta Alfred said lightly, with a knowing glance across the table.

Jason sat frozen, his hands in his lap, his plate empty, while Beta Alfred began serving himself. Mama’s plate was empty too, and she didn’t look at him, her eyes focused on her hands held in her lap like she was trying to make herself invisible.

It made sense. Of course they didn’t get to eat yet. The Alphas were supposed to eat first and their cherished pups and whoever Beta Alfred was to Alpha Wayne, and then maybe—if they were quiet and good—there would be something left for them.

Jason pressed his lips together, trying to keep the hunger in his belly from turning into tears. He could wait. The facility had told him from now on it would be like that. He wouldn’t be a cherished pup anymore that got to eat at the same time as his Alpha Father and Alpha Grandfather.

Jason hadn’t thought so back than but Alpha Grandfather had actually shown mercie when he let the Omegas eat at the same time and the same table.

The smell of roast beef and gravy filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of potatoes and corn. Jason sat at the wooden table, his feet dangling above the floor. The table itself felt enormous, like the pulpit his Alpha Grandfather preached from every Sunday, and tonight, his voice filled the room just the same.

“Let us pray,” the Alpha declared, raising his hands toward the ceiling. The words were a command, one no one dared hesitate to obey.

Jason watched as Mama and Grandmother stood from their chairs, the sound of their movements soft and careful. Grandmother moved like a ghost, her steps measured, her shoulders stooped under the weight of invisible years. Her gray hair was twisted into a perfect bun, not a strand out of place.

She sank to her knees at Grandfather’s feet with the precision of someone who had done it so many times that the act itself seemed inevitable, like breathing. Her forehead touched the floor just in front of his polished shoes, and she did not move again.

Mama followed, her steps quicker, more uncertain. Jason’s heart tightened as he watched her. Her hair shone in the dim light, and her movements seemed rushed compared to Grandmother’s, but she was graceful in her own way—warmer somehow. Jason always thought Mama looked like a real person, someone with life in her eyes, someone strong. She wasn’t like Grandmother.

Mama knelt beside her own mother, her forehead lowering to the floor, and Jason wanted to squirm in his chair. He didn’t like seeing Mama like this. It didn’t feel right.

He glanced at his Alpha Father, seated across the table. Willis, thats what Jason called him in his head, since Willis last beat up Mama until she couldn’t walk for a whol morning, had his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him like he was trying to look solemn, but Jason could see the way his elbow rested lazily against the table’s edge, his shoulders slouched just a little too far. He always talked big about being a strong, God-fearing Alpha, but there was something messy about him, even when he tried to act perfect. Jason didn’t think Alpha Grandfather liked that much.

Jason dropped his gaze to his lap, his hands fidgeting against his empty plate as his Alpha Grandfather raised his arms higher. The room felt too quiet except for the preachers voice, which seemed to echo off the walls, filling every corner.

“Lord Almighty,” Alpha Grandfather began, his voice booming with practiced authority, “we come before You with reverence and gratitude, for You, in Your infinite wisdom, have given us the gift of order. You have made Alphas to lead, to rule, and to carry the burden of strength. You have imbued us with Your will, made us the image of Your authority, so we may guide this world with unyielding hands.”

Jason glanced at Mama again, peeking through his lashes. She hadn’t moved at all, her forehead still pressed to the floor. He couldn’t see her face, but he wished she’d look up. Just for a second.

“And we thank You, Lord,” Grandfather continued, his voice growing heavier, “for the Omegas You have placed in our care. Let them remain humble, obedient, and grateful for their roles as servants to Your divine hierarchy. May they remember that their purpose is not to question, but to submit, to reflect the grace of Your design through their silence and servitude.”

Jason’s chest ached. He didn’t know why Alpha Grandfather had to talk like that, why he had to make Mama and Grandmother kneel on the hard floor with their foreheads pressed down next to his shoes. It didn’t seem fair.

“Let these Omegas,” Alpha Grandfather said, and his eyes flicked downward to the two kneeling figures, “find strength not in rebellion, but in their submission. Let them understand that their silence is their salvation, their obedience their offering to You, Lord. For only in their service to Alphas can they fulfill the purpose You have given them.”

Jason pressed his hands into his thighs, trying to ignore the weird twisting feeling in his stomach. He wanted the prayer to be over already. His feet dangled above the floor, swinging slightly before he realized it and stopped, afraid his Alpha Grandfather might notice.

“Bless this meal,” Alpha Grandfather finally said, his voice softening just enough to signal the end. “And bless the hands that prepared it under the guidance of Alphas. Let it strengthen us to continue Your work. Amen.”

“Amen,” Willis echoed, his voice a little louder than necessary, like he was trying to impress someone. Jason mumbled the word after him, his voice small and quick, blending in with the sound of chairs shifting.

Alpha Grandfather lowered his hands and looked down at the two Omegas at his feet. Jason thought Mama’s shoulders looked tense, but Grandmother didn’t move, not even a little.

“Rise,” the Alpha said, his voice firm.

Mama pushed herself up first, her hands brushing the floor as she stood. She moved quickly, but Jason noticed the slight tremble in her hands before she clasped them in front of her and returned to her chair.

Grandmother rose more slowly, her back curved just a little, like she couldn’t straighten all the way anymore. Her movements were deliberate, every step calculated, like after all these years of servitude she was still afraid of making a mistake.

Jason’s eyes followed Mama as she sat down, her gaze fixed on her empty plate. She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers still trembling slightly, and Jason’s chest hurt all over again. She didn’t look at him, and he wished she would.

Alpha Grandfather’s knife scraped methodically against the roast, the sound sharp and precise as he carved each slice. The meat gleamed under the dining room’s dim light, perfectly cooked, the aroma mingling with that of buttered potatoes and warm gravy.

Jason sat in silence, his feet dangling above the polished wooden floor, his hands resting on either side of his empty plate. He tried not to fidget; he knew the rules by now.

Sunday dinner at Alpha Grandfather’s house happened every couple of weeks, and though the portions here were always bigger than at home, he hated how Mama was treated.

“Serve,” the Alpha ordered when he finished carving, gesturing to Grandmother with a flick of his hand.

Grandmother moved without hesitation, her back slightly bent, her every motion quiet and deliberate. She carried the platter first to her Alpha, placing the largest, thickest slice of beef onto his plate. She added a neat mound of potatoes beside it, followed by a ladle of gravy, then corn and beans. Everything on his plate looked perfect, each portion precise and plentiful.

Alpha Grandfather nodded, his approval wordless but weighty. “As it should be,” he muttered before his eyes flicked toward Jason. “That boy will need portions like this one day—if he turns out right.” His tone lingered, heavy with something Jason didn’t fully understand but felt prickling beneath his skin.

Grandmother moved to Willis next, her movements still meticulous, though Jason couldn’t help noticing the small splash of gravy Willis let dribble onto the tablecloth as he adjusted his knife. Willis puffed up slightly, nodding as the food was placed before him, but he didn’t say thank you. He just grunted softly, shoving his knife into the potatoes almost as soon as they hit his plate.

Jason’s turn came next, and Grandmother set down his food with the same care. A smaller slice of beef, not much smaller, but enough to make the difference between him and the adults clear. He got a scoop of potatoes, a bit of gravy, some corn, and a handful of beans.

It wasn’t as much as Alpha Grandfather or Willis, but it was more than Jason was used to at home. The sight of it made his stomach twist in two directions at once—hunger and something else he didn’t have a word for yet.

Finally, Grandmother served herself and Mama. Their plates were the same: two small potatoes, a handful of green beans, and a spoonful of corn. No meat. No gravy. Jason glanced at the plates, then at Grandmother’s pale face and hunched shoulders as she returned to her seat. She didn’t look at anyone, her hands folding neatly in her lap as though she were already preparing for whatever came next.

Mama looked the same as she always did here at her childhood home—quiet, still, her eyes focused on nothing. Her plate looked as bare as Grandmother’s, but to Jason, she wasn’t like Grandmother. Mama was strong. She was warmth and love and everything safe, even if no one else here seemed to see it.

Alpha Grandfather cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tense quiet. “Give your thanks.”

Grandmother rose slightly in her chair, her voice soft and steady as she spoke the words Jason had heard her say every Sunday dinner of his life:

“Thank you, Alpha, for providing and leading. Gluttony has no place in a submissive heart, nor does ingratitude. Unworthy of your wisdom and strengh, I am humbled by your care and guidance, as is right and proper.“

She finished, sitting back down with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes still fixed downward.

Mama spoke next, her voice softer but just as rehearsed, repeating the same words in the same measured tone:

“Thank you, Alpha, for providing and leading. Gluttony has no place in a submissive heart, nor does ingratitude. Unworthy of your wisdom and strengh, I am humbled by your care and guidance, as is right and proper.“

Jason looked down at his plate, his appetite souring despite the generous portion of food in front of him. He loved Sunday dinners for the food—the beef here was always tender, the potatoes buttery and rich—but every bite felt heavier when he thought about Mama. When he thought about the way his Alpha Grandfather’s words made her bow her head and keep her hands folded so tightly.

“Eat,” Alpha Grandfather commanded, his voice cutting through Jason’s thoughts.

Jason obeyed, picking up his fork and taking a small bite of the beef. It was as good as he expected, the gravy rich and salty, but it didn’t feel right. His eyes flicked back to Mama, her hands still trembling slightly as she picked up her forks. Mamas and Grandmothers plates were looking just as lonely as the space they seemed to occupy in this house.

Jason chewed slowly, the warm, savory beef and the gravy covered potatoes were filling his empty stomach. Across from him, Alpha Grandfather ate in silence, his knife and fork slicing through the food with a precise efficiency that made Jason nervous. The room felt heavy, each clink of utensils on plates echoing too loudly against the quiet.

“Willis,” Alpha Grandfather said suddenly, his tone sharp and commanding. “Your son is too thin.”

Jason froze, his fork hovering mid-air as Alpha Grandfather’s piercing gaze landed on him. He didn’t dare look up, but he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

“Yes, Pastor,” Willis replied quickly, sitting up straighter. Jason risked a glance and saw Willis puff out his chest slightly, his face tightening into a look of forced authority. “I’ve told Catherine to prioritize him, but you know how omegas can be. Always thinking of themselves first.” His voice carried a thin veneer of confidence, but Jason could hear the edge of uncertainty beneath it.

Jason’s stomach twisted painfully, his appetite vanishing entirely. He flicked his eyes toward Mama. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at Willis’s words. Her hands stilled, her head bowed. But Jason could see the tremor in her fingers growing stronger again, the only betrayal of her feelings.

Alpha Grandfather snorted. “That much is clear. Look at her—frail, useless. And still eating enough to take away from the boy. If the resources are limited, Willis, make sure she remembers her place. That child is your future. His health comes first.”

Mama’s fingers clenched, just slightly, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Of course, Pastor” Willis said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jason’s throat tightened. Willis knew Mama gave him her food. At home, her portions were always smaller that Willis portions too, and she never complained when Jason asked for more food after finishing whatever scraps Willis left for them. Sometimes, Mama didn’t even eat at all, pretending she wasn’t hungry while her hands trembled from the effort of staying upright. She would smile and tell him, “Eat up, pup. You need it more than I do.”

But hearing Alpha Grandfather order it—like it was her duty, like she didn’t already do it—made Jason feel sick.

Alpha Grandfather turned his attention back to his plate, his voice casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “Omega, I expect you to do better. If the boy continues to look this scrawny, I’ll assume it’s because you’ve been selfish. If the resources at home are insufficient, I expect you to compensate accordingly. You’ll go without before he does, is that clear?”

“Yes, Alpha Father,” Mama said again, her voice steady, though Jason could see her shoulders stiffen slightly. Her fork scraped softly against her plate as she picked at the sparse vegetables, forcing herself to eat even though Jason knew she probably didn’t want to.

Willis leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make sure she remembers, Pastor,” he said, his tone smug. Jason hated it. Hated how Willis’s eyes flicked toward Mama, filled with a cruelness that only seemed to grow under AlphaGrandfather’s approval.

Jason stabbed at his potatoes, his appetite completely gone. He wanted to speak up, to tell them that Mama wasn’t selfish, that she already gave him everything she had. But he stayed silent, his heart pounding with the fear of what would happen if he did. Alpha Grandfather’s rules were absolute, and breaking them—no matter how small the offense—always came with consequences.

Grandmother shifted slightly, her movements so subtle Jason almost didn’t notice. Her hands folded neatly in her lap again, her face impassive, her every action practiced and perfect. Jason wondered if she had ever been like Mama once—strong and warm, with a voice that hadn’t been silenced by years of commands and expectations.

“Eat up, Jason,” Alpha Grandfather said again, his voice cutting through the oppressive quiet. “Omega, servce your pup another piece of meat. The Lord has given us enough for him to grow strong.”

Jason forced himself to take another bite of the meat Mama put on his plate, the food heavy and tasteless in his mouth. He wanted to finish quickly, to get away from the table, away from Grandfather’s critical eyes and Willis smug grin. He wanted to give his piece of meat to Mama who was always hungry and so so thin. But most of all, he wanted to be away from the way Mama sat so still, her shoulders drawn tight, her plate as empty as the words she was forced to say.

Alpha Dick glanced over, his mouth full of bread. “Are you guys not hungry?” he asked, the words muffled.

Jason ducked his head, heat crawling up his neck. Alpha Dick didn’t sound mean, but the question made Jason feel like he’d done something wrong.

“Dick,” Alpha Wayne said quietly, giving him a pointed look.

“Dad,” Alpha Dick deadpanned but when his father gave him a look, he relented.

“What?” The young Alpha shrugged, swallowing his mouthful. “Just asking.”

“Jason,” Alpha Wayne said, his voice soft but firm. Jason flinched, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. He didn’t look up.

The Alpha was reaching for the serving spoon in the macaroni dish. “What would you like? This?” He held the spoon up slightly, the cheese stringing from it, gleaming in the soft light.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach flipping, staring at the spoon like it was a trick. He glanced at Mama, but she didn’t say anything, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress so tight her knuckles were white. Jason hoped Mama wouldn’t become like Grandmother now that they where living under Alpha Waynes rule.

The air in the room felt too thick, pressing against Jason’s chest, and the clatter of a fork being set down somewhere at the far end of the table felt deafening in the quiet.

Then, a sudden, sharp cry broke through—high-pitched and plaintive, coming from a room nearby. Damian. The baby.

Jason flinched at the sound, instinctively shrinking into himself. It wasn’t a scream of pain, but the unmistakable wail of an infant. He’d heard cries like that before, back in the facility—babies who didn’t have anyone to comfort them fast enough, their Omega parent occupied despite their desire to sooth their young. Jason wondered where Damians Omega parent was. Where his Mama was.

Jason wanted someone to go to Damian. To pick him up and hold him close, rock him until he stopped crying.

Jason’s hands fidgeted with the fabric of his pants, small fingers tugging at the seams, trying to quiet the restless pull inside him. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to be the one to go, too. To help, even though he didn’t know how. Maybe Damian just needed someone to be there with him. Jason could do that—he could sit with him, hum something soft. He was big enough to try. But he didn‘t know how to ask for it.

Beta Alfred, seated at the far end of the table, folded his napkin neatly and rose to his feet. His movements were calm, deliberate, like the sound hadn’t rattled him to much. He smoothed the front of his waistcoat with one hand and inclined his head toward Alpha Wayne as he spoke.

“Master Damian appears to be voicing his displeasure with something, yet again,” the Beta said, his tone even but faintly amused. “I’ll see to him so you may remain here with the Omega and her dependant, Master Bruce.”

Aloha Wayne gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable as Alfred exited the room, the soft click of the door swinging shut behind him. Jason tracked the sound, his muscles taut.

Alpha Waynes voice cut through the distant crying. “What else do you want to eat?”

Jason blinked, his gaze snapping back to the large Alpha. The question caught him off guard, the gentleness of it leaving him unsure how to respond. His heart pounded, and he could feel tears burning the edges of his eyes.

He glanced at Mama again, hoping she’d tell him what to do, but she just shook her head, a tiny movement, barely noticeable.

Her face was pale, her lips pressed together. She knew. She knew this wasn’t right.

Children like him weren’t supposed to sit at the family table. The facility had made that clear, over and over again, until the words had sunk into his bones like ice cold water.

He was to be invisible—seen but never heard, present but never acknowledged. Children like him, sired by another Alpha, weren’t real family. They were shadows, meant to stay out of sight, to eat whatever scraps were tossed their way after everyone else was done.

And Alphas? Alphas didn’t talk to children like him. They didn’t look at them, didn’t acknowledge them, unless it was to issue a command or a reprimand.

But now, here he was, seated at the table, his feet dangling, staring down at a plate filled with warm food. Not scraps. Not cold, half-eaten bits tossed his way as an afterthought. Real food.

“It’s alright, I’ll help,” Alpha Wayne said, misunderstanding the hesitation. He reached for the chicken next, placing a small piece on Jason’s plate. “See? This is for you. All of it is for everyone to share.”

Alpha Wayne had spoken to him the same way he spoke to the other children. There hadn’t been a trace of annoyance, no sharpness or disdain. Just that calm, almost gentle tone, as if Jason was someone worth speaking to. Worth feeding.

And Jason was hungry. So hungry. The chicken smelled rich and savory, the macaroni warm and comforting. He wanted to eat. He wanted to taste it, to fill the emptiness inside.

His stomach growled again, louder this time, and he could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Suddenly he wished Damian had cried a moment longer to disguise Jasons rumbling stomach.

Jason couldn’t stop shaking, but his hand, despite the hesitation, moved forward. His fingers curled around the fork, its metal smooth but cold. He wondered how Mma had done that for ages. Jason hoped he wouldn’t turn out an Omega. He didn’t want to feel like this his whole life.

Alpha Wayne nodded once, a gesture of quiet approval, and turned his attention to Mama. “Catherine,” he said gently, his tone soft but expectant. “What would you like? Please, help yourself.”

Mama’s hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. Her head dipped low, and her voice came out quiet, hesitant. “If I … if I may so bold to ask … What... what am I allowed to have, Alpha?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and aching. Jason’s stomach twisted at the sound of it.

Alpha Waynes brow furrowed slightly, but his voice remained steady. “You’re allowed to have anything you’d like, Catherine. Take from everything. It’s for everyone.”

Mama still didn’t move, her lips pressed tightly together. Jason saw her hand twitch toward the bread basket before she pulled it back to her lap, as if she didn’t dare reach too soon. “Should I... Should I say my thanks, Alpha? Is that—should I do that first?”

Alpha Wayne blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “You may if you want to, Catherine,” he said carefully, watching her as if trying to piece together something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Mama swallowed hard and folded her hands neatly in front of her. Her voice was soft, trembling, but practiced and precise as she recited, “Thank you, Alpha, for providing and leading. Gluttony has no place in a submissive heart, nor does ingratitude. Unworthy of your wisdom and strengh, I am humbled by your care and guidance, as is right and proper.“

Alpha took a deep breath, his jaw tightening, but he nodded once, acknowledging her effort. “Thank you, Catherine,” he said, his tone neutral but deliberate. Jason wondered if Alpha Wayne wanted to hear something else. Jason thought he should be fair and tell Mama instead of letting her mess it up on purpose.

Willid hadn‘t cared about Mama saying the words as long as Alpha Grandfather wasn‘t there and Mama proved how thankful she was being feet afterwards in the bedroom. Jason knew Willis and Mama had sex then but he had never understood if that was better or worse than the degrading things Mama had to do and say before a meal at Alpha Grandfathers house.

But finally, Mama reached for a roll, her movements slow and careful and Jason let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She was taking food. It had been enough. Mama could eat too.

It was a strange relief that Jason didn’t fully understand, but in that moment, with the food before him and Mama finally serving herself, the world didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

He let out a breath, the tension in his chest easing just a little. They were both here, at this table, allowed to share the meal. And Alpa Wayne hadn’t ordered any punishment yet for Mama saying the wronh words. Maybe he‘d teach her before he punished her. It was the best, really.

Jasons fingers grabbed tight around the fork as he took the smallest bite of macaroni. It was creamy, warm, and tasted like nothing he could remember. It was even better than the food his Grandmother prepared for sunday dinner.

It wasn’t like the food he’d eaten the last three weeks at the facility. Luke warm mushy grub that tasted like nothing but had aparantly all the vitamins they needed. Back at home with Willis they never had much money and Willis always ate first until he was full. Mama and him always got what was left over.

This food was warm, and it tasted really really good. The macaroni was his favorite and his taste buds brightened with every bite.

But Alpha Wayne wasn’t done yet. He picked up the serving spoon again, this time moving toward the broccoli and carrots. “Here you go,” he said, placing a small portion on Jason’s plate. “A little bit of broccoli and carrots. They’re good for you.”

Jason glanced at the vegetables. The broccoli was a vibrant green and looked like tiny trees, the carrots were a bright orange. They were so colorful, something about them was almost fun .

“You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to,” Alpha Wayne said, his tone gentle but coaxing. “But they’re healthy, and Alfred always tries to make them taste better for you kids.”

Jason looked at the broccoli again, his fork hovering. He wasn’t sure why Alpha Wayne seemed so weird about it. Jason didn’t need to be convinced to eat them. They looked really cool and smelled all nice, too. And even if they weren‘t, Jason would still eat them, duh.

But before he could try the broccolie or the carrots, Alpha Dick spoke up, his voice teasing.  “Special treatment, huh?”

The words froze Jason mid-motion, his fork clinking softly as it hit the plate.

“Dick,” Alpha Wayne said, a warning sharp in his tone.

But the younger Alpha didn’t back down, leaning against the table with an easy grin. “Me and Tim always have to try the veggies. No matter what! No skipping, no ‘you don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ You and Alfred are all about veggies being good for ‘growing boys,’ remember?”

Jason’s chest tightened, the macaroni suddenly feeling heavy in his stomach. He dared a glance toward Mama. She wasn’t looking at him, but he could see her jaw clench, her hands trembling slightly before she forced them still in her lap.

Mama straightened her back, her tone carefully measured as she addressed Alpha Wayne.

“Jason will eat whatever he’s kindly given.“ It was the tone Jason had learned to recognize—the one she used when she wanted to sound stern but was only trying to protect him. Her hand moved to Jason’s shoulder, her grip might look to tight but for him it was all reassurance. “He’s grateful for it. Aren’t you, Jason?”

Jason nodded quickly, his eyes dropping to his plate. “Yes, Mama.”

Catherine glanced at Alpha Wayne, then at his Alpha son, her eyes darting nervously between them.

“He knows his place in your household,” she continued, her voice soft. “We both do. Jason will be good. Obedient.”

Jason’s face burned, the words heavy and cutting even though he knew they weren’t meant for him. They were meant to keep him safe. He knew that. Mama wasn’t really mad at him. She was just trying to make sure Alpha Wayne wouldn’t be.

“You’ll eat everything on your plate, and you’ll be grateful for it. Alpha Wayne has been generous. Right, Jason?” Mama turned to him again. Her eyes pleading him to be good. To do what was expected.

“Yes, Mama,” Jason said again, his fingers tightening around his fork. He didn’t dare look up. ”Thank you, Alpha Wayne.“

Alpha Grandfather remained seated at the head of the table as the meal wound down. His sharp gaze settled on Jason, the only softness in his features reserved for the boy alone.

“Jason,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding, “you’re getting older now, starting to understand how the world works. Let me ask you something.”

Jason straightened in his chair, his stomach tightening. “Yes, Alpha Grandfather?”

Alpha Grandfather smiled faintly. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was the kind of smile that demanded obedience while dangling the faint promise of approval. “What do you think the proper place of an Omega is in a pack?”

Jason hesitated, his mind racing. He didn’t know what answer Alpha Grandfather wanted, but he knew one thing for sure: the truth wasn’t it. The Alphas gaze didn’t waver, and Jason felt every second stretch unbearably.

“To, uh…” Jason swallowed hard, his voice quieter. “To support and serve their Alpha?”

“Good,” Alpha Grandfather said, nodding approvingly. “And how do they support and serve him, boy?”

Jason glanced at his mother, who kept her head down, her hands folded in her lap. He thought of her warm hugs, the way she always made him feel safe, the quiet strength in her voice when she read him stories at night. That was what an Omega was to him. But he couldn’t say that.

“They… they listen and follow orders,” Jason said reluctantly. “And they… don’t complain.”

Alpha Grandfather chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. “Exactly. Obedience and humility. An Omega thrives when they know their place. A strong Alpha brings order, and a good Omega submits to it.”

Willis grunted in agreement, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of authority.

“And if they don’t obey?” Alpha Grandfather asked, his tone sharpening. “What does an Alpha do then?”

“An Alpha… corrects them,” Jason said reluctantly, the words heavy on his tongue.

“Corrects them,” Alpha Grandfather echoed, nodding approvingly. “Exactly. Discipline is an Alpha’s duty. Without it, an Omega becomes unruly, selfish, even dangerous.” His gaze shifted to Mama, and though she didn’t look up, Jason saw the way her hands trembled ever so slightly.

Willis chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. “Tell me about it. This one’s slow to learn.” He gestured lazily toward Mama, who sat perfectly still, as if bracing herself. “She’s stubborn. Thinks she can get away with talking back or not doing her chores fast enough.”

Jason’s stomach twisted, a flash of heat rising in his chest. He clenched his fists under the table. Mama was busy cleaning up after Willis the whole day and nobody saw how good she took care about everything.

Alpha Grandfather nodded thoughtfully. “A firm hand is necessary. Sometimes it takes time to break bad habits. But an Alpha mustn’t let up, or they’ll lose control of their pack.”

“Oh, I don’t let up,” Willis said, his tone smug. “She knows better than to try anything twice. Don’t you, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha. Thank you for correcting me,” Mama said, her expression blank. Jason wanted to say something, to tell them to stop talking about her like that. But he couldn’t.

Alpha Grandfather’s gaze shifted back to Jason, his tone almost gentle. “You’re lucky, boy, that you’re learning this now. Discipline keeps a pack strong. You’ll see when you’re older—it’s not cruelty; it’s necessity. The belt will teach her, and one day, you’ll thank me for teaching you this.”

Jason swallowed hard and forced himself to nod, though his stomach churned. “Yes, Alpha Grandfather.”

“Good lad,” Alpha Grandfather said, his large hand coming down heavily on Jason’s head in what was meant to be an affectionate pat. The gesture felt more like a weight pressing him further into his chair.

His Alpha Grandfather leaned back, his chair creaking slightly as he gestured toward Mama and Grandmother. “Make yourself useful. Clean up, and be quick about it. I think a walk is in order after this plentiful lunch and I don’t want to waste the daylight. The boy needs fresh air.”

Mama and Grandmother stood immediately, their movements coordinated and silent, as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times—which, Jason realized, they probably had.

Grandmother started stacking plates, her hands steady despite the tremble in her thin arms, while Mama moved to gather the silverware and glasses. She kept her head down, her blond hair falling like a curtain to shield her face, but Jason could see the tension in her shoulders.

Jason wanted to help, to do something—anything—but he stayed frozen in his seat, his hands clenched into fists under the table.

He knew exactly what Alpha Grandfather’s walks meant, and they were never just walks. They were reminders of where everyone stood in the pack.

Mama and Grandmother would be ordered to walk behind, heads down, their footsteps silent. They weren’t allowed to speak, weren’t allowed to stray too close or to far.

He couldn’t forget the last time. Before dinner, Alpha Grandfather had demanded a foot massage from Mama. She had knelt obediently at his feet, her hands trembling as she worked. But one touch had been too firm, too careless for the Alphas liking.

“Ungrateful hands,” he’d snapped. “Perhaps a little humility will fix that.” His smirk had been cold as he ordered her to walk barefoot. “That’ll teach her.”

Jason’s chest had burned with helpless anger as Mama followed behind during the walk, her feet bare on the gravel path. Every step must have hurt, the jagged stones biting into her skin, but she never made a sound.

Each stumble earned her a cold glance from Alpha Grandfather, and Willis, walking proudly at his father-in-law’s side, would smirk or mutter, “She’s lucky to even be here.”

By the end of the walk, Jason had seen the blood trailing faintly in the dirt behind Mama’s steps. Her feet were raw, torn, and smeared with red and dirt.

Alpha Grandfather didn’t acknowledge it. He never did.

But when they returned to the house, Mama wasn’t allowed inside—not until she cleaned herself up. “I won’t have blood and grime tracked in,” Alpha Grandfather had said with a wave of his hand. “Sort yourself out.”

Jason had stood by the window, watching Mama outside by the garden hose. She bent over, her face pale, scrubbing her feet under the icy stream of water. He saw the way her shoulders stiffened with every wince, her fingers trembling as she worked. The blood turned to thin red streams that ran across the gravel and disappeared into the soil.

After she finished, she wrapped her feet in strips of fabric from an old rag Grandmother had handed her, hastily tying the makeshift bandages in place.

She hadn’t even looked up when she came back inside, her head low, her expression unreadable. Jason wanted to run to her, to tell her it was wrong, that she deserved better. But he was held back by his Alpha Grandfather stern glanze.

Jason hated sunday dinners. He hated taking walks. He hated how Alpha Grandfather turned something so simple into another way to humiliate them, how Grandmother Mama would have to bow low as he prayed, thank him for an almost empty plate and follow behind like they weren‘t even part of the family.

And most of all, Jason hated how helpless he felt.

Alphs Wayned voice cut through Jason thoughts like a knife, low and firm.

“Catherine,” he said, and Jason flinched at the sound of it. But when he glanced up, the Alpha wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Mama, his expression stern but not unkind. “Jason is doing just fine. He’s a good kid.”

Catherine bowed her head slightly at his words, her grip on Jason’s shoulder easing just a little, though her posture remained stiff. “Thank you, Alpha Wayne,” she said, her voice trembling just enough for Jason to catch it. “That is… very kind of you to say. I will ensure Jason continues to abide by your rules. He knows how to be quiet and will prove himself dutiful to your household.“

Jason’s chest tightened further at her words, though he stayed silent, his gaze locked on the bright colors of the food in front of him.

Alpha Waynes voice came again, calm but firm, with that same quiet authority that made Jason sit a little straighter without thinking about it. “Please don’t worry, Catherine. He‘s proving himself to be a… compliant child.”

Jason blinked, startled by the word. It didn’t feel more like a reprimant than a compliment. But when Jason glanced up carefully, just for a second, the Alphas face didn’t look like he was upset or disappointed. His expression was softer than Jason had expected, and then—barely noticeable—Alpha Wayne smiled at him.

Catherine didn’t see it. Her gaze was fixed on her lap now, her fingers twisting nervously. “Of course, Alpha Wayne. We are very grateful for your generousity and your kind words.“

The huge Alpha leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly, but his gaze lingered on Jason for a moment longer before shifting back to Catherine. “Dick meant no harm, he wanted to be funny.“

But before Catherine could say anything, Alpa Wayne turned to Dick, his voice sharpening. “But you know better than to tease like that, chum.”

Alpha Dick winced, his grin faltering. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, glancing at Jason. “Sorry, kid.”

Jason looked up wide eyed, unsure what to do. No Alpha had ever apologized to him before—not even when they’d hurt him, not even when they’d made him feel small. Jason risked a glance at the young Alpha.

The older boy’s face had softened, his earlier grin replaced with a look of genuine regret. Jason felt his fingers curl tighter around the fork in his hand, the metal cold against his palm.

Mama’s foot nudged his under the table, a soft but insistent pressure, urging him to say something, to acknowledge the apology. He felt it, the subtle push of her foot against his, but the words wouldn’t come. His fingers clenched his fork so tightly it left faint marks on his palm, but he couldn’t seem to let go.

Jason opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat was tight, like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. The big dining room with its vaulted ceilings and gleaming chandelier felt like it was closing in

Mama let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible over the soft clink of plates and silverware.

„Thank you, Alpha Dick,” she said, her voice tight, forced. Her gaze flickered to Jason, then back to the floor, her eyes darting nervously. Mamas head tilted down, baring her neck slightly, a reflex she couldn’t stop even if she’d wanted to. “Jason knows what’s expected of him. He knows he’s to abide to your wishes.“

She paused, her hands twisting the hem of her dress, her knuckles white with tension. When she spoke again, her words came slower, each one carefully measured. “He understands he’s not like you. He will work hard to be a reliable companion. If you’ll have him.”

Alpha Dick’s chair squeaked as he leaned back slightly, the sound making Jason flinch. The young Alpha looked uncertain, his earlier apology hanging awkwardly in the air. Tim, meanwhile, was focused on his plate, his fork swirling a piece of carrot around like it was something interesting to dissect.

Mamas voice grew softer, almost a whisper, as if saying the next part too loudly might shatter something fragile. “He’s young, but he’ll learn. If he ever steps out of line, I will make sure he knows better.”

Jason’s stomach sank. Mama wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t. Jason repeated it in his head like a mantra. She loved him—more than anything. He could feel it in the way she held him at night, her arms pulling him close, her voice soft as she promised everything would be okay.

But now her voice sounded different, thinner,  like Grandmothers had, like it was stretched too far to hold. But she was scared. Scared in a way that made her say things she didn’t truly mean just to keep them safe.

Her words, while meant to reassure, felt more like a plea. Pleading to accept him in their household, not as a brother, certainly not, but as a trusted servant, maybe.

Jason didn’t dare look at Alpha Wayne. Instead, his eyes fixed on the smooth grain of the table, tracing the patterns with his gaze.

The facility had explained this. Mama had explained this.

Alphas didn’t keep kids like him for nothing.

He could still remember the cold voice of the facility worker, detached and clinical, laying out his future as though it were a chart with clear paths and predictable outcomes.

Jason had only nodded at the time, his stomach twisting.

The lesson stuck, though. He would have to earn his place here, show them that he could be useful. An obidient Omega, a reliable Beta or an sturdy Alpha, forever indebted to an Alpha that didn‘t throw them away the second he was legally allowed to, might be an asset worth room and board of a teenage kid.

If he could do that, if he could make himself benefitical, maybe he’d get to stay even after he presented, no matter what he turned out to be.

He knew how to endure. If letting the older boy tease him or ignoring the stinging barbs from the younger kid was the price, Jason would pay it. If staying quiet when Alpha Dick was mean or pretending Tim wasn’t staring at him like he was something foreign and strange was what it took, Jason would manage.

He’d let them laugh. He’d let them push him.

Let them beat him, if it was fun for them. That was the smallest price to pay for his safety and for staying together beyond childhood. Jason knew that, too. The facility and Mama had explained it.

Jason didn’t dare look up. He could feel the weight of Alpha Waynes presence, could sense the way his fingers tapped once against the table before stilling. The sound was soft, but it cut through the silence like the snap of a branch. Jason’s chest tightened.

The Alpha shook his head almost imperceptibly, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Jason braced himself, expecting Alpha Waynes voice to rise, sharp and reprimanding. But he didn’t yell. He didn’t even sound angry.

Instead, he leaned forward slightly, lowering himself so he was closer to Jason’s level. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and gentle.

“It’s okay, Jason,” Alpha Wayne said. “You’re not in trouble. Just try the vegetables, if you want to. That’s all I’m asking.”

Jason hesitated for a moment before taking a small bite of broccoli. The buttery taste melted on his tongue, and the bright green was crisp and fresh, nothing like the mushy stuff from the cans, that they had at home somethimes.

“It’s good,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Alpha Waynes expression eased, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he said. „I‘m glad.“

Chapter Text

The walk back to their room felt endless. Jason stayed close to Mama, his small hand brushing against the fabric of her dress skirt. He could feel her trembling, though she tried to hide it. Her head was bowed, her eyes fixed on the polished floor, and her movements were so meek and small that she seemed to shrink with every step.

Jason’s own heart thudded heavily in his chest. Every sound seemed magnified: the soft rustle of their clothes, the faint creak of Alpha Waynes shoes behind them. He didn’t dare look back, not at the Alphas unreadable expression nor the shadow he cast as he followed them down the hall.

When they reached the door to their assigned room, Alpha Wayne stepped forward to open they door for them. The simple gesture that made Jason’s stomach twist. It was a reminder that this wasn’t their home. The room wasn’t theirs. Nothing here was.

The Alphas large hand lingered on the knob, almost as if he was holding the door open for them. He turned slightly, his gaze shifting to Mama and Jason as if expecting them to walk in without another word.

But Mama hesitated. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides, clutching the hem of her dress so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Jason glanced up at her, alarmed, silently begging her to stay quiet. But she didn’t.

“Alpha,” she began, her voice trembling. It was so soft it was almost inaudible, and Jason thought for a moment that maybe the Alpha wouldn’t hear her. But he only paused, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes?” he said, his tone even, calm.

Mamas throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. Her shoulders hunched even further, and her words came out in a rush, as though she were afraid she’d lose the courage to speak. “I—I wanted to ask. If it’s not too much trouble, if it wouldn’t be inappropriate, or—” She faltered, her voice catching. “If there’s any possibility we might… retrieve something from our personal belongings? Just one thing, please,  Alpha, if you will.“

The Alpha said nothing, his face still unreadable as he turned fully to face her. Jason’s stomach sank, dread pooling in his chest. He tugged lightly at her skirt, trying to silently warn her, to make her stop. Stop talking, Mama. Don’t push him. Don’t make him mad.

But Mama pressed on, her voice becoming more frantic, her words spilling out faster. “Of course, my obedience is not dependent on your goodwill to provide it,, Alpha” she stammered, bowing her head even lower, “and I will abide by any rule or expectation, no matter what. It’s just—it’s a—a toy, a little lion, Alpja. It’s battered and old and worthless, I know, but …“

Jason’s stomach dropped. His face burned with humiliation, and his chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out of the room. She was begging for his toy. The lion he had cried about every single day in the facility, clutching at empty air every night as he fell asleep. He had slept, curling around it, since he was a baby.

Jason couldn’t look at Alpha Wayne. He couldn’t look at anyone. He stared at the floor, his fists clenching tighter. Mama shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have said anything. Jason was a big boy now and he didn‘t need his plushy. Not if it got them beaten.

Alpha Wayne stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable, as if processing her request. Then, slowly, his brows lifted, his lips parting slightly. “A lion,” he repeated, almost like he was clarifying.

Jason’s breath caught. Mama dropped her head lower, her hands trembling violently. “Yes, Alpha,” she said quickly, her voice tightening with desperation.

“I know it’s foolish to ask. And of course, if it’s not permitted, we won’t question it. We won’t, Alpha. I—I only thought, if it wouldn’t trouble you, it might … help. Please, Alpha, I—I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the sharp reprimand that would surely come next. Alpha Wayne didn’t sound angry before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Maybe he was holding it back, waiting for the right moment to lash out.

But when the Alpha finally spoke, his tone was calm. “That’s all you’re asking for?” he asked, almost like he was clarifying.

Mamas head bobbed in a frantic nod. “Yes, Alpha. That’s all. It’s—just the toy. A lion,“ she clarified, “Nothing else, Alpha. I swear it.”

For a moment, Alpha Wayne didn’t respond. Jason risked a glance up, his breath hitching in his throat.

Alpha Waynes face was calm, his mouth set in a faint, thoughtful line. Then, finally, he said, “I’ll have Alfred bring it up shortly.”

Jason blinked, his stomach lurching in surprise. Mama seemed equally stunned, her lips parting slightly as she stared at him.

“You will?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The Alpha nodded once. “Yes. Get some rest,” he said, his voice steady. “It will be here tonight.”

The words hung in the air, impossibly gentle, yet heavy with finality. Jason hadn’t dared to hope for a yes, and even now, the answer felt fragile, as though it could be revoked at any moment.

Mamas reaction came swiftly. She dropped to her knees before Bruce, her head bowing low, forehead nearly touching the floor. Jason’s breath hitched in alarm, his stomach knotting at the sight.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Then louder, with more desperation, “Thank you, Alpha, thank you. Your generosity is far greater than we deserve.“

Her words tumbled out, broken and uneven, as if the weight of her gratitude was too immense to hold back. “It is… more than I could have hoped for. You have shown us mercy I—”

Jason couldn’t look away. Mamas hands pressed flat against the polished floor, her knuckles whitening under the strain, and the tremor in her shoulders was visible even in the low light. It reminded him of how Mama had knelt when grandfather said a prayer.

But Alpha Wayne raised his hand, not sharply, but with enough firmness to still her rambling. “Catherine,” he said, his voice calm yet decisive. “That’s enough. Stand up.”

She froze, her shoulders stiffening bracing for rebuke. Slowly, she obeyed, rising to her feet with deliberate care. Mamas movements were careful, almost mechanical, as though she was afraid of doing something wrong. Her head remained bowed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Jason’s heart pounded.

Mama always protected him. Always. But now, looking at her trembling hands, at the way she couldn’t bring herself to meet the Alphas eyes, Jason felt a surge of something he couldn’t quite name. Fear, yes, but also determination. He was a big boy. That’s what Mama always told him since Willis died. He needed to step up now—just this once. For her.

He took a small, shaky step forward, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His voice wavered, but he forced the words out. “Thank you, Alpha Wayne.”

The sound of his own voice startled him. It felt too small in the vast hallway, too fragile. But the Alphaa head turned toward him, and for a moment, Jason thought he’d done something wrong.

But there was no anger in his face. Instead, something in his posture shifted—a subtle softening of his shoulders, the faintest quirk of his lips as though he wanted to smile but held back.

“You’re welcome,” he said simply, his voice even. “Goodnight, Catherine. Jason.”

Alpha Waynes tone was kind, but he didn’t linger, didn’t wait for more thanks. Instead, he turned and walked back down the hall, his long strides purposeful but unhurried.

The sound of his footsteps faded gradually, leaving the hallway quiet once more.

Jason stayed where he was, his chest still heaving slightly. He turned to look at Mama, who hadn’t moved from where she stood, her shoulders slumping now as though the tension had drained out of her all at once. Her hands, still clasped in front of her, trembled faintly.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Jason looked up at his mother, his heart still racing, and saw the way her shoulders sagged with relief.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands covering her face. Jason approached her slowly, unsure of what to say.

Jason wasn’t sure if she was crying. The muffled sound of her uneven breaths made his chest ache.

He approached her cautiously, his small feet scuffing against the floor. “Mama?” he said quietly, the word tentative, testing.

She didn’t respond right away, but when her hands finally fell away from her face, Jason saw the raw relief in her eyes. Her lips trembled as she reached out, pulling him close with shaky hands.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice thick. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jason didn’t know what to say, so he let her pull him into her lap, her arms wrapping tightly around him. He felt the slight tremor in her hold, the way her fingers gently combed through his hair, her scent glands brushing against his scalp, leaving the faint trace of lavender in his strands.

“I thought—” Her voice broke, and she paused, swallowing hard. “I thought he might… but he didn’t. He didn’t.”

His small body was pressed into her, his head resting against her chest, and her arms held him tightly as she whispered soothing words. She was still trembling, but Jason could feel her love wrapping around him, stronger than any fear or sadness she carried.

Her hands moved gently to his neck and shoulders, her fingertips brushing over his skin before she pulled him in closer. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her scent glands lightly brushing against his skin. The soft lavender scent lingered as she allowed the natural pheromones to settle around him.

Her scent mixed with his—lavender and fresh grass with the soft trace of rainwater and cotton. She stayed there for a long moment, just holding him close, her scent wrapping around his shoulders like a protective cocoon, her love imprinted in the very air they shared. Jason’s heart slowed as he let the sensation wash over him, the soothing, calming effect of his mother’s presence

“It’s okay, Mama,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. His eyes darted to the door, the faintest flicker of hope sparking somewhere deep inside him.

Maybe Alpha Wayne really was going to bring his plushy back.

***

Catherine barely had time to process the shift in her scent before her father’s heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.

The sound sent a jolt of fear through her, freezing her where she sat on the floor. Her  CD player rested in her lap, its faint hum of Christian pop music a fragile thread tying her to normalcy. A thread that snapped the moment the door slammed open, the sharp crack of wood against the wall reverberating through the room.

“Omega,” her father barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He stood framed in the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor. His nostrils flared, his rigid posture radiating authority and something darker—disdain.

The shift in her scent had already reached him, thick and inescapable, a betraying sweetness that clung to the room like an unwelcome guest.

Catherine’s chest tightened as her father’s dark eyes swept over her, narrowing with certainty. The weight of his gaze made her feel small, exposed.

She clutched the CD player tighter, the plastic edges digging into her trembling fingers. “Father?” she whispered, the word catching in her throat. It carried no power, only fear.

“You’ve presented,” he said, the words clipped and cold. He took a step into the room, his shoulders squared, his presence expanding to fill every inch of the space.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I … I … no,” she stammered, shaking her head as if she could deny the shift in her body, the change in the air.

“Don’t play dumb with me, girl,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “It’s in the air.” He sniffed again, as if to confirm it, his lips curling in something close to disgust. “Omega.”

The word struck her like a slap, leaving her breathless. She had heard him speak of presentation before—how it was sacred, how it revealed the divine purpose God had given each child.

She had imagined something different. Joy, perhaps, or pride. But there was no joy in his expression, only something cold and cruel. Because for all the sermons about divine purpose, there was no reverence in being an omega. There was only servitude.

Catherine hadn’t expected to be an omega.

Omegas were weak, fragile creatures, designed by the Lord for servitude and devotion. That wasn’t her. She had a mind of her own, sharp and curious, and a spirit full of life. She loved solving puzzles, singing hymns, and running across the churchyard with the neighborhood children.

Her father cherished her. calling her his bright, clever girl who would bring pride to their family.

She couldn’t be an omega.

Omegas were small, silent, and dutiful, their lives reduced to submission and sacrifice. Catherine had never seen herself reflected in their weary faces, in their downcast eyes and careful movements. She was quick and bold, full of questions and laughter. She excelled in school, led her class in math competitions, and could recite every line from the plays she performed in. That wasn’t the life of an omega. It couldn’t be her life.

Yet the scent had betrayed her, shifting subtly one morning into something softer, something undeniably omega. And with it, everything she had once believed about herself began to crumble.

Her stomach churned as she blinked up at him, her confusion tangling with a rising dread. “But, Father, I—”

Her words faltered as the heat rolled over her. It prickled at her skin, pooling under her palms, which had grown damp with sweat. Her cheeks burned, and she realized with dawning horror that her scent—the lavender and fresh-cut grass that had always felt light and simple—had changed.

It was heavier now, syrupy, as if someone had boiled it down into something potent and cloying. The sweetness hung in the air, oppressive and undeniable.

She shifted uncomfortably, the new weight of her identity pressing down on her like a brand she couldn’t escape.

“Enough,” her father snapped, his voice cracking through her thoughts like a whip. Her chest tightened, the thunderous finality of the word stealing her breath. He took another step forward, the force of his presence pushing her back without him needing to lift a hand.

“You’re an omega now,” he continued, his voice low but heavy with disdain. “You are no longer a child. Your life of devotion and servitude begins now—to me, as your Alpha father, to God, and one day, to your Alpha husband.”

Catherine flinched as the words fell around her like stones, one after the other, each one lodging itself deeper into her chest. To me. To God. To your Alpha husband. It sounded like a life already stolen, mapped out in paths she couldn’t refuse to walk.

„Your most sacred duty will be to bear strong Alpha sons—who will carry their father’s name and my legacy. That is why God made you, Catherine. You exist to serve.”

The words chilled her, cutting deep. She had imagined growing up and someday having a family of her own, but not like this. Not as some lifeless figure meant only to give birth to sons who would look past her, who would never see her as more than the Omega who bore them.

The thought filled her with dread—a future as cold and hollow as her mother’s existence, shaped entirely by duty and devoid of joy.

Her mind raced to the image of the sons her father spoke of, tiny fists gripping at her dress, wide eyes looking up with expectation. But would she be allowed to love them? Would she even have the right to hold them close, to kiss their foreheads, to whisper stories at night?

“A life in servitude and devotion. This is what the Lord has chosen for you,” her father said, his tone sharp and unyielding, as though the very idea of questioning it was a sin. “This is how it must be.”

Catherine’s chest tightened, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps as her father began moving through her room with calculated efficiency. His movements were methodical, his disdain palpable.

He strode to her wardrobe first, yanking it open and pulling out her jeans, her T-Shirts, and knitted sweaters in one swift motion. The soft cotton and worn denim that had been hers for so long now looked like contraband in his hands.

“These,” he said, his voice heavy with authority, “are not fitting for an omega. Modesty is your calling now. Simplicity and humility.”

He didn’t stop there. His hands moved like a judge delivering sentencing, sweeping through her belongings without hesitation. Her theater club scripts, carefully annotated with dreams of roles she’d never play, her math trophies gleaming with the quiet pride of her accomplishments, and even her altar girl robes—symbols of her faith—all piled into his arms as though they were nothing more than clutter.

“Wait! No, please!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. The desperation in her voice felt foreign, alien, even to herself. She stumbled toward the wall, where polaroids of her friends were pinned in a cheerful collage, their smiles frozen in time. Her trembling hands fumbled to pull them down before he could. “These are my friends! You can’t—”

“They are distractions,” he interrupted, his tone icy and unyielding. He wrenched the photos from her grasp with a single, merciless tug. “An omega has no need for such worldly attachments. Your devotion is to the Lord, to the House, and to your Alpha.”

Her chest heaved as tears streamed down her face, hot and uncontrollable. She watched in horror as he tore the photographs in half, the sound of ripping paper a sharp, cruel reminder that her life was no longer her own. It was a sound she would never forget.

Her hands instinctively clutched at her cassette player, cradling it against her chest as if it could shield her from the onslaught. But he was faster. He yanked it from her grip with the ease of a predator taking its prey.

“Music encourages rebellion,” he said, his tone devoid of pity. Without hesitation, he hurled it to the floor. The plastic shattered on impact, the pieces scattering across the wooden boards like a final verdict. The silence that followed was deafening, hollow, suffocating.

She reached for the fallen pieces of plastic and paper, as if they were still salvagable, but his hand shot out, backhanding her across the cheek. The force sent her stumbling back, her eyes wide with shock and tears. “You will not question me again, Omega,” he growled.

Tears streamed down her face as she clutched her stinging cheek. “Father, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please don’t take my things.”

He ignored her, brushing past her small frame as if she were invisible. One by one, he stripped the room bare, his movements deliberate and unfeeling, erasing every trace of her childhood.

Her books were the first to go, swept into a box with no care for the stories and lessons they held. The colorful spines, the pages she had thumbed through late into the night, felt like pieces of herself being discarded.

Each title was a little piece of herself, a world she would never visit again, and watching them disappear felt like losing pieces of her own soul.

Her soccer ball came next, the one she had spent hours kicking with the neighborhood children, her laughter echoing in the yard. It was tossed into the box like trash, as though the joy it had brought her meant nothing.

Her backpack was taken, too, with its neat rows of freshly completed assignments. The A on her latest English paper, the one she had been so proud of, would never be shown to him. It would sit crumpled and forgotten, just like the effort she had poured into it.

The little friendship bracelets she and her best friend had made for each other were ripped from their spot on her dresser. The delicate beads, symbols of afternoons spent giggling and weaving memories into strings, vanished into her father’s hand.

Her roller skates, scratched and scuffed from hours of freedom, vanished into his hands. She had loved skating down the cracked sidewalks, her hair flying behind her, music from her CD player blasting in her ears. Those CDs, too, were taken. She had saved every allowance penny for them, building a collection that was hers and hers alone. Now, the shiny discs clattered into the box, their cheerful tunes silenced.

She barely had time to protest before he reached for the small plush mouse on her bed. Maisie, the soft toy with a pink tutu, was the first remnant of her childhood.

“No!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she lunged forward. “Not Maisie! Please, Father, not Maisie!”

She grasped at the air, desperate to save the small toy, but he shoved her back with one large hand. The force of it sent her stumbling, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud.

“There is no place for selfishness, frivolity, or childishness in an omega’s life,” he said, his voice as cold as the room now felt. He didn’t even glance at her as he shoved the mouse into the box, sealing its fate.

By the time he was done, her room was unrecognizable. The warm, colorful sanctuary she had known just hours before had been reduced to stark emptiness. The rug was stripped away, leaving only the cold, unyielding wooden floor.

The cheerful floral curtains that had once framed her window, letting in the sunlight, were gone. Even the smallest trinkets she had collected over the years—symbols of a life she had thought was hers—had vanished.

The only thing left was the bed, stripped down to a plain white sheet, and the cross that hung on the wall.

***

The en-suite bathroom was nicer than anything Catherine had ever seen up close, let alone used. Beige tiles running floor to ceiling, casting a faint warmth in the glow of the overhead light.

The space smelled faintly of flowers. Her hand lingered on the edge of the ornate sink, her fingertips brushing its cool surface. The brass fixtures glinted under the light, polished to perfection. Catherine found it difficult to reconcile such luxury with the cautious steps she took into it.

She stood for a moment, Jason’s small hand clinging to hers, both of them still as they surveyed the space. Jason’s wide, wary eyes scanned the room, his eyes darting to every corner as though he expected something to leap out at him.

“Do you need to use the toilet, sweetheart?” Catherine asked gently, crouching to his level. Jason nodded silently, his face pale and drawn. His grip tightening on her hand before he let go and shuffled toward the toilet.

Catherine turned her back to give him privacy, her eyes landing on the bar of soap perched neatly on the edge of the sink, wrapped in translucent paper, the brand’s name etched in gold lettering.

Catherine’s fingers twitched. Could she use it? Should she? The facility had provided their most basic toiletries, but this soap felt like a different category entirely, as though it were part of the house itself—something to be earned, not assumed. She bit her lip, the thought of using it making her stomach churn with unease.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would find out what was permissible. Maybe Beta Alfred would oversee her chores and could explain the rules without her having to outright ask. She prayed he wouldn’t think her presumptuous.

The sound of Jason flushing the toilet pulled her from her thoughts. He shuffled back toward her, his steps slow and tired. She helped him wash his hands, daring to use luke-warm water to scrub his hands clean before bed, without daring to use any soup.

Catherine knelt to him, using her her dress sleeve to dry his hands. She glanced toward the neatly folded hand towels on the rack but didn’t reach for one. They were too pristine, untouched. She couldn’t risk it.

“Come on, Jace,“ she said, guiding him back to the bedroom.

The queen bed loomed large in the room, its plush duvet and neatly arranged pillows almost too inviting. They hadn’t been explicitly told they could use it, but Alpha Wayne hadn’t reprimanded them earlier when he’d found them on it. It wasn’t permission but Catherine decided it was worth the risk—Jason needed rest, and the cold wooden floor wasn’t an option she wanted to ponder for to long. Noz without a blanket to cushion it. But how could she dare to put the duvet on the floor?

„Up you go, sweetie,” she whispered. She guided Jason onto the bed with careful hands, her touch gentle but insistent. He lay down on his side, curling instinctively into a ball. Catherine pulled the duvet over him, tucking it snugly around his body.

The duvet was heavy, its fabric cool against her fingers as she pulled it up and tucked it snugly around him. Jason’s trembling didn’t ease, even as the warmth began to seep in. The room wasn’t cold—the air was still and temperate—but Catherine knew this shivering well. It had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the memories that lived under his skin.

The winters with Willis had been brutal. The heat in their tiny apartment was often the first thing to vanish, consumed by Willis’s thirst or one of his other hungers. Jason had learned young how to stay warm without it, wrapped in his oversized hoodie that was more patchwork than fabric. It had been his armor, shielding him as much from the chill as from the world outside.

The facility had taken it the day they arrived. Stripped it from him along with everything else they wore, replacing it with the thin, grey clothes issued to every unclaimed omega and their young.

Catherine could still see the way Jason’s small hands had lingered on the hoodie’s hem as they pulled it from him, his fingers clenching briefly before falling away, resigned.

They’d been allowed to pack from what little they had left at home, but Catherine didn’t trust that anything truly theirs had made it here. The facility had rules—endless, onerous rules—governing what personal belongings were deemed acceptable. No rips, no stains, no potential for infestation. She prayed Jason’s plush lion had passed their inspection.

It had been his comfort since the day she’d pulled it from a secondhand shop’s bargain bin. The thought of it missing—she didn’t let herself finish the thought. Her fingers tightened briefly against her thighs before she forced herself to relax. Worrying wouldn’t help now. She needed to sooth her scent for her child.

Jason shifted under the covers, his hands clutching the duvet’s edges as if he feared it might vanish like so much else had. His lashes fluttered against pale cheeks, but his eyes didn’t quite close. Catherine brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, the motion as much for her comfort as his.

“Sleep, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and comforting, as she carefully pressed her wrist under his nose, allowing him to inhale the familiar, calming scent of lavender. She had always been thankful for that scent—her natural fragrance, soothing and gentle—that never failed to ease Jason’s restless heart. “I’m right here.”

Jason’s breathing hitched, a shallow inhale that caught before it smoothed out. He didn’t respond, but his body eased fractionally, the tension in his limbs ebbing just enough for her to notice.

Catherine stayed there a moment longer, perched on the edge of the bed, her thoughts swirling. What would she need to beg for next?

A toothbrush, toothpaste—those were priorities. Jason still had all his baby teeth, and they needed to be taken care of—if only to stave off the kind of pain she couldn’t soothe. After that, a hoodie, maybe, or … or anything warm to wear over the thin facility-issued shirt. Maybe socks, thick ones or a book, just a single one, to continue teaching him to read.

It wasn’t a necessity, of course. But he was so bright, so eager to learn. He had already picked up so much from the few hours she’d been allowed to teach him. He could write his name now, even manage to read few short, simple sentences. She’d be failing him if she let that progress stop, but how could she even begin to ask for such a luxury?

Catherine bit her bottom lip, worrying the skin as she tried to prioritize. What would she need to do to earn these things? How would she even ask without overstepping? What if she asked too much and Jason was punished for her presumption? All thise things she was thinking about asking for where for him and why should Alpha Wayne care? Jason wasn‘t his child, just a reminder of who fucked and claimed Catherine before him.

Rising as quietly as she could, Catherine moved to the window. Her steps were hesitant, her posture stooped as though expecting reproach even in the solitude of the room. The window was large, framed by heavy drapes that dwarfed her slight frame, and it overlooked the sprawling grounds of the estate.

In the dim moonlight, she could just make out the tops of the trees swaying gently in the wind. It was so different here—so vast, so still. It made her feel small, but not in the way Willis had made her feel small.

Catherine froze at the sound of the knock, her fingers gripping the window ledge to steady herself. Her heart jumped into her throat, beating so fast she thought it might echo through the quiet room.

The knock came again, a soft, measured sound that felt more commanding than a shout. Her stomach churned. She turned slowly, her movements halting and jerky, as though an invisible weight bore down on her. She kept her head bowed, her hair falling forward to veil her face, and folded her trembling hands in front of her.

The door opened with a muted creak, and Beta Alfred stepped inside. The hallway light spilled briefly into the room, a soft golden arc before the door closed behind him. He moved with a practiced ease, his posture immaculate, his steps precise and soundless on the thick carpet. He carried two bags, one cheap plastic, the other a sturdy canvas.

Catherine dipped her head lower, instinctively shrinking into herself. Her hands tightened in front of her, fingers pressing together until her knuckles ached. She dared not speak first.

Beta Alfreds tone was calm and impeccably polite, but the weight of his authority pressed down on her like a physical force. “Master Bruce has instructed that you and your young are to have necessities for tonight.”

Her breath hitched audibly, her shoulders hunching as though she expected a blow. Necessities. The word echoed hollowly in her mind, too generous, too foreign to feel real.

“N-necessities, Beta Alfred?” she stammered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. Her head bowed so low that her chin brushed her chest, her words barely audible.

“Indeed.” Beta Alfred stepped further into the room. Catherine hadn’t been able to discern his scent before. As a Beta, it was more subtle, easily masked by the stronger scents of the Alpha, Omega, and pups that filled the air. But now, with the room quieter, she could finally detect it clearly.

Beta Alfred smelled like books, well-worn and cherished, their pages filled with history and quiet wisdom. There was also something earthy about it, a comforting, wholesome smell of root vegetables—turnips, carrots, and perhaps a hint of something like parsnips. The kind of scent that reminded her of warm soup, the kind made slowly and with care. Something she hadn‘t had in a very very long time.

Catherine should have resisted the pull of it, should have remained vigilant. But instead, she found herself relaxing just a little, her shoulders loosening in response. His scent had an odd familiarity to it. Her own mother had smelled like turnip—earthy, nourishing, reliable. Her smell had fainted with the years but it had spiked the times she‘d really shown care for her only child.

Beta Alfreds movements were precise as he placed a black plastic bag on the chair near her. The faint crinkle of the bag as it sagged under its own weight sent a shiver through her. “Your belongings,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “The selection was, unfortunately, quite limited.”

She hadn’t dared to hope for anything more than Jason’s lion—if it had been deemed acceptable by the facility to be keep at all.

Catherine’s stomach twisted painfully as she recognized the plastic bag. It was the same one she had hastily packed when the facility collected Jason and her from their home following Alpha Willis death. She had stuffed it with whatever scraps they’d been allowed to take. Shame burned hot in her chest. It had been so little.

From the plastic bag, Alfred pulled out the plush lion, its familiar golden mane frayed at the edges. Catherine’s breath hitched, her eyes locking onto the small toy as though it were a lifeline.

“I believe this little fellow, though, survived the facility’s scrutiny,“ Beta Alfred spoke with more kindness then they deserved.

Catherine’s breath hitched again, her hands twitching involuntarily at her sides, as she reached out for it, stopping halfway when she realized what she was doing.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The word was so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence. Her head dipped lower, her hair falling forward like a curtain. “Please, Beta Alfred, Sir may I?”

The old man inclined his head, his expression neutral. “Of course,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Her hands closed around the lion, its worn fabric pressing against her palms. Relief flooded her chest as she turned it over, checking for the small patch she had sewn into its side years ago. It was still there, holding firm. Tears stung her eyes, her breath shuddered as she blinked them back, and a small, broken sob escaped her lips.

Alfred moved with his usual measured precision, placing the canvas bag on the dresser beside the chair. With practiced ease, he unfolded it, revealing neatly stacked clothing within. The items, though simple, were immaculate—clearly new. A soft nightdress and plain undergarments for her, and a small set of pajamas for Jason lay on top. Beneath them, he withdrew two pairs of thick socks, the kind that would provide warmth on the cold wooden floors of the estate.

“These are solely housewear items,” Alfred said, his tone steady and devoid of any unnecessary inflection. „They should suffice for now.“

Catherine’s breath caught. Jason had never had new clothes—not once in his short life. Everything he’d ever worn had been cast-offs, hand-me-downs, or threadbare rags. The sight of the crisp, folded fabric left her momentarily paralyzed.

Resting atop the clothing was a modest wooden hairbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and two toothbrushes. One was simple and plain but startlingly clean. The other was smaller, adorned with colorful cartoon dogs and paws. Beside them were small bottles of children’s shampoo and body wash, the labels cheerfully boasting no tears .

Her lips parted slightly as her eyes darted between the bundle and Beta Alfred’s impassive face. She couldn’t reconcile the sight before her with the world she had known. Jason had never owned anything so tailored to his needs.

Her chest tightened painfully. She could not fathom this kindness. These weren’t just necessities. They weren’t scraps or hand-me-downs that Jason had grown used to. These were chosen with care, made to be not only functional but joyful. A toothbrush that would fit his small hands, pajamas he might smile at because of colorful dogs in firetrucks and police cars, shampoo that wouldn’t sting his eyes. No tears. These words felt like a promise she had never been able to make to him.

Alpha Willis would have never … Her thoughts halted abruptly, the memory clawing at her. His face had been hard and unyielding as she had once hesitantly asked if she could buy a softer toothbrush for Jason. Wasteful, Willis had scoffed. Children didn’t need special things. “He’ll survive,” Willis had said, dismissing her entirely. She had learned quickly not to ask again.

And so Jason had survived, with whatever she could scrape together—his old toothbrush worn to the nub, soap that made his eyes sting.

But they could make do. They always made do.

“I—” Catherine’s throat tightened painfully, the words catching as shame burned hot in her chest. Her hands folded themselves in front of her, trembling as she dipped her head low, always low, her shoulders hunching instinctively. “I … I don’t … I didn’t think …” Her voice wavered, each word softer than the last. “It is very generous of Alpha Wayne. Please, if there is anything … anything we can do to show our appreciation …”

She trailed off, her voice breaking as she bowed her head even lower, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. She didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare meet Beta Alfred’s eyes. Her stomach churned with a sick mixture of gratitude and fear. Gratitude for the unexpected mercy of these provisions. Fear of the unknown cost that might follow.

“There is no need,” the older Beta replied, his tone perfectly even, devoid of condescension. “Please have a good night.”

He turned without waiting for further response, his footsteps measured as he exited the room. The soft click of the door closing behind him felt like a gavel falling.

Catherine stood frozen for a moment, her hands still trembling as they gripped each other tightly in front of her. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees in front of the dresser, her posture shrinking further as if the weight of the house pressed down upon her. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Jason’s new pajamas.

The material was soft under her fingertips, so unlike anything they had ever owned. Her breath hitched, and her hand recoiled slightly as though she had touched something forbidden.

Her gaze flickered to the small bottle of shampoo, its cheerful label mocking her with its simplicity. Jason had cried silent tears so many times as she washed his hair with whatever cheap soap she could find. It was harsh and stung his eyes, but it was all they had. She remembered his small, trembling voice, whispering, “It hurts, Mama,” and the way she had to bite back her own tears as she hurried to rinse it away, murmuring apologies he was too young to understand.

She hadn’t been able to provide thing like that for Jason, things like tear-free shampoo and fun pyjamas.

She imagined, for a fleeting moment, that this must have been the shampoo Alpha Wayne bought for his own sons. That same kindness, that same thoughtfulness, was now extended to Jason, who ranked so far beneath them in this household’s hierarchy that the very act felt surreal.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she forced them back, her breathing shallow as she clasped her hands together tightly. Her thoughts churned with conflicting emotions. Gratitude warred with shame and the nagging fear that she had already been given too much. If she asked for anything else, if she stepped out of line even slightly, would these small mercies be taken away?

She didn’t move from her position, kneeling in front of the dresser, her head bowed as though in prayer. This house was different from any she had known, but the rules were the same: submission was survival, and gratitude was owed. Always.

***

Her father stood in the doorway of her hollowed-out room, the box in his arms overflowing with fragments of what had once made this space hers. The trophies, books, and photos were jumbled together with her sweaters, jeans, and even Maisie’s little pink tutu peeking out, a cruel reminder of everything she had lost in a single, merciless evening.

“These will be given to the church,” he declared, his voice sharp and resolute, each word carrying the weight of finality. He glanced down at the box, his expression devoid of sympathy. “What cannot be used for God’s work will be burned.”

He didn’t even glance at her. He turned sharply and left, his dress shoes thudding against the wooden floor. Over his shoulder, he barked, “Follow.”

Catherine stumbled after him, her legs barely obeying, the hallway stretching endlessly before her. Her breaths were shallow, catching in her chest as though her ribs might shatter under the pressure. The walls seemed narrower now, the air too thick. She felt like she was being marched to her execution.

In the living room, her father set the box down with a thud beside the fireplace. She lingered in the doorway, trembling, her fingers gripping the frame as if she could hold herself upright. He began pulling items from the box, his movements mechanical, his face devoid of anything resembling compassion.

The fire roared in the hearth, its heat licking at her skin even from across the room.

Her math trophies were the first to go. She watched in silent horror as the golden figures melted, their proud stances slumping into unrecognizable blobs. The air filled with the acrid stench of scorched metal, sharp and nauseating.

Her scripts followed—pages she’d poured herself into for weeks, each one filled with her careful handwriting, the margins dotted with hopeful notes. The flames devoured them hungrily, curling the edges until they disintegrated into blackened ash.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She stepped forward, hand outstretched, but froze when her father shot her a look—a cold warning that froze her blood.

Maisie came next.

She couldn’t stop the cry that tore from her throat as her father tossed the small plush mouse into the fire. Her stomach twisted violently as she watched the delicate fabric shrivel and blacken. The little pink tutu—a piece of her childhood, of safety, of love—crumbled into ash within seconds.

“Please!” she begged, her voice breaking. She surged forward, falling to her knees beside the box, reaching for what was left. “Please, don’t! I’ll—I’ll be good! I’ll—”

Her father’s hand slammed against her shoulder, shoving her back.

“Enough.”

The single word reverberated in her skull, final and absolute. She shrank beneath his glare, her hands trembling in her lap. The flames roared louder, as though mocking her, their greedy fingers reaching up to claim everything that had been hers. The air smelled of burnt fabric, scorched paper, and a hint of charred plastic that stung her nose and made her throat itch.

Her vision blurred with tears, but she couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across the room, casting jagged shadows on the walls.

The heat pressed against her skin, relentless, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the icy pit forming in her chest. The fire wasn’t just devouring her belongings; it was swallowing her whole.

When the last of the box was emptied and the flames had consumed every scrap, her father turned to her, his face cold and impassive.

“Kneel properly,” he barked.

Her body shifted automatically, straightening her spine and folding her hands in front of her, palms upward in a display of submission. The posture, she‘d seen her mother take on a thousand timed felt unnatural and humiliating, but she held it without protest, trembling under his gaze.

The room felt suffocatingly silent now, the only sound the occasional crackle of the dying fire. Its glow painted her face, a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Her father stepped closer, his dress shoes creaking against the floor. He towered over her, and when his hand came down to rest on her head, she flinched. His grip was heavy, firm, and unyielding.

The weight of it crushed her. His hand smelled faintly of ash, mingled with the sharp tang of sweat and wood smoke.

“You will thank God for this opportunity,” her father said, his voice heavy with unshakable authority, standing over her like an unmovable pillar. “To embrace your role as an omega, to serve me, to prepare for the Alpha who will one day take you as his own. This is your purpose now. Your life begins anew.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, a sentence passed down from on high.

“Repeat after me,” he commanded, his tone slow and deliberate, each word like a blade carving into her already fragile spirit. “I am an omega. I am humble and obedient. My life is to serve my Alpha, the House, and the Lord.”

Catherine’s breath shuddered as she choked back a sob, the weight of the moment pressing her knees harder into the cold, unforgiving floor. She opened her mouth, but the words refused to come, sticking in her throat like thorns. Finally, trembling, she forced them out.

“I am an omega. I am humble and obedient. My life is to serve my Alpha, the House, and the Lord.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, a jagged sound that seemed to echo louder than the fire’s crackling behind her.

His sharp eyes narrowed, watching her like a hawk circling prey, scrutinizing every tremor in her hands, every hesitation in her voice. “Repeat,” he said, his tone like steel against her skin. “I am an omega. My worth is in my obedience and my service.“

The words twisted inside her, each syllable a betrayal of the small, hidden part of her that still clung to hope. But she said them anyway. “I am an omega. My worth is in my obedience and my service.” Her voice wavered, breaking at the edges.

“I exist to please and support the alphas around me.”

Her hands clenched tighter in her lap, her nails digging into her palms, but she obeyed. “I exist to please and support the alphas around me.”

“I will not speak unless spoken to. I will not act without permission.”

The room seemed to close in on her, the walls pressing against her like invisible hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes, blurring the dimly lit room into indistinct shapes. But she blinked them back, keeping her voice steady even as it quivered beneath the strain. “I will not speak unless spoken to. I will not act without permission.”

He loomed closer, his shadow swallowing her entirely, the firelight flickering behind him like a demonic halo. “You will serve in this household,” he continued, his voice low and sharp, a razor cutting through the silence. “And you will not bring shame to my house. You are nothing without my generosity. Say it.”

Her breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping her lips. Her hands trembled uncontrollably now, her body shaking as if the words themselves might unmake her. But she whispered them, her voice almost inaudible. “I will serve in your household. I will not bring shame to your house. I am nothing without your generosity, Alpha Father.”

He straightened, satisfaction glinting in his cold, pitiless eyes. “Good,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. He reached for a bundle of fabric, tossing it unceremoniously at her feet.

The dress landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, the pale blue fabric spreading out like a stain against the cold tiles. Catherine’s gaze dropped to it, her stomach knotting. The garment was plain to the point of severity—long-sleeved and ankle-length, its stiff material devoid of pattern or softness. It buttoned high at the neck, its collar tight and restrictive, leaving no room for individuality. The bodice was shapeless, cinched only by a simple, narrow belt of the same coarse material meant to pull it close to her waist but not flatter. It spoke of function, not comfort or expression, the kind of clothing designed to erase the wearer rather than adorn them.

Catherine bent down, her hands trembling as she picked it up. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers, almost scratchy, like a burlap sack softened just enough to pass for cloth. The dress felt heavy in her grasp, weighted by what it represented more than by its actual heft.

“And these,” he added, setting down a pair of shoes beside her. They were black leather flats, stiff and unyielding, with thick soles that looked more suited to a laborer than anyone who’d spend their days indoors. Their design was purely utilitarian—no buckles, no seams for decoration, just flat leather polished to a dull shine.

“Proper footwear for an omega,” he declared, his voice cold and final. “You’ll have no need for anything else.”

“Yes, Alpha Father,” she whispered, her voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence.

“Undress,“ he said.

And Cathrine did what her Alpha father told her to. She slid her leggings down her tights and pushed her knitted sweater over her head. She stood in front of him, only her slip and singlet remaining.

“Everything,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

Catherine froze, her arms tightening protectively around herself. Her head shook instinctively, a flicker of defiance breaking through the fear. “No … no, please, Father. Please,” she begged, her voice trembling.

She didn’t want to be an Omega. She didn’t want this—her father to look at her like she was something lesser, something shameful. She didn’t want him to strip her of what little dignity she had left.

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she backed a step away from him. “Please, Father,” she whispered again, desperation breaking through her words.

But his expression didn’t change. His hand lashed out, gripping her arm with a bruising force that made her cry out softly. “You will obey,” he hissed, his face inches from hers.

“You are an Omega now, and you will learn to live as one. There is no place for redistance, only submission and obedience.“

He seized her chin between his fingers, his grip iron and unyielding. Catherine barely had a moment to register the anger in his eyes before his hand struck her face, a sharp, stinging backhand that sent her stumbling. The force of it left her cheek burning, tears springing anew as her head spun.

“And you will address me correctly in the future, Omega, ” he snarled, the word dripping with contempt. His voice was steady, cold, and final, like a hammer striking a nail.

Catherine clutched her stinging cheek, her breath hitching as she looked up at him, trembling. “Y-yes, Alpha Father,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter and foreign on her tongue.

“Good,” he said, his tone softening just enough to be unnervingly calm. “You’ll learn your place, one way or another. Now, strip everything. ”

And when Catherine stood in front of him, naked and trembling and cold he nodded once, approving.

“Bare as the lord designed you, Omega. Beg me to be allowed to cover your shame," her father said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. His eyes were cold and unyielding, devoid of even a shred of warmth.

Catherine knelt and lowered herself fully to the floor, pressing her forehead against the cold wood. The posture was one she had seen her mother take countless times before—utterly submissive, utterly small. Her trembling hands clenched into fists against the ground as she forced herself to speak, her voice cracking under the weight of humiliation.

“Please, Alpha Father,” she whispered, her words barely audible. “I beg you and the Lord for the mercy of allowing me to cover myself. Please, Alpha Father, let me hide my shame so that I do not sin in the eyes of the Lord.”

Her father regarded her for a long moment, the silence suffocating as she stayed frozen in her plea, forehead still pressed to the floor. Finally, he nodded, his tone as detached as if granting a routine request.

“You may,” he declared. “Stand and cover yourself. I will not have a bitch tainting my house.”

Catherine rose shakily, her legs weak beneath her amd her hands trembled as she redressed in her pastel yellow slip and signlet, the last remnants of clothing she had left from her old life.

She slipped the stiff dress over her head, the buttons at the collar pressing uncomfortably against her throat. The long sleeves itched where they grazed her wrists, and the hem swished against her ankles, its weight dragging with every step. She tied the belt loosely, her fingers fumbling with the knot, her tears already soaking into the fabric.

The shoes pinched her feet when she slid them on, the leather inflexible and unforgiving.

Gone were the clothes she had once owned, the vibrant colors and comfortable fabrics she had chosen for herself.

This dress consumed her, and very trace of personality. Its dull, shapeless form made her look smaller, insignificant, like she was fading into the background of her own life. The shoes, heavy and clunky, made her feet feel like lead, grounding her in a place she desperately wanted to escape.

“Follow,” her father ordered again, his tone sharp and unyielding. Catherine obeyed, her movements mechanical, the weight of the shoes clapping awkwardly against the floor with every tentative step. The sound echoed hollowly in the empty hallway, amplifying her sense of alienation. Each movement felt foreign, like her body no longer belonged to her, as though the clothes themselves were a prison, locking her into this new reality.

He led her to the kitchen, where the faint smell of soap and despair clung to the air. Her omega mother was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a rag. Her movements were slow and deliberate, a practiced submission etched into every line of her frame. She didn’t look up as they entered.

“Teach her,” her father commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. “She has been chosen for servitude. Let her learn the obedience the Lord demands of her kind.”

Her mother paused, her hands halting over the soapy water, and lifted her gaze slightly—not to meet his eyes, but to acknowledge his authority. “Yes, Alpha,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with weary resignation. “The Lord’s will is perfect, and His design for omegas is righteous. She will serve as is commanded.”

She reached for a second rag and extended it toward Catherine without a glance. The damp cloth hung between them like a sentence, heavy and unspoken. Catherine’s stomach churned as she stared at it, the reality of her father’s words pressing down on her chest.

Her mother, still avoiding her eyes, returned to her task, her voice soft and detached as she murmured, “The path of humility is sacred. Accept it, child, and find grace in your submission.”

Catherine hesitated, the trembling in her hands growing as her fingers brushed the wet fabric. Her throat felt dry, her mind racing as she clutched the rag, its weight far heavier than it had any right to be.

Her father’s shadow loomed in the doorway, his presence oppressive and absolute. “Kneel,” he demanded, his tone laced with divine authority. “And give thanks for the honor of knowing your place, as ordained by God and your Alpha.”

With a shaky breath, Catherine sank to her knees beside her mother, the cold tiles biting into her skin as the rough fabric of her new dress scratched at her legs. The motion felt alien, each scrape of the rag against the floor echoing her mother’s movements like a hollow mockery of the girl she used to be.

“Good,” her father said, his words heavy with finality. “You will learn to find salvation in servitude. Only through obedience can you fulfill the purpose the Lord has given you.”

Catherine’s heart ached as the words settled over her, binding her like chains she could never escape. The girl she had been—free, vibrant, full of dreams—was gone. What remained was something smaller, quieter, and utterly resigned.

Chapter Text

Catherine stirred first, the faint sound of crying threading through her dreams and pulling her into wakefulness. For a moment, she lay still, her senses disoriented by the unfamiliar softness of the bed and the foreign quiet of Wayne Manor. Then, the sound came again—piercing and insistent, the unmistakable wail of a baby.

Jason shifted beside her, his small body curling instinctively toward hers. Even half-asleep, he sought her comfort, his little hand brushing her side, rubbing his scent glance instinctivly against her skin. The cry came again, louder now, and Catherine’s heart twisted painfully.

“Mama?” Jason mumbled, his voice soft and groggy.

“It’s nothing, baby,” she whispered, her voice thin and trembling. “Go back to sleep.”

But it wasn’t nothing. The sound tugged at her deeply, setting off something primal and immediate. She gripped the blanket tighter, staring at the ceiling as though the answer might be etched there.

Another wail echoed, louder still, shattering the fragile quiet. Catherine flinched, curling her fingers into the fabric of her dress. Her chest ached at the sound—Damian. She hadn’t seen the infant yet, but she knew it had to be him.

Alpha Wayne had told her about the baby, how it was sleeping and crying and feeding, but no instructions had been given, no expectations set. It was as if Damian’s care was entirely outside her reach.

The crying didn’t stop. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger, more urgent, and Jason stirred again, sitting up this time. His wide eyes darted toward the door. “It’s the baby,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “He sounds really sad.”

Catherine exhaled softly, her instincts warring with her reason. Her first thought was to go to the child, to gather him in her arms and soothe his cries. But she quickly stifled it, forcing herself to stay seated. Her fingers twisted in her lap as she glanced at Jason, who was now fully awake and watching her with a worried expression.

Jason rubbed his eyes, his face creased with worry. “Should we go? To help?”

Catherine’s heart ached at the question. She knew how badly Jason wanted to help—his small body practically vibrated with the urge. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“No,” she said softly, firmly.

Jason’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with his worry. “But what if—”

“We can’t,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “We… we don’t have permission.”

Jason looked at her, his wide eyes searching her face. He frowned, his brows drawing together as another sharp wail echoed through the hallway. He hugged his knees to his chest, his small shoulders hunched against the sound.

Minutes passed. The cries continued, rising and falling like waves. Catherine tried to steady her breathing, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. She glanced at Jason again, seeing the question still in his eyes, while Damian’s cries were cutting through the stillness of the night like a blade. Her entire body tensed with the sound, a deep, visceral instinct flaring in her chest, urging her to rise and go to him. To pick him up, cradle him, soothe him as she had once soothed Jason in those desperate early days.

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Her head bowed instinctively, as though the act of thinking such things was itself insubordination.

Still, her mind churned helplessly. Maybe the baby—Damian—was being sleep-trained. She’d overheard other omegas in the facility whispering about such things, their voices low and filled with caution. The Alphas who allowed it said it was for the best, to teach independence early, but Catherine had never understood. How could you leave a baby to cry, their tiny body trembling with need, their voice raw with the effort of calling out for someone to come?

Her hands clenched in her lap, the fabric of her dress rough beneath her fingers. Damian’s wails were relentless, louder now, and her heart twisted painfully with each one. How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? Too long, surely. He was so little, barely more than two months old. Could an infant so young even soothe himself?

She didn’t know.

She thought of Jason as a baby, his cries sharp and desperate, always answered within moments. She’d had no choice. Willis hated the sound of crying, it annoyed him to the bone.

Catherine had learned quickly how to anticipate Jason’s needs before he could express them. She’d kept him quiet, soothing him with whispered words, gentle rocking, anything to keep the peace.

And then, one day, Jason had simply stopped crying.

He’d learned, somehow, to wait. To wake silently, to watch the door with wide, trusting eyes, certain that she would come for him. And she had. Always.

Damian’s cries pierced through her thoughts again, louder than before, and her breath hitched.

“But… he’s crying, Mama,” Jason whispered. “What if they can’t hear him?”

Catherine bit her lip hard enough to sting. The idea struck her suddenly, a cold weight settling in her stomach. What if Alpha Wayne had placed the baby far from his room, unwilling to be disturbed.

Catherine’s heart twisted painfully. She thought of Willis, how he would have done just that if they had lived in a house this big. Jason would have been shoved into a far corner, his cries ignored until he gave up and just stayed silent. The thought made her stomach churn, but she pushed it aside.

“We can’t,” she said again, her voice firmer this time, though it wavered at the edges.

The cries grew louder, impossibly loud in the stillness of the night. They echoed in her chest, scraping against her ribs. Her mothering instincts screamed at her to act.

“But Mama…” Jason’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. His small fingers reached for hers, tugging lightly at her hand. “He’s really loud. What if he’s scared?”

Catherine’s chest tightened. They had no place stepping beyond the threshold of their assigned quarters, especially not at night, unbidden. Her mind raced, cycling through unspoken rules and expectations she barely understood yet feared breaking. Still, Damian’s cries pulled at her, relentless and piercing, each one like a thread unraveling her restraint.

“All right,” she whispered, though her voice was shaky, as if the words themselves might betray her. “But only for a moment.”

Jason nodded quickly, but before he could pull the gray facility-issued slip-ons over his bare feet, Catherine walked to the dresser, grabbing the thick socks and gave them to Jason.

His face lit up with relief as he scrambled to obey. Catherine stood shakily, her legs trembling beneath her as she smoothed down her dress and slipped barefeet into her own slip-ons.

They moved cautiously into the hallway, Catherine keeping her head low, her grip firm on Jason’s hand.

The cries guided them, two doors down. The nursery door was slightly ajar, spilling a faint glow into the otherwise dark corridor. Catherine’s steps faltered as they reached it, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She hesitated at the threshold, suddenly unsure. But Jason, emboldened by his concern, took a small step forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Together, they peered inside.

The sight that met her froze her mid-step.

In the center of the dimly lit room stood Alpha Wayne, smelling like wood and sugar, just slightly charred, as if his pups cries burnt him like Jasons tears welked her scent.

He was rocking Damian in his arms, the infant’s cries still loud even cradled against his fathers chest. Alpha Waynes face was set in a careful neutrality, though the strain was visible in the furrow of his brow and the tightness around his eyes. He moved with an unhurried, deliberate rhythm, the weight of the child cradled securely in his strong arms.

Catherine’s stomach dropped. She jerked Jason back, her fingers tightening around his hand. Her head lowered instinctively, her body folding into itself in submission. Her breath quickened, panic rising as she realized the enormity of her mistake. She had overstepped.

Before she could retreat, the Alphas gaze shifted.

He saw them.

The room seemed to still, the cries of the baby fading into the background as Catherine felt the full weight of his attention settle on her. The Alpha said nothing at first, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. The silence stretched unbearably, thick and suffocating, and Catherine’s cheeks burned with the shame of her presumption.

She should have stayed in their quarters. She should have ignored the cries. She should have known better.

Jason, oblivious to the hierarchy that tethered her in place, glanced up at Alpha Wayne with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Catherine squeezed his hand tighter, silently willing him to stay quiet, to bow his head, to avoid drawing any further notice.

Finally, the Alpha spoke.

“Damian has been … unsettled tonight.”

His voice was calm, quiet, almost conversational, but Catherine felt the weight of every word. She risked a glance upward, just enough to see his expression. He looked tired, his face lined with stress, yet there was no anger there.

Even so, Catherine dipped her head lower, her posture folding further as though trying to disappear entirely. “I— I apologize, Alpha Wayne,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We… we heard him… I thought…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish without overstepping further.

Alpha Wayne didn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting between her and Jason. The silence pressed on her like a physical weight, and she swallowed hard, bracing herself for whatever judgment might come.

Catherine kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor, her fingers trembling as they gripped Jason’s small hand. She cursed herself for stepping out of their quarters. She shouldn’t have presumed to interfere with an Alpha’s business.

Alpha Wayne shifted his weight slightly, adjusting Damian against his chest, and the baby let out another piercing wail. The sound jolted through Catherine like an electric shock. Despite her terror, her instincts wrestled against her fear, screaming at her to act. Damian’s cries were sharp, desperate, and uneven—different from a normal fussing baby. Something wasn’t right.

Jason stepped forward, his voice small and hesitant. “Is he okay?”

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, and she reached out to pull Jason back, terrified of his boldness. But Alpha Wayne didn’t seem angry. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her son.

Still trembling, Catherine risked a glance up. Damian’s little face was scrunched tight, his tiny fists flailing as he arched against the Alphas hold. His knees drew up toward his belly, only to kick out again, the motion frantic.

She knew that cry.

She hadn’t seen Damian before now, but the signs were unmistakable. “Colic,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Alpha Waynes sharp gaze pinned her immediately, and Catherine froze, her heart pounding so loudly she thought he might hear it. She wanted to shrink back, to flee, but she couldn’t leave Damian like this—not if she could help him.

“What did you say?” The Alpha asked, his tone firm but not harsh.

Her breath hitched. “It… it might be colic, Alpha,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “He—he’s pulling his knees up, and the crying sounds… sharp. His belly might hurt.”

Alphas brow furrowed, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by curiosity. “What can I do?”

Catherine’s hands trembled as she stepped closer, inching forward like a mouse under the watchful gaze of a predator. “If… if I may, Alpha… I could try a massage. It might help him pass gas or… or relieve his discomfort.”

Alpha Wayne studied her for a moment, then gave a single, deliberate nod. “Do it.”

Her heart leaped to her throat. She hadn’t expected him to agree. She glanced back at Jason, who looked at her with wide eyes.

Alpha Wayne laid Damian gently on the padded changing station, his movements careful. The baby’s cries didn’t lessen, his tiny legs kicking against the air. His scent was still faint but from this near she could smell it, warm sand and dates. It was sweet but foreign. Catherine swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she reached out.

“May I touch him, Alpha?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You may,” Bruce said, his tone steady, his gaze never leaving her. The baby let out another sharp wail, his tiny fists clenched, his face red with discomfort.

Catherine’s hands moved automatically, her fingers nimble and precise as she unzipped Damian’s soft sleep sack and carefully laid him flat on the padded surface of the changing station. The dim light bathed the nursery in a warm glow, but Catherine barely noticed, her focus entirely on the squirming baby before her. “It’s okay, little pup,” she murmured, her voice low and melodic, the soothing tone instinctual and practiced. Each word was an offering, a plea for peace, as if she herself could absorb the infant’s discomfort.

Her palms moved in slow, deliberate circles over Damian’s taut belly, the pressure just firm enough to coax his tiny muscles to relax. She moved clockwise, tracing the path of his digestive system with precision, mindful of how delicate his body was.

The tension in his little body radiated into her fingertips, and she adjusted her touch accordingly, instinctively easing the rhythm of her massage. She tried to not rub her scent glands across the baby skin, leaving no trace of her on him. She wouldn’t mark him, wouldn’t impose herself where she wasn’t meant to linger. She focused only on the act of care.

When she was done with his belly, she reached for his hips, supporting them carefully. With feather-light pressure, she rotated them in soft, fluid motions, one side and then the other, loosening any stiffness in his tiny joints.

Afterward, she gently pressed his knees up toward his chest, pausing for a moment before releasing. She repeated the motion again, pressing just enough to ease the discomfort she knew had been troubling him, following the steps exactly as she’d been taught.

It was a routine etched into her by necessity and shared wisdom—the kind of knowledge Omegas passed to each other in whispers, quiet exchanges born of survival and care.

She shifted to press gently along the soles of his feet, targeting the pressure points she knew could offer relief. Her movements were graceful, efficient, yet there was a trembling hesitancy to her posture. She hunched slightly, her shoulders drawn inward, as if even the act of being upright in Alpha Wayne’s presence felt too bold.

Her hands paused briefly, her stomach tightening with unease. What if he thought she was too rough? She risked the smallest glance toward him, but his expression remained unreadable, his tired eyes fixed on Damian.

She finished by laying her palm over his belly again, her hand warm and steady, while his crying had toned down go a mere quiet fussing.

She didn’t dare murmur another word, didn’t dare fill the quiet with the softness that might otherwise have escaped her lips. This was Alphas pup—his heir—and she knew her place.

Instead, she let her actions speak for her, her touch as light and unassuming as the care she offered.

Behind her, Jason shifted nervously, his small frame barely making a sound. He stood half-hidden by her dress skirt, his wide eyes darting between her hands and Damians flushed face. He was silent but watchful, his nervous energy palpable in the way he clung to the fabric at her hip.

The silence stretched unbearably until it was broken by a sound that startled all three of them—a loud, wet fart that seemed incongruously large for such a tiny body.

Jason’s eyes widened, his lips parting in astonishment. Catherine kept her head bowed, her focus locked on Damian as she continued the massage, moving her hands steadily along his belly and back to his feet. Another fart followed, even louder than the first, and a tiny giggle escaped Jason, soft and unsure, muffled behind his hand as if he was afraid of drawing attention to himself.

“Shh,” Catherine murmured, glancing down at him with the faintest flicker of warning in her eyes, though her tone was gentle. Jason ducked his head, his mirth dampened.

The Alpha remained silent, though she felt the weight of his gaze pressing down on her as if every motion she made was being scrutinized. She tried to make herself smaller, to fold into her work, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t disapprove of her methods.

Moments later, Damian let out a final, unmistakable noise—wet, loud, and definitive. The tension in his little body melted away, his legs falling limp as his cries subsided into soft, contented gurgles. His scent turned sweeter, as if the dates had ripened as his discomfort eased.

Catherine froze for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she allowed herself to glance up, her hands trembling as she pulled them back to her sides. Alpha Wayne let out a long, slow breath, the exhaustion in his face momentarily replaced by something that looked almost like relief.

“He hasn’t been this calm in days,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “He hasn‘t pooped in days.“

Catherine swallowed hard, quickly moving to clean Damian with the efficiency of someone who had changed countless diapers before. Her hands worked fast but careful, the slight tremor in her fingers betraying her nerves. She dared not make a sound as she folded the soiled diaper away and reached for a fresh one, her movements as precise as if her very place in the household depended on perfection.

Jason watched her in silence, his awe apparent in the way he stayed perfectly still beside her. He seemed to sense her unease, his little hands gripping her dress tighter as she fastened Damian’s new diaper and redressed him in his tiny pajama overalls. She slid him back into his sleep sack with practiced care, ensuring the fabric was snug but not constrictive.

Finally, she straightened, her hands lingering for a moment on Damian’s chest before pulling back entirely. She turned to Alpha Wayne, cradling the baby carefully in her arms before holding him out to the Alpha with a deference that bordered on desperation.

Alpha Wayne stepped forward, taking Damian from her hands. His movements were instinctively gentle, his large hands cradling the baby’s head and back as he adjusted him against his chest. Damian let out a soft, contented sigh, his little face slack with the beginnings of sleep. The change in his demeanor was almost miraculous—the shrill cries that had dominated the house for days now replaced by peaceful quiet.

The room fell still, the silence broken only by the rhythmic hum of the nightlight and the faint rustle of fabric as Alpha adjusted his grip. He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze dropping to his now-calm son as though unsure how such a transformation had occurred. His exhaustion was etched deeply into the lines of his face, but there was something new there too—relief, tinged with awe.

“I didn’t know…” Alpha Wayne began, his voice soft and thoughtful, almost as if speaking to himself. He paused, adjusting Damian slightly and running a large hand over the baby’s back. His other hand pressing his wrist gently to the soft curls at the crown of Damian’s head. Sandalwood mixed with Sand and the sweetness of their combined ripe dates and brown sugar filled the air.

Catherine inhaled, the sweetness of their shared scent catching her off guard. She had never known an Alpha to smell so sweet.

Her own father’s scent had been iron and scorched fields, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for softness. As a pup, she had often wondered if he had once smelled more like her—like fresh grass after rain, untouched by fire—and if one day her own scent would sour, turning brittle and burned as his had.

It wasn’t uncommon for fragrances to pass between family bonds, echoes of lineage lingering in their scents. She thought of Jason, how his sweet, warm milky-cotton scent turned damp when he was sad or afraid. In those moments, he smelled faintly of Willis—not his father’s full bitterness, with its harsh tobacco undercurrent, but close enough to feel like a shadow of it.

The thought weighed heavy on her, as though sadness itself carried the power to twist something soft and innocent into something harsher.

“He’s been crying so much, and I’ve tried everything—feeding, burping, rocking, but nothing worked. I didn’t think—” Alpha Wayne shook his head, his exhaustion apparent in his voice. “I didn’t know what I was missing.”

Catherine stood silently, her head bowed as she watched the scene unfold. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her posture a picture of absolute submission. She could feel the weight of his gaze, even without looking directly at him. She dared not meet his eyes for fear of what might be read in her expression.

But Alpha Waynes voice cut through the silence again, almost as if he couldn’t help but speak his thoughts aloud. “I swear, it’s been days of him just wailing, and I…” He trailed off, frustration creeping into his tone. “I didn’t think it would ever stop.“

His gaze briefly flickered toward her, his words an odd mix of awe and curiosity, but the exhaustion in his eyes was clear. “You’ve really been a big help. I—” His voice faltered, as if he was too weary to find the right words.

Catherine flinched at the praise. She wasn’t used to hearing anything even remotely close to positive acknowledgment, least of all from an Alpha. She tried to hide the tremor in her hands, but her body betrayed her. The moment the Alphas attention shifted slightly toward Damian, her posture bent further in response, her chin dropping so low that it nearly touched her chest.

But Alpha Wayne, lost in the wonder of seeing his son at peace, was already moving to settle him in the crib. Catherine’s pulse quickened at the thought of him being put down too soon. She couldn’t bear the idea of Damian waking up again and starting that cycle of crying all over again.

She stepped forward just slightly, feeling Jason still holding on to the hem of her dress, her body trembling with the softest of movements, like a leaf being blown by the wind. Her voice was low, barely a whisper, but firm enough to carry the weight of her concern. “Alpha… please…” she began, her tone as fragile as her stance. “He… he needs to be held just a little longer. He needs your scent, Alpha.”

The Alpha stopped in his tracks, frozen for a moment. His eyes flickered to her, but he didn’t make any move to acknowledge her properly. He just waited, a quiet invitation for her to explain.

She swallowed nervously, her heart hammering in her chest. “He—he’s still not deep enough in sleep,” she continued, her voice growing smaller but more certain. “If you put him down now, he’ll wake up again. You’ll see the signs, Alpha. His little hands, his breathing—, it means he’s not yet in a deep enough sleep to be left alone.” She paused, her eyes flicking nervously to the crib before she quickly turned them back down to the floor, focusing on the ground, as if that might somehow make her words less daring.

The Alpha regarded her quietly, his tired gaze never wavering. The room felt as if it held its breath, the silence stretching thin between them.

For a long moment, it felt like the world itself had paused. Catherine didn’t dare move, barely even breathing, as she waited for Alphas response. She had already overstepped—she knew that—but this was something she just had to say. Something she had to offer, or Damian might cry again, and she couldn’t stand the thought of that.

Finally, the Alphas lips parted, and Catherine’s heart lurched, her muscles tensing in preparation for what was to come. She was about to sink to her knees, pull Jason with her and beg to be forgiven for her insolence, for intervening when it wasn‘t wanted, for daring to tell the Alpha how to handle his pup, but what Alpha Wayne then said caught her by surprise and she remained upright. “I see…” His voice was soft, though there was an underlying tone of gratitude. “I’ll wait a little longer then.”

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she dared to look up at him, her eyes wide, as if in disbelief that he was actually listening to her advise. But she quickly lowered her gaze again, her hands trembling as she waited for his next move.

Alpha nodded once, still holding Damian close as if the infant had become a part of him in that moment, pressing the scent gland on his wrist close to the pups cheek, rubbing his scent into the infants skin.

“Thank you,” he added, though the words were far from formal. They were genuine, a quiet admission of his reliance on the help Catherine had offered.

Catherine’s chest tightened with emotion at the acknowledgment, but she dared not express it. She would never be anything more than what she was, an Omega, grateful to be allowed such small moments of usefulness.

And so, she stood, her body still bent, waiting patiently for the moment when Alpha Wayne dismissed her.

***

Catherine stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her fingers trembling as they hovered over her stomach. She’d noticed it over the past couple of weeks—a slight roundness where there hadn’t been before, her breasts more tender than usual, especially when Willis grabbed and kneaded and mouthed at them during sex.

Her body had been sending her signs: the faint nausea in the mornings, the deep exhaustion by midday, and a strange ache low in her belly that wasn’t like her usual cycle. Most of all, there was the absence of heat. Three months had passed since her last one, and nothing had come.

Her heart pounded in her chest as realization finally set in. She was pregnant.

It had to have been from that first heat with Willis, three months ago, the one where everything changed. They hadn’t taken any precautions—not that she’d expected him to. He’d been so proud of claiming her, so smug in his assurances that she belonged to him now. And now...

Catherine’s hand rested lightly on her stomach, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over her.

Her heart fluttered. She was carrying his baby.

Her fingers brushed over the faint curve of her belly, barely noticeable under her loose dress.

Would Alpha Willis be happy? Would he be disappointed? She swallowed hard, tears pricking at her eyes. Whatever his reaction, she knew she had to tell him.

“Alpha,” she whispered under her breath, practicing the word, as though saying it too softly might anger him. She pressed her lips together, steeling herself, before stepping out of the bathroom.

Willis was sprawled on the couch in the living room, his legs spread lazily as he nursed a beer. His other hand was idly scratching his chest. The TV blared some loud action movie, but his sharp gaze flicked to her the moment she entered.

“What’s with the face, Kitty-Cat?” he asked, his voice rough, almost teasing. “You look like you’re about to cry. Did you screw something up?”

She immediately shook her head, her hands clasped in front of her. “N-no, Alpha,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—I just… I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

Willis leaned back, lifting the bottle to his lips for a long drink. “Alright, spit it out. Don’t stand there fidgeting like that; it’s annoying.”

Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head, her voice trembling. “I… I think I’m pregnant, Alpha.”

For a moment, there was silence. The sound of the TV seemed deafening as she waited for his reaction, her heart pounding in her chest.

His expression didn’t shift at first, but then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—a smug, self-satisfied grin and then a low chuckle, the sound rough and almost mocking.

“Pregnant, huh?” he said, setting the beer down on the coffee table. He stood, towering over her, and she instinctively lowered her gaze, staring at the floor.

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered, her hands twisting together nervously. “I-I think so… My heat hasn’t come back, and I’ve been feeling… different.”

Willis reached out, his hand cupping her chin and tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Different, huh?” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek, his rough callousses almost tender. “Guess all that whining and begging during your heat wasn’t for nothing. You let me knot you good, and now look at you. Already carrying my kid.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she said softly. “I’m… I’m so happy to carry your baby. I want to make you proud.”

Willis smirked, his grip on her chin tightening just slightly. “Yeah, you better be happy. And you better make me proud, Kitty-Cat. This changes things, you know. You’re not just my omega anymore. You’re the mother of my pup. That means you gotta step it up.”

She nodded quickly, her heart pounding. “I will, Alpha. I promise. I’ll do everything right. I’ll be good.”

“You will,” he said firmly, his voice carrying that edge of authority that made her want to bow to her knees in front of him. “Damn right you will. You think I want some brat running around who doesn’t know how to respect their Alpha? You’re gonna raise that kid right, and you’re gonna keep this place spotless while you’re at it. Got it?”

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I’ll do my best.”

Willis’s smirk widened, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her neck just above his mark. She shivered under his touch, her knees going weak as his scent surrounded her.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “You’ve been good so far, even if you’ve needed a little correction here and there. But now? You’re gonna have to be better. None of that shit of the past few weeks. You’ll take care of me and the baby. No excuses.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she said again, her voice meek and full of submission. “I’ll take care of everything. I swear.”

“Good,” he said, straightening up. His hand lingered on her stomach for a moment, and his grin softened into something almost fond. “You’re lucky, you know that?” he murmured against her skin. “Back with your old man, you’d probably be eating scraps and sleeping on the floor. But here? You’ve got me. A real Alpha.”

Tears welled in her eyes, a mix of love and submission overwhelming her. “Th-thank you, Alpha,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You’re a lucky little thing, Kitty-Cat,” he drawled, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. “Most omegas don’t get half as good as what I give you. Remember that.”

“I know, Alpha. I’m so grateful… for everything. For you,” she whispered, her voice soft and reverent, her eyes flicking up to meet his before quickly darting back down.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, before patting her head. “You’ve got it good here. Warm bed, good food, and now you’re carrying my kid. I mean, I’ve got my work cut out for me, making sure you don’t screw this up. But I think I can handle you. Just gotta keep you in line, huh?”

“Yes, Alpha,” she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I’ll be better. I’ll do everything you say. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not,” Willis said, his tone sharp. He grabbed her chin oncr again, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Because this ain’t just about you anymore, understand? It’s about me, my pup, my family. You step out of line, you screw something up—” he paused, his grip tightening slightly before he relaxed again, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “Well, let’s just say I’ve got plenty of ways to remind you who’s in charge.”

Catherine’s breath hitched, as his other hand inched down to pat her bum, her cheeks flushing as she nodded quickly. “Yes, Alpha. I understand. I’ll do my best. I’ll—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to her lips with a sly grin. “You talk too much, babe. You wanna make me happy? Show me you can listen. Do what you’re told without all the yapping.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, a mix of fear and adoration swirling within her. “Yes, Alpha,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

“My sweet omega,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip before letting go of her chin. “Now, you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, but I guess you’ve earned a little break for now. Come here.” He tugged her into his arms, his scent overwhelming her as he buried his face in her neck. “Let me enjoy you for a minute,” he muttered against her skin, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and satisfaction.

Catherine melted into his embrace, her hands clutching at his shirt as he raised her dress and pulloed down her panties. Despite the harshness in his words, there was a strange comfort in his touch, in the way he claimed her so completely.

Willis sat down on the sofa again, pulling her onto his lap and entering her in a swift motion, thrusting lazily inside her, while his hand palmed her stomach, while the other grabbed her tit, teasing her aching nipple.

“You gonna be round with my pup soon,” Willis moaner. “And this swet tits of yours are gonne grow round and full.”

His trust became more frantic the longer he went and he moaned and bit down over the mark he left when he claimed her for the first time, making the familiar pain flare up again. His mouth went lower, kissing her breast and sucking at her nipple. Cathrine hissed and she hid her face in the crook of his neck, comforting herself by inhaling his scent, as he reached his climax, his knot locking deep inside her as if he wanted go breed her full of even more pups.

He was her Alpha, her everything, and she would do whatever it took to keep him happy.

Chapter Text

Back in their assigned quarters in the stillness of the night, Catherine lingered by the bathroom door, Jasons hand still in hers.

She didn’t know the exact hour they would be summoned, but she was certain Beta Alfred would arrive early. In a house this size, there was no shortage of tasks to perform. Breakfast had to be prepared, lunch planned, floors scrubbed, and a litany of other chores to meet the demanding rhythm of Alpha Wayne’s household. Catherine could feel the weight of those unfamiliar expectations pressing down on her like a tangible thing, sharp and heavy.

There was no time to linger, no time to rest. She guided Jason toward the oppolent bathroom, her hands gentle but firm as she urged him to hurry. The space was far grander than anything she had ever known, and she felt her pulse quicken at the thought of using it. The shower stall gleamed with an impossible cleanliness, the air scented faintly of flowers from the neatly arranged amenities on the shelf.

She checked it with her wrist, then glanced at Jason, who was standing quietly by the tub, his eyes wide and uncertain. She squeezed just a small amount of tear-free shampoo into her palm. She showed him the bottle, her voice soft but firm. “This won’t hurt, Jason. It’s special shampoo, okay? No stinging in your eyes.”

His eyes darted between her hands and the bottle, a flicker of skepticism passing through him. She knew Jason hated when he had to wash his hair but he never made a fuss, only looking at her, red eyed but obidient.

Catherine gently massaged the lather into his hair, her fingers working through the soft strands with care. Jason flinched slightly when a bit of shampoo ran down to the corner of his eyes, as if bracing for pain, but nothing came. No sharp sting, no burning. Just the comforting sensation of her touch and the soft, milky scent of the shampoo filling the air.

“See?” she said quietly, brushing his wet hair back gently. “No stinging.” She rinsed his hair with the same careful touch, her hand brushing over his face to protect his eyes from the water and foam. She knew it wouldn’t sting this time but it was muscle memory to shield his eyes.

The water swept the soap from his hair in clean, swirling lines, and she took her time, ensuring every bubble was gone. “There we go,” she said gently, her voice calm as she smoothed a hand over his clean hair. Her own worries melted into the background as she focused entirely on him, every motion meant to make him feel safe and cared for.

The childrens body wash she got to use on him today smelled the same - soft and soothing, fresh milk, almost creamy. Nothing that would overpower his sweet puppy scent to much.

It was a far cry from the harsh, synthetic scent of the Beta soap, the only one they sometimes were able to afford, the kind that lingered unpleasantly on his skin and tickled their noses for hours.

“You smell all fresh now,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she caught the light, comforting scent lingering on him. Jason’s nose wrinkled, testing the air, but his gaze stayed on her, the hint of a small smile on his lips.

When the bath was done, Catherine reached instinctively for the old, facility-issued shirt Jason had been dressed in. The large, fluffy towels, embroidered with subtle patterns, stacked neatly on the rack had caught her eye, but she dared not touch them. Beta Alfred would have surely informed her, if she were to use them. The shirt, though rough and thin, was enough to do the job. She used it to dry him off, careful to pat his small frame dry without irritating his delicate skin.

“Here,” she murmured, pulling the soft, warm pajamas over his head. The fabric slipped easily over his damp skin, and she straightened the hem before stepping back to take in the sight of him. Jason’s eyes lit up as he noticed the cheerful cartoon characters on the pajamas. His small fingers traced the design, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Why did Alpha Wayne give me these?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with wonder.

Catherine froze for a moment, her throat tightening. “I don’t know, baby,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands hovered, uncertain, before she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders. “I… I didn’t think…” Her words faltered, and she looked away, unsure of what she was trying to say.

She hadn’t expected anything, least of all something as nice as these. Clothes like this were far beyond what she would have dared to ask for—certainly not before she had earned the privilege. She had braced herself for Jason to go without for days, for her to beg for scraps or hand-me-downs. Even then, she had expected plain, functional clothes, threadbare and patched, not soft pajamas with cheerful designs.

Her thoughts drifted back to Damian’s nursery. The room had been so sweet, a sanctuary for a beloved pup. The walls were painted in soft blues and greens.

The furniture was sturdy and childlike, each piece new and crafted with care. She remembered the changing table, its padded surface decorated with safari animals, and the tiny sleep sack printed with little brown bears. Every detail had been thoughtfully arranged, catered to the needs of a cherished infant.

Catherine’s thoughts drifted to the meager belongings she had once cobbled together for Jason. His first bed had been a small wicker basket, barely big enough to hold him, and only used when she couldn’t cradle him herself. A long, worn scarf had been her only other tool, gifted to her by an older Omega in the neighborhood who had finished raising her pups.

Catherine had wrapped it around her body to carry Jason, keeping him close while freeing her hands to work. Those items, old and battered, had been passed through dozens of children before finally falling apart. That was how it worked in the alley—Omegas shared what they could spare, pooling their meager resources to ensure their pups survived.

Damian had everything—new things, expensive things, things meant only for him. And now Jason had pajamas, soft and warm, that smelled of clean fabric and possibility. It made no sense.

Jason wasn’t like Damian, Alpha Dick, or Tim. He wasn’t Alpha Wayne’s pup. He wasn’t even part of this household, not until Alpha Wayne claimed him as truly his. And an other Alphas pup wasn’t claimed, not ever. Catherine had never heard of it, not from any Omega she’d ever known. There was no reason for Jason to have nice things in this house. Catherine didn’t understand.

Jason yawned, his head drooping as the long day caught up to him. Catherine quickly brushed his teeth with the small childrens toothbrush. The soft bristles worked gently over his tiny teeth, and though his eyes fluttered shut more than once, he stayed still, obedient.

Once she was finished she helped him to the bed, tucking the plush blanket around him with hands that trembled ever so slightly. He looked up at her, his sleepy gaze filled with a quiet trust, that she didn’t deserve.

“It’s okay, Mama,” he said suddenly, his soft voice piercing the stillness of their assigned quarters. Catherine froze, her fingers halting mid-motion. She had tried so hard to keep it from him, all of it—her sadness, her shame, her quiet despair. But Jason always noticed.

“I’m not sad, Mama,” he continued, his voice as earnest as it was small. “Maybe Alpha Wayne just forgot.”

“What?” Catherine’s voice cracked, confused. “What are you talking about, sweet pup?”

Jason’s little face crinkled with thought, and his voice picked up speed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Or… maybe it’s just that he didn’t like Leo. They’re really rich, right, Mama? And Leo is…”

“Sweetheart,” Catherine tried weakly, but her voice felt like a wisp of air, powerless against the current of Jason’s thoughts. His little hands clutched the edge of the blanket, his voice picking up speed, tumbling out in a frantic rush like it always did when they were alone. When he thought it was safe to speak.

“It’s really okay,” Jason insisted, his words quick and bright, as if saying them fast enough might make them true. “I’m a big boy, and I don’t need a plushy. And I think maybe Alpha Wayne will be nice to us. Like… my pajama is super warm, Mama, and the toothbrush looked so fun. And Alpha Wayne gave me so much food I almost couldn’t eat it all! And the cookies, Mama—they were so yummy!”

“My sweet pup,” Catherine murmured, but Jason kept going, his little voice brimming with energy now that they were alone.

“And when he came and got us for dinner, and he grabbed my hand, I thought it would hurt real bad because his hand is so big, Mama—did you see? But it didn’t hurt at all! And he smells alright, I guess. For an Alpha,” he grinned, just a bit loopsided. “And Alpha Wayne even said I was a good kid at dinner. Did you hear that, Mama?” It tugged at her heart. The way his little voice carried such desperate hope. The way he clung to scraps of kindness, to every fleeting moment of approval.

He wasn’t Alpha Wayne’s pup, and he never would be. No matter how small he made himself, no matter how quiet or obedient he was. He was another Alphas child and that was the most dangerous thing. No amount of warm pajamas or soft cookies could change that.

“Jason,” she tried again, her lips curving into something close to a smile, though it felt brittle. It was sweet and unbearably sad how he got like this sometimes, all frantic energy and eager words, as though he bottled everything up during the day. He didn’t have the luxury of babbling in front of  Alphas. He had to be quiet, good and invisible.

“So really, Mama,” Jason concluded, his little voice almost triumphant, “it’s fine that he didn’t get me my Leo. Even if he kinda promised.”

Catherine exhaled shakily, letting his words settle into the room like dust. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she rose, her steps soundless against the floor.

She crossed to the dresser, her hand brushing over the edge before reaching for the black plastic bag perched on top. It crinkled faintly as she pulled it down, her fingers dipping inside with care, almost reverence, until they closed around the battered lion.

Turning back to Jason, she knelt by his bedside, holding the toy in her hands like something fragile. “Here, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice tight with emotion.

Jason’s eyes widened as he saw the familiar shape. “Leo!” he gasped, sitting up and reaching out with both hands. He clutched the plush lion to his chest with all the desperation of a boy who had learned too early how easily the things he loved could be taken away. His thin arms wrapped around it tightly, his face buried in the lion’s faded, matted fur.

“Mama, did Alpha Wayne give it back?” he asked, his voice muffled but full of awe.

Catherine’s throat tightened painfully. Her lips moved before she could think better of it. “Yes, love,” she whispered. “He… he asked Beta Alfred to bring it up for you.”

Jason’s face lit up with something so pure it almost shattered her. “Wow! Maybe he thought I was really good today, or—or maybe he’s gonna be nice to us forever!”

“Maybe,” Catherine murmured, her voice hollow, her hand rising to smooth back his curls. They were soft now, clean and damp, curling slightly at the ends as they dried. “But for now, it’s time to sleep, my sweet pup.”

Jason nodded, his excitement giving way to the pull of exhaustion. He hugged Leo tightly, curling around the plush toy, pressing it against the scent gland at his neck. Within seconds, his breathing evened out, his little body relaxing into sleep, soothed by the familiarity of his lion and the hope he clung to. The toy’s matted head peeked out from his arms, its dull button eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, a silent witness to the despair Catherine felt.

She had thought that toy was lost forever, discarded like the rest of their belongings,

She remembered shoving items into a plastic bag with shaking hands. It was ingrained in her mind, the stink of beer-soaked carpet, the rustling of the plastic bag, the RCUP Officers booming voice as he ordered her to hurry.

That bag had been all they had left when the authorities came—when Willis’s death left her and Jason as unclaimed property of the state, taken by the Rehabilitation Center for Unclaimed Propetery until another Alpha claimed them.

She remembered how they’d been processed like cattle at the rehabilitation center. Every inch of their identities—what little remained after a life with Willis—stripped bare and itemized. The bag of their belongings was taken from her, stored for their new Alpha to obtain the right to give or take.

Alpha Wayne had given them a toy and a plastic bag. He had no obligation to either. He could have left them with nothing but the cold stone floors of the manors cellar.

But instead he had given them food and nesseserties for the night as Beta Alfred had called it. He had given Jason’s plush lion back. Alpha Wayne had no reason to return it. He could have thrown it away or locked it in a storage room, taunting them with the chance to earn it. He could have done anything he wanted. That was his right, as the Alpha who’d claimed them. His decisions were law, his whims unquestionable. Yet, not only had he returned Jason’s lion—he had provided the entire bag.

Or had he?

The bag sat open on the dresser, its plastic edges crinkled and worn, revealing just the faintest glimpse of its contents. Catherine hadn’t dared to dig further, hadn’t even allowed her eyes to linger on the shadowed folds. Had only put the lion back once Beta Alfred had left the room, oblivious to the bags other contents.

What if everything else was gone? What if the lion was a calculated gesture, a single breadcrumb of false hope? A way for the Alpha to flex his power and paint himself in the glow of benevolence.

A sentimental gesture, at best, the kind of thing an alpha father might do for a child he was fond of. But Jason wasn’t his child.

Jason was a sweet boy, timid and obedient to a fault. He’d done his best today, had tried so hard to follow every unspoken rule of this house, and still, his mistakes had been so many.

Alpha Wayne might seem fond of him now, enough maybe to provide a battered but beloved plush toy, but Jason’s mistakes would add up eventually.

She’d watched him falter today, so small and nervous, his wide eyes darting to her for guidance when Alpha Wayne gave him a command. The hesitation, the confusion—it had been subtle, almost imperceptible, but she’d seen it.

And Alpha Wayne didn’t look like a man who dealt in kindness. His broad shoulders, the sheer weight of his presence, his deep, commanding voice—it all exuded power, authority, control. Men like him didn’t give without a reason. Men like him didn’t need to.

Catherine looked down at her sleeping pup. Jasons cheek was pressed to the lion’s head, his mouth parted in soft, even breaths.

Every ounce of warmth today—the meals, the soft bedding, the kind words Alpha Wayne had spoken—had already worked its way into Jason’s fragile heart. Catherine’s stomach churned. How could she explain that these moments wouldn’t last? That they couldn’t?

What if Alpha Wayne was waiting for them to fail, for Jason to step out of line? What if this was all just a test, a cruel game designed to remind them that kindness was a privilege, not a right?

She tore her gaze away, her chest heaving with the effort it took to keep her fears from spilling over. It didn’t matter what the lion meant or why it had been returned. What mattered was surviving, keeping Jason safe, teaching him to keep his head down and his heart guarded.

The urge to scent him was almost overpowering. Jason smelled clean and content, like fresh rain, with a faint sweetness, almost haylike, like the cotton plant itself.

There was something calming and gentle in the air around him, a fragrance that wrapped itself around her heart and made her want to hold him close forever. But there was something missing. The soft, floral note that usually accompanied her own scent, the lavender that always lingered in the air when she comforted him, was absent from his.

She felt it like a physical ache, her instincts screaming to connect with him, to soothe him properly.

But she didn’t dare. She had been careless when she did it earlier tonight.

But scenting was not a one way street. If she scented him she, too, would smell like him. And if Alpha Wayne decides that now as his infant is finally asleep it is time to claim and mate with her, he surely wouldn’t appreciate her smelling like another Alphas pup.

She knew better than to risk his wrath or disapproval. The claiming and mating hadn’t happened yet, but the unspoken rules were already clear: she was his. No part of her, not even her scent, was hers to give anymore.

Her fingers lingered in Jason’s hair, trembling slightly as she combed through the soft, dark strands. She kept her wrists away from him, careful not to brush against his scent glands or let her own press too close. Her instincts begged her to mark him, to comfort him with her lavender and the grounding calm he so badly needed, but her fear held her back.

Jason’s lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he slept, his small body finally relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in days. He looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly vulnerable, and the bond they shared pulled at her with quiet ferocity. But she was bound now. She belonged to Alpha Wayne.

She withdrew her hand, his fingers curling against her palm as she stood.

The bathroom was colder than before, the chill of the manor creeping into her bones, the tiles feeling cold against her bare feet. She stripped quickly, goosebumps rising on her skin as the draft ghosted over her.

She worked through the motions of washing herself with mechanical precision, scrubbing her skin raw with the smallest dollop of the children’s body wash and tear-free shampoo. The scent clung to her like a mockery of innocence.

The nice bottles perched on the shower rack gleamed under the dim bathroom light, their elegant shapes untouched and unattainable. They weren’t meant for someone like her.

She had been raised with a constant understanding of her place—her worth never more than the Alpha’s hand that had controlled her, beaten her, marked her.

Catherine didn’t use the towels either. She couldn’t. They were folded too neatly, stacked with a care that made her hesitate, made her chest tighten with the weight of expectation. No one had told her explicitly, but she didn’t need to be told. She already knew. Towels like that weren’t for her. She stood in the cold air, shivering as water dripped down her arms, pooling at her feet before vanishing into the grout.

The air stealing the last remnants of warmth from her body as she waited, teeth chattering, until her skin was no longer damp. Her movements were stiff and mechanical as she pulled on the undergarments and nightgown Beta Alfred had handed her earlier in the evening. The fabric, soft and modest, seemed out of place against her skin. The sleeves draped over her wrists, loose and forgiving, the hem brushing below her knees. It fit her perfectly, as if it had been chosen with care.

She couldn’t imagine it had been.

Her hands skimmed over the fabric as if testing its reality. Luxurious things like this weren’t meant for someone like her. The softness only reminded her of how much she didn’t belong. She had grown up learning exactly where she stood: beneath others, always. Her worth was measured in what she could endure, what she could offer.

Growing up as the daughter of an Omega who had fallen apart under the control of a cruel, vicious Alpha, she had understood the worth of an Omega long before she knew how to read. Once she presented, she solely existed to be silent, to obey. There was no room for rebellion in her house, no space for softness.

Life under her first Alpha, her father, had taught her everything she needed to know about power and submission. She could still remember the sting of his belt, the press of his hand against her shoulder as he reminded her what she was—Omega, lesser, an afterthought in the hierarchy of the world.

By the time she was claimed by Willis, just shy of eighteen, she had already resigned herself to what her life would be.

She had thought, for one fleeting moment, that his claim might change things. He had been young, like her, and he had looked at her with something almost like tenderness.

He had taken her because she was there and smelled nice, because her heat had come early that time around, and because she didn’t say no. She hadn’t known how to.

She had gotten pregnant almost immediately, her body folding itself into the life that came with being his: their tiny apartment, the smell of grease and sweat that clung to everything, and the endless, gnawing hunger that neither of them could ever quite escape.

But Willis had been no different than her Alpha Father. He hadn’t been cruel at first—just desperate, just young, his scent still a bit more like Jasons, when he turned scared and sad.

But desperation curdled, and youth gave way to resentment. His hands grew heavier and the fragrance of tobacco overpowered his scent and the wet wool turned moldy, as the years went on. His words became sharper, his patience thinner.

Catherine bore it all without complaint. What else was there to do? She had Jason to think of. Sweet, timid Jason, with his big, solemn eyes and too-thin frame. He was only six years old, but he had already learned to tiptoe through the world, to make himself small and quiet. Just like her.

Jason had been born into a world of sharp words and harder hands, a world that never gave more than it took. Willis was dead now—three weeks gone. His absence was both a relief and another burden.

Alpha Wayne had claimed her today. His signature on the papers had sealed her fate, and Jason’s, too. She didn’t know what kind of Alpha he was yet, but she didn’t trust the kindness she’d seen so far. The warm meals, the soft bedding, the gentle tone in Beta Alfred’s voice—it all felt like a trap.

Alphas didn’t give without taking. She had learned that lesson a long time ago. And whatever this was, whatever Alpha Wayne wanted from them, Catherine knew one thing for certain. The cost would come due eventually.

The morning would come soon, and Beta Alfred would expect them ready for the day and their duties. She had no illusions about what was expected of her, what was expected of Jason.

Her body moved on autopilot now. The toothbrush she used was plain but clean, its bristles stiff and unfamiliar in her mouth. It was new and that fact alone made her uneasy. Things like new toothbrushes had to be earned both in her first Alphas home and with Willis.

Catherine slipped back into the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. The darkness pressed close, broken only by the faint golden light from the ornate bedside lamp.

Jason was still asleep, curled tightly under the unfamiliar blankets, his small frame almost swallowed by the sheer size of the bed. His breathing was soft, steady, and for a moment, Catherine let herself linger. He hadn’t slept this soundly at the facility, with all those people in the same room, crying kids and hopeless omega parents. To room had stunk of fear and desparation.

Her gaze fell to the plastic bag resting by the dresser. Everything she had salvaged from a life of nothing was in that bag—or so she hoped. Catherine knelt in front of it, her hands trembling as they reached for the thin plastic handles.

She opened it slowly, the crinkling sound loud in the stillness. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a familiar fear clawing its way up her throat.

She peeled the bag open slowly, wincing at the sharp, crackling sound that shattered the stillness of the room. A knot of fear twisted deep in her chest, familiar and unrelenting. Alphas didn’t give without taking. She knew better than to hope this Alpha, with his cold blue eyes and unreadable face, had returned everything. She knew she and Jason were nothing to him—just scraps of lives he’d claimed.

But she was desperate to know which of their poosessions where truly in the bag, handed back by an Alpha who owned their fates.

Her gaze swept over the contents, and she noted first the absence of clothes or blankets. Of course. That wasn’t surprising.

Catherine’s lips pressed into a thin line as she remembered the RCUP officers words, sharp as a slap. He had shoved the empty plastic bag at her with a sneer, his nose wrinkling at the musty stench of Willis’s apartment, and barked for her to pack.

She had reached instinctively for Jason’s hoodie, a pitiful thing of thin, pilled fabric with holes in the cuffs. He loved that hoodie, clung to it like a shield against the cold and the world that hated them. She’d gripped it tightly, her knuckles white, her heart breaking at the thought of leaving it behind.

“You don’t need that trash,” the officer spat, his voice rising to a bellow when she hesitated. His face twisted with disgust, veins bulging in his neck as he shouted at her, the sound reverberating off the grimy walls. Catherine’s hands trembled, her head bowing automatically in submission. She didn’t argue. She never did.

With a shaking breath, she let the hoodie fall from her grasp, the small weight of it hitting the floor like a physical blow. The officer’s smirk as he turned away felt like salt ground into an open wound.

Catherine reached into the bag now, her fingers brushing the edges of the first photograph. She pulled it out, holding it carefully as though it might crumble in her hands. The image stared back at her: Jason as a baby, no more than five or six months old, his chubby cheeks dusted with fine fuzz.

Her throat tightened. She had worried endlessly in those early months, convinced Jason was too thin, that her milk wasn’t enough. She’d cried silently in the dark, when he nursed for hours and still seemed hungry, her body betraying her, leaving her baby to suffer but trying to feed him until her nipples bleed and her tits were sore.

Willis had been kinder then, or at least less cruel. When she told him about her fears, he’d surprised her by allowing her to go to her follow-up appointment at Doc Thompskin’s clinic.

She would never forget the kindness of Beta Doc Leslie Thompkins, whose clinic was a sanctuary for the desperate. She had taken Jason to the clinic one sweltering summer afternoon, her head bowed, clutching him tight, as she shuffled inside, too ashamed to look anyone in the eye. Doc Thompkins had greeted her with a calm, steady voice and a touch so gentle it made Catherine’s chest ache.

“You’re doing your best,” she had said, her words cutting through Catherine’s shame like sunlight piercing a storm.

“But you’re starving yourself to feed him,” Doc Thompkins had said, her voice kind but firm. “It doesn’t work like that, Catherine. You can’t give him what your body doesn’t have.”

The shame had burned in Catherine’s cheeks. Omegas didn’t need extra portions, Willis always told her. They just get fat and lazy if they stuff their face, had always been the credo he grew up with. “Ain’t got no money for that.”

The Doc hadn’t judged her. Instead, she’d handed over two boxes of formula and two small plastic bottles, their soft, nipple-shaped tops designed to mimic breastfeeding.

“Supplement with these,” she’d instructed. “But you need to eat too, sweetheart. Start with simple things—peanut butter, boiled eggs, oats. They’re cheap, they’ll fill you up, and they’re better than nothing.”

She’d even given Catherine vitamins—tiny capsules to take daily—and explained how to stimulate lactation with warm compresses and frequent nursing. Alpha Willis had even bought toast and peanut butter when she dared to tell him the docs advises. For the first time in months, Catherine had felt a flicker of hope.

She hadn’t hesitated to shower him with gratitude. She whispered her thanks, her voice soft and reverent, her head bowed as if he’d handed her salvation. That small gesture—a loaf of bread, a jar of spread—had made her heart ache with pathetic relief.

She had repaid him the only way she could, kneeling at his feet after Jason was asleep, her hands trembling but willing. She’d learned to read his moods, to anticipate when compliance wasn’t enough and when the only thing that would soothe him was her complete surrender.

With the doctor’s help and Willis rare generousity, Jason had grown stronger, his limbs filling out, his cheeks gaining a rosy hue. For a brief moment, she had felt like a good mother, like she could give him something better than what she’d had.

Freshly postpartum, her body raw and aching from Jason’s birth, Catherine had thrown herself into being extra good for Willis. It wasn’t enough to care for Jason or keep the house in order—those were the bare minimum expectations. To please him, she had to offer more, to give more of herself.

Even with Jason nursing constantly the night after her doctors visit, leaving her drained and trembling with exhaustion, only letting her sleep briefly after she offered a small bottle of formula in the early morning hours, she would rise before dawn to wake Alpha Willis just the way he liked it the most. With her lips wrapped around his soft but thick cock until he grew hard in her mouth.

He’d woken, pleased and exited, and she’d doubled her efforts, sucking and licking until he came with a heavy grunt, his voice rough from sleep.

“What a nice suprise, Kitty-Cat,” he had drawled and send her off to make him a coffee, with a pat on her back.

From that day on, no matter how tired or drained she was, she made sure to greet Willis each evening with a soft smile, smoothing her dress over her sore, still-healing body, and kept her voice gentle and low, just like he liked it.

She leaned into his touch when he demanded it, no matter how hard his touch or crude his words, offering her body without hesitation when he sought release. Even when her nipples burned and were bleeding raw from nursing and her vaginal bruises hadn’t faded, she’d let him take what he wanted—his pleasure was her duty.

And when he complained that she wasn’t as tight as she used to be before birthing their pup and started petting her bum until his thick finger poked against her pucker. She didn’t stop him. It hurt, even with all the lubrication that he used and the way he took his time and enjoyment to prepare her with his calloused fingers and a sly grin on his face. She grunted like an animal trying to adjust to his grit and to the strange feeling of being filled down there. It felt sinful and dirty, but she let him use her like that, whenever he needed a tighter hole to fuck.

Cathrine shuddered, trying to forget how she usually found blood in her panties afterwards from where his rough fucking resulted in small tears along her anal sphinter how much it had hurt to use the toilet afterwards.

The second photograph took ber mind of it. Jason as a toddler, his smile tentative but present, his eyes still wide and unguarded, though there was a glimmer of caution there. It was a look she recognized, one that spoke of a boy already learning that joy was a fragile thing, easily broken.

Willis had brought home the camera one sweltering summer night, stumbling through the door reeking of cheap beer and triumph. “Found this in some idiot’s car,” he’d slurred, tossing the Polaroid onto the table. The pawnshop wouldn’t take it—worthless, they’d said. But Catherine had seen the glimmer of potential in it, the chance to capture something beautiful.

Willis had other ideas.

Later that night, he had grabbed the camera with a cruel grin, his heavy hand tangling in Catherine’s hair. “Let’s see how this thing works,” he’d drawled, shoving Catherine down onto the grimy carpet with one hand.

She didn’t resist. She never did.

As she worked, her heart pounding with dread, Willis fumbled with the Polaroid, his laughter low and mean. “Smile for me, baby,” he sneered, and when the flash went off, she flinched. The sharp burst of light seared the moment into her mind: her on her knees, her head bowed, lips parted around his thick hairy dick, her hands trembling against his thighs, her nose full of his cloay sharp and moldy scent, pressed against his pubic scent glands, while he enjoyed the wet heat of her mouths.

The photograph had been crude, humiliating—a twisted trophy of her submission. Willis had waved it in her face, laughing at her flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. “A memory for the ages,” he’d said, tossing the camera aside.

He’d forgotten about it by morning, leaving Catherine to hide the remaining shots. She had waited for the right moments, her hands shaking as she pressed the button each time, preserving tiny fragments of Jason’s fleeting innocence.

Catherine set the photographs aside with care, her hands moving back into the bag.

Its once-sturdy cover of the sole book in he bag, was soft now, worn smooth from years of handling. The pages were bent at the corners, their yellowed edges stained with fingerprints and smudges of grime. It wasn’t a children’s book, not something bright or hopeful with pictures to distract a boy from the ugliness of their lives. It was a heavy novel, with dense, archaic language that Catherine sometimes struggled to read aloud. Great Expectations. She’d chosen it at random from the charity box in the lobby of their building, drawn to the weight of it, the way it felt solid and important in her hands.

She had read it to Jason in the dim light of their tiny apartment, her voice low and steady to keep him calm on nights when Willis came home drunk and angry. Jason had clung to the words, his wide blue eyes fixed on her as she described Pip’s struggles and triumphs.

Jason didn’t understand most of it—neither did she the first time she read it to him—but it had been enough to distract them, from Willis slurs at the television. At least until Willis got bored by commercials and replays of the key moments of the game he’d watched before and demaned Catherine attention and her body.

Her fingers lingered on the cover before she set it aside and reached in again. This time, they closed around the familiar shape of Jason’s toy car.

Black and green, its paint chipped in places but still vibrant. She remembered the day Willis brought it home, swaggering into their apartment with that same mean smirk he always wore when he thought he’d done something clever. He’d stolen it from a store, pocketed it without a second thought, and later tossed it to Jason with a gruff, “Don’t break it.”

Jason hadn’t. He’d treated the car with care, it was Jason’s most prized possession. It has been sweet how he has always been polishing it with the hem of his shirt and carefully rolling it back and forth across the cracked linoleum floor. It was the only real toy he had, and he had loved it with a desperation that broke her heart. She ran her thumb over its worn surface before placing it next to the book.

The next item made her stomach twist: a half-empty box of sugar cubes.

She had found it in the hall outside their apartment, a rare stroke of luck. Someone’s shopping bag had torn, and the box of 250 sugar cubes, one whole kilogram, had spilled onto the filthy floor, still sealed, safe to take. She’d snatched the box before anyone else could see, holding it close to her chest like it was gold.

The cubes had been a lifeline, a way to keep Jason going on the days when there was nothing else. She’d rationed them carefully, giving him one or two when his stomach growled too loudly or when he looked at her with those hollow, hungry eyes. She had tried to ignore the guilt, the knowledge that sugar wasn’t enough to sustain him, that he was always too thin, just like her.

Her hand trembled as she placed the half empty box beside the car. She wondered how often she’d need it here, how fast it would vanish.

Her fingers brushed against something small and soft next—a single baby sock. She fished for the second one of the pair in the black plastic bag, relieved when she finally grabbed it.

They were worn and yellowed, the edges frayed from years of being tucked away. They were too small now, useless for anything practical, but it had been Jason’s.

There was a small hairclip next. Plain, unadorned, and worn smooth from years of use, it felt small and fragile in her hand, yet its weight bore down on her like a stone. Catherine’s mother had used it to pin her hair up when she was a girl, coaxing her fine blond strands into place with a gentleness that was unusual to her. The pin had been a simple thing, but in those days, it had made her feel pretty, like she was worth the rare care her mother gave her.

That was before Willis.

Willis hadn’t liked it much. “You look better with your hair down,” he’d sneered, his voice rough and slurred. “Show it off.” She hadn’t understood at first, hadn’t known what it meant to “show off” something as ordinary as her hair. But the way his eyes lingered and his fingers grabbed hard while he fucked her from behind had taught her quickly.

After that, the hairpin had stayed hidden most of the time, tucked into the bottom of a drawer. She only wore it when Willis was gone—when she dared to pin her hair back to keep it out of her face while scrubbing the floor or patching Jason’s clothes.

Her fingers brushed the damp lengths of her hair now, loose and tangled around her shoulders. She felt naked under the weight of Alpha Wayne’s eyes, even though he wasn’t there to see her. What did a man like him—a man with his pristine clothes, his big old mansion and strong, clean scent—think when he looked at someone like her?

Her hair was dull, her skin rough from too many winters without enough warmth. Her body, though still skinny, bore the marks of her years—stretch marks and sagged breasts from Jason’s birth, faded scars from her own Alpha fathers and Willis’s rough hands, and the exhaustion that seemed etched into her very bones.

Why had he choosen her? She was a second hand omega, burdened by an unclaimed pup Alpha Wayne had to baord at least until the pups presentation. Alpha Wayne could have choosen any Omega and yet here she was. Catherine took a deep breath, pushing the thought away. There was nothing she couldn’t do and pondering had never helped nobody.

Her fingers found the tin of balm next, its surface dented and scratched. It had been her mother’s, mixed by hand from an old omega’s recipe. “For the hard days,” her mother had said, her voice brittle with the weight of too many hard days of her own.

She’d used it sparingly, always terrified of running out. Now there was almost nothing left, just a faint trace smeared around the inside of the tin.

She pulled out a sewing needle and thread next, her fingers running over the cheap, rough spool. She had used it to patch Jason’s clothes, stitching and re-stitching until the fabric was more thread than original material. His shirts had been too small for years, the seams stretched tight over his growing frame, but new clothes had never been an option.

Her hand found the matchbox next. It was nearly empty, just a few matches rattling inside. She’d kept it hidden, her last line of defense against the cold or the dark. But Willis always found it. He’d take the matches to light his cigarettes, sneering at her protests. “What’re you gonna do with ’em anyway?” he’d snap, his breath thick with stale beer and smoke. She’d learned not to fight him, not to argue.

At the bottom of the bag was a bent tin, the metal scratched and dented from years of being handled. Jason called it his treasure box. Inside were bottle caps, rubber bands, pieces of string—bits of nothing that he guarded like jewels. Two crayon nubs—one red, one blue—lay tucked in a corner, their paper wrappings peeled away.

Beneath it all was the drawing.

It was done in crayon as well, the colors, only blue and red and yellow, faded but still vibrant. The paper was thin and brittle, its edges curling from age.

Jason had drawn the both of them: two stick figures holding hands beneath a bright sun. She traced the lines with her finger, her throat tightening as she remembered the day he’d made it. He’d been so proud, holding it up for her to see, his smile brighter than the sun he’d drawn. She’d hidden it immediately, knowing Willis would tear it to shreds if he saw it.

Everything was there. Nothing had been taken.

Catherine stared at the bag, her chest tight with disbelief. Alpha Wayne hadn’t discarded of anything. Not the toy, not the tattered book, not the scraps of her son’s makeshift treasure. Nothing. He had looked at these remnants of her pitiful life and chosen to keep them.

But Alphas didn’t give without taking. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, Catherine couldn’t believe it was without cost.

Her eyes drifted back to Jason, still lost in dreams, his small hands clutching the stuffed lion Alpha Wayne had given him earlier. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t let herself hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope was a knife waiting to cut her open.

Whatever the morning brought, whatever Alpha Wayne wanted from them, Catherine knew one thing for certain: it would be her and Jason who paid the price. And the only thing she could do was to try and shield him however much was possible.

Chapter Text

Catherine woke to the sound of voices outside the door, her body going rigid as her mind scrambled to catch up. Her first instinct was to pull Jason closer, shield him from whatever might come. The voices, however, weren’t angry or hurried. They were light, easy, carrying the unmistakable rhythm of children who had never had to whisper to avoid being heard.

The first voice belonged to Alpha Dick, clear and bright even through the muffled barrier of the door. She blinked in the dim light, her pulse quickening as she strained to make out what was being said.

“I’m telling you, Timmy, you just have to keep double-jumping!” Dick said, his words rushing together with the breathless enthusiasm of someone trying to explain something urgent. “And then, when the boss starts spinning, you roll under him—like this!”

“But I always mess up the double-jump!” Tim protested, his tone half-frustrated, half-laughing. “And then I fall in the lava, and you say I’m wasting lives!”

Alpha Dick’s laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained. “That’s because you are wasting lives! But don’t worry, we’ll practice after breakfast. I’ll show you how to time it better—then we’ll beat it together!”

Catherine felt her chest tighten, her hand instinctively pressing against her ribcage as if she could hold herself together by sheer force. The boys outside spoke so freely, so carelessly.

Loved.

Sheltered. That’s what they were. She could feel it in every word.

And then came the third voice—a low rumble, quiet but commanding. Alpha Wayne. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but his tone was enough. It carried authority without cruelty, certainty without anger. Whatever it was, the boys fell silent, obedience without fear.

Catherine’s heart twisted at the realization. She was in a house where children didn’t flinch at raised voices, where they didn’t brace themselves for what might come next. She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t even pretend to.

The sound of footsteps retreating down the hall brought her back to herself. Heavy steps on the stairs echoed faintly, and soon all was silent again. The quiet felt ominous, pressing against her like a weight.

She turned her head toward Jason, still curled up under the blanket. His small face was so peaceful in sleep, his dark lashes resting against his pale cheeks. She hated waking him. Hated the look he gave her when he opened his eyes, that fleeting moment of hope snuffed out by the world they lived in.

“Jason,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out to shake his shoulder gently. “Baby, wake up.”

Her son stirred, blinking groggily up at her. His small face was soft with sleep, his dark curls a messy halo against the pillow, his little lion curled against his cheek. For a moment, he looked at her with a faint smile, his eyes still caught in some sweet dream. Then the world settled back into place, and the light in his expression dimmed.

“It’s time to get ready,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. She couldn’t afford for him to linger, to cling to the warmth of the bed.

Jason sat up without complaint, his movements sluggish but obedient.

Jason didn’t argue. He never did. He was too young to understand rebellion, too used to obedience being the safest option. She helped him out of his borrowed pajamas—soft, bright, and warm, adorned with little cartoon dogs that had made him smile last night. His fingers lingered on the fabric as she folded it neatly and placed it on the dresser.

Then came the facility-issued outfit: thin gray pants and a matching shirt, the fabric scratchy and dull against his skin. His shoulders slumped as she pulled it over his head, but he didn’t complain. He just stood there, quiet and sad, letting her guide him like he always did.

“You’re such a good boy,” she murmured, smoothing his hair as if the words could fix the heaviness in his small frame.

“I liked those,” Jason said quietly, still looking at the folded pyjama set, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Catherine murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat as she slipped his bare feet into the scuffed gray shoes they’d been given back at the facility.

She dressed quickly in her own gray dress, the same one she’d worn every day for the last three weeks. The fabric hung loose on her frame, a stark reminder of how little there had been to eat all her life and how much stress her body had to bear. Her slip-on shoes were waiting by the bed, scuffed and worn, but still serviceable.

As she brushed Jason’s teeth, she kept her movements quick and efficient, her own toothbrush lying unused on the counter.  If there wasn’t enough time, she at lesst needed to make sure Jasons teeth were cleaned as often as possible.

The toothpaste they’d been given last night still sat there, almost full by how little she’d allowed themselfes to use, its minty scent unfamiliar and overwhelming. She didn’t know if it would be taken away later, if she’d have to earn it back somehow.

Back in the bedroom, Jason reached for the black plastic bag sitting in the corner, but Catherine caught his wrist gently. “Not now,” she said, her voice soft but firm. She didn’t have time to explain, to tell him how much she wanted to dig through that bag herself, even if she’d just done so mere hours ago, just to make sure everything was still there. The sugar cubes, the baby pictures—little fragments of a life she’d fought to hold onto.

But she couldn’t. Not now. The risk was too high, and Beta Alfred could come through the door at any moment. If he found them pawing through their meager belongings, what would he think? What would he do?

Jason nodded, but his face fell, the corners of his mouth pulling downward. He turned back toward the bed, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Catherine wanted to pull him close, to tell him everything would be okay, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

Catherine tucked Jason’s toy lion under the pillow with trembling hands, her breath hitching as she pressed her fingers to her lips. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs, a frantic beat of panic she couldn’t suppress. If someone found it—if they thought she was stealing or hoarding—what would they do? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the thought away, but it clung to her like damp air and burned fields of grass, suffocating and inescapable.

There was no time for this. No time for the weak trembling in her limbs or the knot tightening in her throat. Beta Alfred would come soon, and they had to be ready. Always ready, she reminded herself. There was no room for error.

When the knock came, Catherine and Jason were already standing at attention, their hands clasped in front of them, heads bowed slightly. It was a soft knock, polite even, but it still sent a shiver racing down Catherine’s spine. Her pulse quickened as she waited, unsure if she should move or speak.

The silence stretched, but she didn’t dare fill it.

The knock came again, a little firmer this time. Jason looked up at her, his wide eyes questioning, but she gave the barest shake of her head. They wouldn’t open the door unbidden. It wasn’t their place.

The door opened a moment later, and Beta Alfred’s calm, even voice filled the room alongside his grounding earthy scent, with a wisper of dust and vanilla, like an old well loved book.

“Good morning,” he said with the kind of measured politeness that made Catherine’s stomach churn with unease. He didn’t sound displeased, but she knew better than to take it for granted. “Master Bruce has asked me to collect you both. Let me escort you to the dining room.”

Catherine dipped her head in acknowledgment, murmuring a soft, “Yes, Beta Alfred.” She took Jason’s hand, gripping it tightly, and followed him out into the hall.

The walk to the dining room felt impossibly long. The house was so quiet, so heavy, every step echoing against the polished wood floors. Jason clung to her side, his small hand sticky with nervous sweat. She tried to reassure him with a squeeze of her fingers, but her own unease bled through.

When they reached the dining room, the sight stopped Catherine in her tracks. The table was laden with food—more food than she’d seen in one place, same as it had been at dinner yesterday evening. Stacks of golden pancakes towered on plates, surrounded by bowls of colorful fruit salad. There was bacon, toast, eggs, pastries, and a pitcher of fresh orange juice glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

At one end of the table, Alpha Dick, the oldest, was already devouring a pile of pancakes, syrup dripping down his chin as he laughed at something. Tim, his younger brother, was engrossed in a bowl of cereal, the clatter of his spoon loud in the otherwise quiet room, a drop of milk on the table in front of him, where some must have carelessly fallen of the spoon. Alpa Willis would have slaped Jason to next sunday for that.

At the head of the table sat Alpha Wayne, cradling the youngest child, Damian, in his arms. The baby fussed and writhed, his face red and pinched as his Alpha father tried to feed him from a bottle.

“Master Dick,” Beta Alfred’s voice cut through the room, smooth but firm, “what have I told you about waiting for everyone before starting your meal?”

The young Alpha swallowed his mouthful of pancake, his grin sheepish. “Sorry, Alfred.”

“And you, Master Tim?” Beta Alfred continued, arching a brow as he looked at the younger boy.

Tim froze mid-spoonful, his wide eyes darting to the Beta. “I was hungry,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the cereal in his mouth. Catherine bet he’d never really known hunger.

Beta Alfred sighed, but his chastisement was light, almost indulgent. “Perhaps you boys recall your manners next time.”

Catherine stood awkwardly in the doorway, her hands twisting in front of her. She hadn’t been called to help prepare breakfast. Why hadn’t she been summoned earlier? She could have peeled fruit, brewed coffee, plated food—something to make herself useful. Anything, really. Instead, she stood there like an intruder, the smell of food making her stomach twist painfully.

Jason tugged on her hand, his small voice breaking the silence. “Do Mama and me get to eat too, Alpha Wayne? Or … or only at dinner, like …”

Catherine’s face burned, her cheeks hot with shame. “Hush, Jason,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Beta Alfred surprised her by addressing Jason directly. “What would you like to eat this morning, Master Jason?”

Jason looked up at her, his eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty.

Catherine blinked, her mind scrambling to make sense of the words. Master Jason? Her boy? She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. What did Beta Alfred want to imply? Was this the beginning of a long cruel joke for Jason daring to ask for breakfast?

Catherine could imagine it, the cruelty of others had shaped her imagination well. How Beta Alfred would guide her child to the table, plate up food for him in a deliberate, almost mocking gesture.

Jason would eat, bite by bite, under the watchful gaze of the Beta. And then, when the meal was done, the punishment would begin.

Perhaps it would be swift and controlled—Beta Alfred would grab Jason’s small wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make him wince, his voice icy as he demanded to know if Jason thought himself above his place.

Or perhaps it would be slower, more methodical: a forced kneel in the corner, back straight, hands resting on his knees, as he endured hour after hour of silence, shame weighing heavier with every passing second.

The worst was what lingered from her past—Beta Alfred lifting a ruler or strap, his movements calm and measured, delivering sharp strikes to Jason’s small hands or legs as he lectured him about the cost of waste or the audacity of indulgence.

She could almost hear the sharp crack, his muffled cries echoing in the quiet room. He’d flinch, tremble, and try to stifle his sobs, desperate not to make it worse.

And she would stand there, useless, unable to stop it.

Alpha Wayne spoke, his deep voice drawing her out of that nightmare.

“Damian’s been struggling again,” he said, his tone calm but tinged with frustration. His sugary scent was slighty charred again. A smell that Catherine started to associate with him being stressed. “He hasn’t been feeding well.”

Catherine froze, her instincts flaring. She remembered the night before, how she’d rubbed tiny circles on Damian’s belly, using the gentlest pressure to ease the baby’s gas. He had calmed under her fingers.

Maybe, if it would please Alpha Wayne, she could try it again. His belly still looked bloated. But how could she offer without overstepping? She wringed her hands in front of her, a nervous habit that she hadn’t yet been able to shake off.

Her gaze flickered nervously between Jason and the table as she tried to focus on Alpha Wayne. Beta Alfred had led Jason to a chair, guiding him to sit before placing a plate in front of him. Pancakes, neatly stacked, with a small bowl of fruit and a glass of milk.

Catherine’s heart raced as she kept half an eye on them, her instincts screaming that this couldn’t be right. Jason had dared to ask for food. Surely this was a trap. Surely Jason would be punished.

But nothing happened just yet. Beta Alfred adjusted the fork in Jason’s hand, murmuring something Catherine couldn’t quite catch, and Jason nodded, wide-eyed. Her child hesitated only a moment before taking his first tentative bite, his posture rigid, as though ready to flee at the first sign of rebuke.

Catherine forced herself to look back to her Alpha, who was seated across from her, pup fussing in his arms. Her heart pounded, the submissive reflex to lower her gaze battling with the need to stay alert, to keep an eye on Jason, to catch any hint of disapproval from the others. But Alpha Waynes voice drew her full attention.

“You said last night that Damian’s crying might be from colic,” he began, his tone calm but perplexed. “What exactly does that mean?”

Catherine’s stomach churned. She glanced at him, then quickly down at her lap, where her fingers twisted the fabric of her skirt. The urge to shrink away, to disappear, clawed at her, but the Alpha’s question hung in the air, demanding an answer.

“It’s … it’s when a baby has trouble with their stomach, Alpha Wayne,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. “Gas or digestion, usually. It … it can be very painful for them.”

Alpha Wayne frowned, his dark brows knitting together as he looked down at Damian. The baby’s tiny fists flailed, his face red with effort as he squirmed in his father’s arms. His cries grew louder, more insistent, and Alpha Waynes frown deepened. He adjusted his hold, but it seemed to do little to comfort the child.

“And the massage—what you did last night. How does that help?” His voice was steady, but there was a hint of frustration beneath it, the kind born of helplessness. Catherine recognized it too well.

“I—I just pressed very gently on his belly, Alpha,” she said, keeping her tone soft and deferential. “Small circles, like this.” She raised her trembling hand, miming the motion in the air. “It can help move the gas … and relieve the pressure.”

Alpha Wayne nodded slowly, as though committing her words to memory. “Is that why he calmed down after? Because the gas moved?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine replied quickly, eager to give him an answer that might please him. But the words stuck in her throat as she hesitated, unsure how to continue. She could just imagine it. The rows of expensive formula cans in the kitchen. It would fit the sleek, modern bottle in Alpha Waynes hand well. All of that … expensive.  Telling him they might not be enough—that they might be wrong—that was beyond dangerous.

But the baby - Damian looked so uncomfortable. He was just a pup. A tiny helpless little pup.

“It’s … it’s not always enough, Alpha,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I dare say so, Alpha, I don’t want to overstep … but sometimes it’s the milk … or the bottles.”

The Alphas frown returned, deeper this time. “What’s wrong with the milk?”

“It … certain formulas can be hard for babies to digest, Alpha,” she explained, her words faltering as she spoke. “If I dare, a hypoallergenic one might help … or lactose-free.”

“Hypoallergenic?” He tested the word as if it were foreign to him, his inexperience stark against his air of authority. “I didn’t even know colic was a thing until you mentioned it. What kind of formula is that?”

Catherine swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. “It’s … made differently, Alpha. For babies with sensitivities.”

Alpha Wayne leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on Damian, who had quieted only slightly, his cries now punctuated by hiccuping gasps. “And the bottles? I bought them at the baby store. The lady said they were a good brand. Are there better ones?”

“I wouldn’t dare to imply, Alpha Wayne, please. But there are different bottles with vent systems.” Catherine murmured, her voice trembling. She felt the weight of his scrutiny "That might help too. They reduce how much air the baby swallows.”

Alphas silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Catherine could feel his gaze like a weight on her, heavy and unwavering, his eyes flicking between her and Damian as though measuring something far beyond their words. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat seeming too loud, too intrusive, a reminder of her own fragility.

Her breath hitched as the Alphas words finally broke the stillness, his voice as steady and commanding as ever.

“I’ll need to get those,” he said, his tone firm. “Formula, bottles—whatever he needs. You’ll need to come with. You’ll know what to look for.”

Catherine’s stomach plummeted, a lead weight pulling her down into herself. The room suddenly felt too large, the air too thin. Her heart thudded in her chest, loud enough that she thought the others might hear it.

She nodded quickly, more out of fear than agreement, her hands gripping her lap so tightly her knuckles went white. She didn’t dare refuse, even though the thought of walking through a store at his side, filled her with dread.

“Yes, Alpha,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other in her haste. “Of course. It’s just … it’s very cold outside, Alpha. Jason… he has no jacket— If… if it pleases you, might he stay and help Beta Alfred with chores while we go?”

Her voice was quieter by the end, the last few words barely audible. The request felt reckless, foolish even. The thought of leaving Jason behind to fend for himself in this vast, unyielding house made her feel like her chest might collapse. But it was so cold outside in that icy november rain.

Jason stiffened in his chair, his small hands gripping the edge as though it might keep him from being swallowed whole. His wide, fearful eyes darted to her, then to Alpha Wayne, and back again. He didn’t speak, didn’t so much as whimper, but Catherine could feel his panic. The tension in his fragile shoulders, the way he shrank into himself, was as loud as a scream.

Alphas eyes flicked to Jason briefly, then back to Catherine. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, and she had to force herself not to look away. Every instinct screamed at her to lower her gaze, to submit entirely, to disappear beneath his scrutiny. Her Alpha father’s hands and Willis’s sneers and his belt had taught her the cost of speaking out of turn, of asking too much.

The thought pushed through her fear, sharper and louder than her terror. The air outside yesterday had been bitter, the kind of cold that cut through layers of clothing and settled into the skin. Even the short walk from the RCUP officer’s car to the grand doors of the manor had felt endless, the wind biting at her cheeks and freezing her breath. Jason hadn’t complained, but she’d seen the way his shoulders hunched against the cold, his lips pale and trembling.

She didn’t want him to be freezing like this while Alpha dragged them from shop to shop, clad only in their facility issued cloths.

Alpha Wayne shifted slightly in his seat, the movement slow and deliberate. Catherine braced herself, half-expecting a reprimand for daring to make suggestions, for overstepping her place. Instead, his voice came steady and calm.

“He can borrow one of Tim’s.”

Catherine blinked, startled by the ease of the response. Her mind scrambled to process the words as if they were in a language she didn’t fully understand.

At the far end of the table, Tim, perched on his knees to better reach his cereal, froze mid-bite. He glanced up at his Alpha father, his wide blue eyes round with surprise, milk dribbling down his chin. Hastily, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking, his voice still muffled by food.

“Why does he need my jacket?” Tim asked, glancing sideways at Jason, who froze under the weight of the boy’s gaze and how Tims scent lost it’s milkyness, turning more bitter, like black strong coffee.

Jasons wide, wary eyes darted between Tim and Catherine, his posture rigid. Jasons fingers gripped the edge of his chair so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

“Tim,” Alpha Wayne said, his voice steady but firm, carrying a quiet authority that demanded compliance without ever raising in volume. “You have more than enough jackets. Besides, it will just be this once, only for today.”

Tim hesitated, his eyes darting back to Jason before he shrugged and turned to his cereal. “Okay,” he said, his voice casual, as if the question hadn’t mattered much after all.

Jason exhaled a shaky breath but didn’t lift his head. His small hands stayed planted on the chair, gripping it like an anchor, as though afraid that releasing it might set him adrift in unfamiliar waters.

From his seat, Alpha Dick grinned around a mouthful of pancake, swallowing quickly before chiming in, his voice bright with mischief. “Hey, Timmy,” he said, leaning back lazily in his chair, “don’t forget to check the pockets. What if there’s treasure in there?”

Tim turned sharply, scowling at his brother. His cheeks puffed indignantly, and his voice pitched higher with annoyance, his black coffee scent turning even stronger. “There’s no treasure in my jacket!”

Alpha Dick laughed, his grin widening as he twirled his fork between his fingers. “You never know,” he teased, tossing a quick wink at Jason, who startled but didn’t look away this time. “Better check anyway.”

Catherine stiffened. Her pulse quickened, and her palms grew clammy as the weight of their words settled over her like a suffocating blanket. Treasure? In the jacket? Her mind spun, each thought sharper and crueler than the last.

They think he’d steal.

Her stomach twisted painfully at the implication. It couldn’t have been clearer—not to her. Alpha Dick was warning Tim. Jason, the boy with nothing, the boy who had come from nothing, was sitting at their table now, and they believed he would take something that didn’t belong to him. That he couldn’t be trusted.

“No, Alpha. Please,” Catherine said quickly, her voice a rush of soft, earnest desperation. She clasped her hands in front of her, lowering her gaze to her lap. “Jason wouldn’t—he knows better. He wouldn’t touch anything that belonges to you, Alpha Wayne, or you, Alpha Dick, Tim. Please. He knows his place and … and Jason will be loyal to you, Alpha Wayne and to your household. He would never …”

Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together to keep the rest from spilling out. She winced at how small and hollow her words sounded, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t let them think Jason would take anything. He wasn’t like that.

The room fell silent, save for the faint clink of a fork against a plate as Alpha Dick lowered his utensil.

“Catherine.” Alpha Waynes voice was calm but firm, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. She flinched slightly, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on his Alpha child now, his brow faintly furrowed.

Alpha Dick blinked, startled, and then looked between Catherine and Jason. “Wait—” he started, then stopped, realization dawning. A strange saltiness mixing into his scent. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant.”

Catherine frowned, her head tilting slightly in confusion, though she didn’t dare raise her eyes.

The young Alpha shifted, suddenly looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, glancing at Catherine and then Jason. “I was just messing with Tim. It’s not a big deal.”

Catherine blinked, her heart still hammering, but the warmth in Alpha Dick’s voice confused her. Messing with Tim?

Tim, still scowling, crossed his arms over his chest. “Dick just doesn’t want me to forget to clean out my pockets. Again.” His tone was aggrieved, and he shot his brother a pointed glare. “It’s not like I’m keeping treasure in there, anyway.”

“It clogged the washer. Alfred flipped,” Alpha Dick countered, his grin creeping back, the popcorn turning from salty to sweet again. “Sticks, rocks, chestnuts… you’re like a little chipmunk hoarding snacks.”

Tim bristled, and Catherine’s confusion deepened. Sticks? Chestnuts? That didn’t sound like something a rich boy would collect.

Jason’s voice, soft and hesitant, broke the moment. “I wouldn’t take anything,” he said quietly, looking at Tim rather than the Alphas at the table. Jasons hands still clung to the edge of the chair, but his eyes, though wide, were steady. “I swear.”

The silence following her sons quiet, earnest words hung heavy in the air. Tim shifted awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between Jason and the table. He looked young, Catherine thought. He was just a baby like Jason.

“Uh,” Tim finally said, his voice pitched a little higher than usual. “Maybe I could show you where to find the best chestnuts? On the grounds, I mean.” His words tumbled out quickly, as though he was eager to smooth things over. “There’s this one spot near the greenhouse. It’s the jackpot. Way better than the trees by the drive.”

Jason blinked, his hands still gripping the chair’s edge. For a moment, he looked as though he didn’t know how to respond. Then, slowly, hesitantly, the corners of his mouth lifted into the faintest grin. It was small, shy, but it was real.

“Yeah?” Jason asked, his voice soft, more a question than anything else. Catherine knew he wanted to, but he’d never been allowed to roam outside.

Tim nodded quickly, his face brightening. “Yeah. We can grab a couple sticks too, if you want. I’ve got a big stick collection in the shed. You wanna lock at it?”

Jason didn’t reply, but his grin widened a fraction, the expression lighting up his pale features, as he hesistantly nodded.

Catherine’s heart twisted. He should be loyal to the boys, she reminded herself firmly. Do what they wanted. Be useful. That was the only way they’d keep him.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in her lap. Alpha Wayne had said Jason could borrow the jacket only for today. Surely, he wouldn’t be moved by her pleading again if Tim wanted Jason outside tomorrow, or the next day. And November would turn to December and rain would turn to snow and her pup would freeze while trying to entertain the Alphas pup.

“Of course, you boys can go treasure hunting to your heart’s content,” Beta Alfred said smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension with practiced ease. His tone was light, but there was a subtle firmness beneath it, a warning cloaked in kindness. “So long as you empty all your pockets before placing your clothes in my laundry hampers.”

Tim groaned, but his grin returned. “That was one time!” he protested.

Beta Alfred raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Quite certainly not, Master Tim.”

Alpha Dick laughed softly, his amusement returning as he picked up his fork again.

And Alpha Wayne, who had been quiet through most of the exchange, allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. His eyes lingered on Jason for a moment, something thoughtful and gentle in his expression, before he turned back to his plate.

“We’ll leave for the stores after breakfast,” he said, his voice low but warm, carrying an ease that seemed to calm the atmosphere around him. “You boys can roam around this afternoon.”

Catherine’s fingers tensed in her lap, her nails pressing into the thin fabric of her dress. You boys. Her thoughts caught on the words like a snag. Did he mean Jason? Jason was… Jason wasn’t—surely Alpha Wayne hadn’t meant to include him.

Her gaze flickered toward Jason, who was carefully cutting another piece of pancake. His movements were delicate, precise, as though he were afraid the plate might shatter under his touch. He’d already eaten the berries first, each one savored as though it were the finest delicacy he’d ever had.

Catherine’s throat tightened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to give Jason anything fresh, let alone sweet pastries and fruit. Their meals had always been cheap and sparse, whatever she could scrape together with what little they had. Even then, she’d made sure Jason had the bigger portions, leaving herself with as little as possible.

She glanced down at her own empty plate, her stomach clenching uncomfortably. She hadn’t taken anything yet.

“Please eat, Catherine,” Alpha Wayne said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. It wasn’t harsh, but there was a firmness in it, a weight that brooked no refusal.

She flinched slightly, her fingers twitching as she reached for the nearest platter. Her movements were slow, hesitant, as though she feared she might make a mistake. She placed a single slice of toast on her plate, then added the thinnest sliver of butter, her hands trembling faintly.

It wasn’t just the unfamiliar abundance of food that made her cautious. It was her own upbringing, the voices of her Alpha Father and Willis echoing in her mind. Omegas weren’t supposed to eat too much.

“Gluttony is a sin,” her Alpha Father had preached. “An omega who eats too much grows sluggish, distracted from their purpose. Moderation keeps the mind sharp and the spirit obedient.”

He often spoke of fasting as a virtue, claiming it cleansed the soul and reminded omegas of their place in the grand design. “Hunger,” he would tell her, his eyes narrowing when she glanced longingly at his platter on the table, “is a gift. It teaches discipline, fortitude, and gratefulness for what you are given. An omega who learns to embrace hunger becomes closer to God and stronger in their service to the alphas they are meant to honor.”

Thin omegas were beautiful omegas. It was what Willis had growled when he swiped her plate away to finish her food himself. “You should be grateful,” he’d said, again and again. “You don’t want to get fat, do you? What kind of omega would you be then?”

Her grip tightened on the butter knife, her breathing shallow.

Across the table, Jason had gone back to his pancakes, his small face relaxed, his eyes focused intently on his plate. Catherine studied him for a moment, a pang of guilt and relief coursing through her chest. At least he was enjoying himself. He looked almost happy, his fork cutting through the soft, fluffy pastry with surprising care for a boy his age.

The sight was strange to her—Jason being able to eat without hesitation, without fear. She couldn’t stop her mind from spiraling back to all the times he’d gone to bed hungry because there simply wasn’t enough to go around.

Her eyes darted toward Alpha Wayne again. He was calmly buttering his toast, the faintest crease of thought lining his brow as though he weren’t the most powerful man she’d ever encountered. How could someone like him, an Alpha so mighty and commanding, speak to her with such calm patience?

He wasn’t looking at her now, but she still lowered her gaze instinctively, unable to shake the instinct to make herself smaller. Just like a good Omega was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

The car hummed softly as Alpha Wayne drove down the winding road toward the city, the late morning light filtering through the windows. Catherine sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

She kept her head bowed, but gazed up cautiously. She watched Jason in the rearview mirror, her eyes flicking between him and Alpha Wayne, whose large hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, the muscles in his forearms taut.

Jason sat quietly in the back seat, securely buckled into Tim’s car seat. Alpha Wayne had insisted on it. Catherine had been stunned by the gesture—it was more consideration than she’d ever seen shown to Jason.

At the rehabilitation center for unclaimed Omegas, no one had cared about Jason’s safety during car rides. Three weeks ago, when they’d first picked them up after Jason’s Alpha father, Willis, had died, Jason and her both had been shoved into the back of a van without a second thought.

And yesterday, when they’d driven them to the manor to meet Alpha Wayne, it had been the same—no car seat, no restraints beyond Catherine clutching him close.

Now, here he was, sitting properly in a car seat, the straps snug but comfortable around his small frame, the borrowed jacket draped around Jasons small frame. It was a size too large for him, the sleeves hanging past his fingertips as he fidgeted with the hem while he was glancing out the window. He shouldn’t be doing that.

Catherine had told Jason to sit still before they’d gotten into the car, and Jason had obeyed silently, as always. But now, his face was turned toward the window, watching the world blur past with wide, curious eyes.

Alpha Wayne broke the silence, his voice calm but heavy with the weight of something unspoken. “What we are doing—” He paused, as if reconsidering, then sighed softly, clearly choosing his words carefully. “What I am doing, it’s a new situation for them. Tim and Dick. They’re usually not like this. They’re good kids.”

“Of course, Alpha,” Catherine said as if on autopilot. Agreeing with the Alpha was the safest thing she could imagine in a situation like this. And as hard as Alpha Wayne was to read she had understood one thing. He was a good Alpha father.

Alpha Dick and Tim seemed at ease around him, but still respectful of his authority. Alpha Wayne seemed fond of them, almost loving. And the way he had held Damian. He’s been gentle, despite everything, despite the constant crying of the newborn and the stress it must cause him caring for the children without their omega parent in the house. Catherine wondered what happened to their omega parent, but it wasn’t her place to ask.

“I believe the situation is not easy for Jason, as well,” Alpha Wayne said, his voice steady, with a touch of something that might have been pity—or understanding. But no, it couldn’t be. Alpha Wayne might be a more modern and honorable Alpha than Willis had ever been but she’d do well to not mistake is subtle criticism for fondness.

She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, trying to steady the fluttering panic rising in her chest. “He will adjust fast, Alpha. I’ll make sure of it,” she said quickly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. It was the instinctive response she had honed over the years: always try to keep the Alpha’s mind at ease.

“If he ever displeases you, Alpha … I beg you …,” she startled, trying to remember how to voice her request and failing spectacularly, “I… I know I am not supposed to beg for him. It is not my place, Alpha, of course.” She could feel the heat rising in her face as the words spiraled out of control, each one more pathetic than the last. She smelled how her own scent turned welk. “Please forgive me, Alpha. Please. His Alpha father, Willis, only ever had to beat him with his palm, nothing more to keep him in line, I assure you, Alpha.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, her palms dampening with cold sweat. She bit her lip, realizing too late the implication in her words. Jason turned his head slightly at her words, his expression unreadable but she could smell the unmistakable scent of damp cotton. Catherine’s stomach flipped, and she forced her gaze down even further.

She shouldn’t have said anything. It was exactly what she had been trained not to do: speaking of her former Alpha’s treatment, giving away too much. Alphas didn’t want to hear about a secondhand omega’s past, let alone the details of previous punishments. It was the Alphas right alone to decide how to discipline his omega and it’s dependants. If Alphas Wayne decided to beat her pup black and blue and starve him for days there wasn’t much she could do and nobody who could stop him.

She waited for Alpha Wayne to speak, to chastise her, to remind her of the lines she should not cross. Or to lash out and give her the backhand she deserved for it. The silence in the car grew unbearable.

Alpha Waynes grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles paling against the black leather and he scent of burnt wood and sugar turned bitter and unpleasant.

She shrank back, feeling her body contract with the weight of her own fear, but her voice rose again, frantic now, her words tumbling over each other in her desperation. “Of course, Alpha. I wouldn’t dare to imply a judgment on how you deem fit to punish, please. Jason will, of course, take any punishment you deem fair, Alpha. But, please, he is very obedient, and… and… he—”

“Catherine. Stop.”

The command froze her mid-sentence. Her breath hitched, her entire body stiffening as her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She chanced a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Alphas face was set, his jaw tight. He was angry. And angry Alphas were dangerous.

“Stop,” he repeated, quieter now. “I’m very pleased with Jason.”

Catherine blinked, her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound disappointed. But there was something strange in his voice, something she couldn’t place. It sounded almost… almost as though he might care about her pup ?

“Nobody needs to worry about punishment,” Alpha Wayne continued, his voice still calm, but with a note of finality.

Catherine felt a shudder run through her body. She nodded, her breath shallow. She heard what he didn’t say, what he implied— as long as Jason behaves .

But that was more than she had hoped for. Alpha Wayne was a righteous Alpha, benevolent and fair, so it seemed. Maybe he really wouldn’t punish Jason for be sired by another Alpha. Maybe he’d only right Jasons wrongdoings and maybe he’d do so without breaking her child down.

“Thank you so much, Alpha Wayne,” she whispered, the words like a prayer, desperate and eager for reassurance, but with no true belief in its sincerity. For him to only beat Jason when it was earned, was almost to good to be true.

The car turned quiet again and as they neared their destination, she stole another glance at Jason. He was sitting quietly now, eyes cast downward in the proper way. He still had to learn, to not be distracted by his surroundings, to not give in to his childish urges. He couldn’t afford to forget his place.

Alpha Wayne had already shown them kindness. More so than she expected. It wouldn’t last.

The car rolled into the parking lot of the baby store, the engine humming softly as the Alpha shifted into park. The space was bright and cheerful, colorful banners hanging above wide glass windows advertising cribs, strollers, and clothes for pups, but also toys, car seats and bikes for older children.

Catherine folded her hands tightly in her lap as Alpha Wayne turned off the engine. Her gaze flickered toward Jason in the backseat, her anxiety spiking when she noticed he was once again staring out of the window, one tiny hand pressed against the glass window, as if it didn’t matter if his fingers would leave smudges behind.

“Jason,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Fix your posture.”

Jason’s head snapped toward her, wide blue eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment before he hunched forward, his chin dipping to his chest, both hands folded neatly in his lap. He murmured a soft, “Yes, Mama,” before staring resolutely at his fingers. Wet cotton tingled her nose. It was her, who was supposed to keep it dry. Instead she was drenching it.

“Jason’s fine,” Alpha Wayne said, his tone even but firm as he unbuckled his seatbelt. Catherine froze. Her throat tightened as her panic swelled.

“I—of course, Alpha. I only meant to ensure he’s proper for you,” she said quickly, casting a fleeting glance at the large Alpha. His face was calm, unreadable, and it terrified her. She turned her eyes back to her lap, wringing her hands.

Alpha Waynr stepped out of the car, the door closing with a dull thunk. He circled around to Jason’s door, opening it and reaching in with both hands. Jason flinched instinctively, his small body drawing back against the seat, but the Alpha didn’t comment. He merely unclasped the straps of the car seat with slow, deliberate movements, his large hands dwarfing the buckles as he worked.

“You’re good, buddy,” the Alpha said quietly, lifting Jason out of the seat with surprising gentleness. Jason blinked up at him, his lips parted with a small, surprised little sound.

Catherine swallowed hard, watching the scene unfold. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with what she’d known Alphas to be her entire life. This was not what she expected. Alphas didn’t handle pups with care. Especially not those sired by another Alpha.

But Alpha Wayne was different. He was already guiding Jason toward the store, his large hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder.

She almost expected their scents to mingle, for the faint rain and cotton fragrance of her pup to be overtaken by Alpha Wayne's commanding sandalwood and brown sugar. But the Alpha kept his wrist scent glands carefully away from Jason, maintaining a respectful distance while still exuding an air of quiet authority.

Catherine scrambled out of the car, fumbling to catch up with them. She couldn’t let Jason be alone with him—not that Alpha Wayne had shown any inclination to harm him, but what if? Alphas could be unpredictable.

By the time she reached them, the Alpha glanced at her briefly, his expression calm but unreadable. There was no hint of irritation in his gaze, but her nerves didn’t settle. He took his hand off Jason’s shoulder and walked over to the row of shopping carts, leaving her alone with her pup for the moment. Cathrine shivered in the cold november air.

She exhaled sharply, her hand darting out to grab Jason’s, pulling him closer to her side. His small fingers curled around hers without protest, his wide, curious eyes flickering between her and the Alpha.

“Stay close,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sharp with the edge of panic. Her scent wavered, the calming lavender she tried to maintain threatened by a bitter note of fear. “Don’t touch anything.”

Jason nodded silently, his little body warm against her as he was leaning into her side, his rain-and-cotton scent brushing against her senses.

Alpha Wayne returned with the cart, his movements unhurried. If he noticed her panic, he said nothing, simply holding the cart in front of him and waiting for her to take the next step.

He paused just inside the door, his tall frame towering over her and Jason. He turned, scanning the displays with an unreadable expression. “Bottles first, right?” he asked, his voice steady but with the faintest edge of uncertainty.

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine whispered, her throat tight.

The Alpha gestured for her to lead the way, his dark eyes catching hers for a moment. When she hesitated, he tilted his head, his expression softening. “You’ll know what’s best,” he said simply.

Her stomach churned. The words echoed in her mind, her heart racing at the implication. Omegas didn’t know what was best. Not compared to Alphas. But this one seemed so calm, so assured that she would guide them correctly. Her fingers tightened around Jason’s, and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

She tried to quickly scan the signs adorining the isles, until she found the one they were looking for, not far on the right site of the store.

“This way, if you please, Alpha,” she said softly, her voice trembling. She steered Jason down an aisle filled with baby bottles, her mind scrambling for the bits and pieces she’d learned over the years. She’d once found a discarded baby care book in a dumpster behind the apartments, its pages stained and torn, and read it late at night when Willis wasn’t home. And there were the whispered tips from other omega mothers, shared in hushed voices in the hallways of the apartment complex, when no Alpha was listening.

They stopped in front of a towering shelf of bottles. Alpha Waynw crossed his arms, frowning slightly at the rows of packaging. “Which ones do we need?” he asked, his tone completely sincere. He glanced down at her, and Catherine’s mouth went dry.

“I—I think…” She stepped forward cautiously, scanning the labels. “The ones with venting systems, Alpha. They help with colic, I believe.” Her voice wavered, the words spilling out in a rush as she gestured weakly to a mid-priced set of bottles.

Alpha Wayne leaned forward to inspect them, his large frame somehow making the aisle feel even smaller. “Why not these?” he asked, pointing at an expensive glass set instead. “They look sturdy and they advertise the same vents.”

Her stomach clenched. “I… they’re good, Alpha, but, if I may, glass is heavy. The silicone ones might be… easier. For… for pups to hold.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, and her fingers twisted in Jason’s borrowed jacket.

Alpha Wayne straightened, his brow furrowing. “Silicone, then,” he said decisively, grabbing the ones she’d pointed out. “You’d know better than me.”

Catherine’s cheeks burned at the unexpected praise. She quickly dropped her gaze, her hands fluttering nervously. Jason glanced up at her, his blue eyes wide with curiosity but his body obediently still. She felt the weight of Alpha Waynes trust in her knowledge about pups pressing down, suffocating and bewildering.

Formula was next. Catherine hovered near the aisle’s entrance, unsure if she should step forward. The Alpha glanced at her, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Which one?” he asked simply, standing back as if waiting for her instruction.

Catherine hesitated, then forced herself to move. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a tin with a pale green label. “Hypoallergenic,” she said quickly. “And lactose-free. For colicky pups with sensitivities, Alpha.” Her heart pounded as she spoke, every word feeling like a gamble. “I—I think this one is best.”

“You’re sure?” the Alpha asked, his deep voice gentle but probing.

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered. “I… I read it’s good. Once.” She winced at the admission, bracing herself for his judgment.

Catherine’s hands trembled as she adjusted the scarf holding Jason snug against her chest. The bright fluorescent lights of the supermarket cast harsh shadows over the rows of shelves, and she felt her anxiety spike as they reached the baby aisle.

She didn’t even dare glance at Willis. His heavy, looming presence at her side was enough to keep her silent as they moved down the aisle.

Jason let out a small, hiccupping coo, and Catherine’s heart squeezed. She tightened her hold on the sling, her lips brushing his soft hair in a silent reassurance. She needed to get this right—for him.

Alright,” Willis barked from behind her, his tone impatient. “Hurry up, Cathy. Grab whatever you need and don’t take all day about it.”

She bit her lip, her heart pounding as she scanned the shelves. Her eyes scanned the shelves until they landed on the pale green tin she remembered from the clinic. Hypoallergenic, lactose-free, the label promised, and Catherine immediately felt a pang of longing.

This was the one Dr. Thompkins had suggested, the one that had worked so well, finally aiding Jason to gain weight. It was gentle, nourishing and almost as good as breast milk, the Doc had explained to her, offering her two tins for free. Her hand wavered toward it, fingers brushing against the cool metal.

“What’s that?” Willis’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he followed her movements.

“It’s…” She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “It is the same one Doctor Thompkins gave me.” She glanced down at Jason, her fingers brushing his soft curls.

Willis reached past her, plucking the tin off the shelf and flipping it over to read the price tag. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Thirty-five dollars? Are you out of your damn mind?”

The sting of his slap lingered, sharp and unforgiving, echoing in the silence of the store. Willis had never before slapped her in public, and it was rare even at home—only when she truly deserved it

She understood why he did it. He had every right to correct her, to remind her of her place, even in public. She had failed him, and this was the consequence.

If she had known how expensive that formula was, she never would have dared to touch it. She would never have asked for it, not when she knew so well how much tgey were struggeling to make ends meet.

Catherine flinched, her body instinctively drawing closer to Jason, as though his small form could somehow shield her from the weight of her own failures. Her arms tightened around him, the feeling of his warmth against her chest grounding her, even as her own skin burned with shame.

“I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I can find something cheaper, Alpha please.”

“Damn right you will.” Willis shoved the tin back onto the shelf with a loud clatter. “Thirty-five bucks for a pup that doesn’t even notice the difference? You think I’m made of money, Cathy? You think I don’t already do enough for you?“

His voice carried, drawing the attention of a group of teenage alphas in the chips aisle. They exchanged smirks, their laughter low but unmistakable.

Catherine’s cheeks burned with shame. She ducked her head, her eyes darting toward the lower shelves. There, tucked near the bottom, was a tin with a garish, cartoonish label. It was the cheapest brand she could find—8 dollars, barely a fourth of the price of the one she’d wanted.

She pointed to that one. “Would this one be okay, Alpha?“

Willis’s sneer deepened as he glanced at Catherine, her trembling hand still hovering near the shelf. Jason stirred in the sling against her chest, but she barely noticed, too focused on the simmering anger in Willis’s eyes.

“So there‘s something else than that fancy stuff, huh?” His voice was low, sharp, and cutting. “So were you just trying to make me look like some kind of deadbeat who can’t provide for fun? In public, no less? What the hell’s wrong with you, Cathy?”

“N-no, Alpha,” Catherine stammered, stepping back instinctively. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up.” Willis’s hand shot out, gripping her chin roughly and forcing her to look up at him. “You think you can just do whatever you want? Huh? Make me look bad, make me look weak? You’re real brave when you’re out here, aren’t you? But let me remind you—” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “You belong to me.”

Catherine’s breath hitched as she glanced around the aisle. A group of teenage alphas lingered nearby, their muffled snickering reaching her ears. One of them leaned against the shelf, holding a bag of chips and grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d seen all day.

“Hey, man,” one of them called, his voice mocking. “Looks like your omega’s got a real mouth on her. You sure you’ve got her under control?”

Willis straightened, his hand leaving Catherine’s chin with a shove that almost sent her tumbling. She staggered but managed to catch herself, the weight of Jason in the sling making it harder to regain her balance. Her arms instinctively wrapped tighter around him, holding him protectively against her chest, desperate to shield him from whatever might come next. The thought of Jason falling, of him being hurt because of her—her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t dare show it.

She needed to stop angering her Alpha.

Willis turned toward the teens, his smirk cruel. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said loudly, clearly performing for his audience now. “This one just needs a little reminder every now and then. Right, Cathy?”

Catherine’s cheeks burned as the boys chuckled, their laughter slicing through her like a blade. She looked down, clutching Jason tightly against her chest.

Willis turned back to her, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Go on, Cathy. Show them how sorry you are for embarrassing me. On your knees.”

Her heart sank, her pulse thundering in her ears.

“Looks like she’s gonna cry,” one of the teens muttered, and the others laughed again.

Willis crossed his arms, glaring down at her. “Do it, Cathy. Now. Or we leave without the formula, and you can figure out how to feed the pup on your own.”

Tears burned in her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Carefully, she sank to her knees, clutching Jason tightly to keep him secure in the sling. The cold tile pressed against her shins, and she kept her head bowed low.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “Please forgive me. Please… buy the formula for Jason, please Alpha.”

Willis smirked, his satisfaction radiating off him like heat. He reached out and ruffled her hair like she was his dog. “See? That’s more like it,” he said, glancing over at the teens. “You boys take note—this is how you handle an omega. You gotta show them who’s in charge, or they’ll walk all over you.“

The teens laughed again, one of them muttering something crude that Catherine didn’t quite catch. She felt her face burn hotter, shame threatening to consume her.

But it just sporned Willis on. He grabbed his bulge beneath the heavy jeans, kneading softly.

„Kiss it, Cathy,“ he said. „Like you mean it.“

Catherine hesitated, eyes wide, but then did as she was told. She lowered her head to his lap, pressing her lips against the rough denim, mouthing at his clothed cock.

The teenaged alphas chuckled behind her, their voices dripping with derision.

„What, only a little kiss?” Willis taunted, grabbing her blond hair with his fist. “I know you can do better. Kiss it for real, Kitty-Cat. Don't make me ask again. You want the pups formula, don’t ya?”

She swallowed hard, her lips trembling as she obeyed, leaning forward and putting her mouth around his denim clad dick. She sucked softly, trying to mimic the way she sucks him in private.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Willis had never asked her to do something like this in public before—never humiliated her in front of others, never made her feel so exposed, so small.

She had always known her place, but this? This was different. This was a new kind of cruelty, one she wasn’t prepared for, one that twisted something deep inside her.

“Now that’s better,” Willis said, his voice low and mocking. “See? You just needed a little reminder of who’s in charge.”

Behind them, the snickers from the teenage alphas grew louder, their laughter cutting through her like knives. Catherine kept her eyes fixed on the ground, too ashamed to look up, praying silently for this ordeal to end.

Willis released her hair, letting it fall limply around her face. “Get up,” he ordered gruffly. “And grab that cheap formula. We’re not spending all day in here because you forgot your place.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. With trembling hands, she reached for the can of formula, clutching it tightly against her chest. She rose slowly, careful not to jostle Jason in his sling, her legs shaky beneath her.

Willis grabbed her upper arm, harshly, bringing his face close to hers. “Won’t you thank me, Cathy?”

“Thank you, Alpha,” she said desperately, her voice trembling as tears spilled over, tracking down her flushed cheeks. Her gratitude was frantic, raw, but Willis didn’t soften. Instead, his hand shot out, gripping her neck firmly, his fingers pressing into the tender flesh of her mating bite.

Pain bloomed instantly, sharp and searing, radiating down her spine as he pressed harder.

It was a punishment she had earned, a way for him to reassert control after her failures.

He leaned in and kissed her hungrily, his lips rough and possessive, devouring the tears that spilled onto her mouth. The salty wetness mingled with the heat of his kiss, and she let herself melt into it, ignoring the pain at her neck, ignoring everything but him.

This was how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She belonged to him—her body, her bite, her very soul—and this was her reminder. She would take the pain if it meant earning his forgiveness.

Jason stirred slightly in the sling, a soft, sleepy murmur escaping him. It was enough to make Catherine stiffen, terror clenching her heart.

Willis finally pulled back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he released her. “Good girl,” he muttered, patting her cheek with a condescending roughness.

The teenage alphas behind them hooted and whistled, their jeering laughter making Catherine want to shrink into nothingness. She couldn’t bring herself to look at them, couldn’t even muster the strength to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. Her focus was entirely on Jason, his small, warm body pressed against hers. She needed to keep him calm, safe. Quiet.

Willis grabbed the tin of formula from Catherine’s hands and tossed it into the cart with careless indifference. It landed awkwardly among his indulgences—half a dozen beer cans rattling against a jumbo bag of paprika chips, a stack of beef jerky, a slab of fatty frozen meat for his dinner, and a six-pack of powdered donuts he never shared.

“Let’s go,” he barked, already turning toward the checkout line.

Catherine trailed behind him obediently, her legs like lead as she forced herself to keep moving. She clutched the sling tighter, burying her face against Jason’s soft hair for comfort, even if it didn’t truly help. The stares from the other shoppers burned into her skin, but none of them said a word.

Why would they? She was just an omega. She had learned that a long time ago. The memory of her Alpha father loomed large in her mind—the sound of his belt as it cracked across her back, the cold metal biting into her skin as he belted her over the frozen meat cases.

Her father had taught her that she was nothing. That she existed only to serve, to be controled.. To be used. To be punised.

Willis was only reinforcing that lesson.

By the time they reached the checkout, Catherine’s tears had dried, though her cheeks remained flushed, her breathing shallow and uneven. Willis slapped a crumpled bill onto the counter, the motion sharp and impatient, his presence radiating irritation.

“Hurry up,” he barked at the omega cashier, his voice cutting through the hum of the store. The cashier, a young man with neatly combed hair and a crisp uniform, didn’t flinch but shifted awkwardly, his nostrils flaring briefly. Catherine felt a pang of embarrassment as their combined scent—Willis’s simmering anger and her fear—lingered in the air. She saw the subtle tightening of the cashier’s jaw, the way he focused on the register with exaggerated precision, clearly uncomfortable but maintaining a professional distance.

For a moment, Catherine’s gaze lingered on him. An omega working at a cash register? Her Alpha father had always scoffed at the very idea, preaching her in his gruff, derisive tone that an omega’s rightful place was at home—cleaning, cooking, and serving their Alpha while caring for the pups. Anything else, he’d said, was unnatural.

She glanced down at Jason, adjusting the sling carefully as her mind wandered. Maybe the cashier’s Alpha was one of those modern types, she thought, almost enviously. Or maybe he didn’t even have an Alpha yet, just liberal parents who thought omegas should go to school and get jobs.

She felt a flicker of awe at the thought. How clever he must be to manage a register like that, all on his own, without trembling or stammering. Catherine had been taken out od school just after presentation at eleven. She couldn’t imagine learning the machines or talking to people all day wighout stammering, not now—not ever.

Not that it mattered. Even if she were clever enough to work like that, Willis would never allow it. He didn’t like her speaking to strangers, especially Alphas, and with Jason to care for, the very idea seemed laughable. Her life belonged to her Alpha, to her pup. Anything else was a betrayal of her place, her purpose.

The cashier handed Willis his change with a polite nod, his expression tight but neutral. Catherine kept her head low, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the sling again to ensure Jason was secure.

Willis yanked the cart forward without a word, expecting her to follow, and she hurried after him, her steps quick and obedient. She didn’t lift her head, keeping her eyes trained on Willis’s boots as they moved.

Cathrine pushed aside her fleeting thoughts of the cashier, of what a life like his might feel like. It wasn’t her place to wonder. It wasn’t her place to want.

As they exited the store, Willis lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in her direction as if she wasn’t even there. He paused by the car, leaning casually against the door. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today,” he said, the words dripping with mockery.

His eyes narrowed, and that cruel, familiar smile curved his lips as he grabbed her chin between his yellowed fingers, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

“I hope you learned something today, Cathy,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. His grip on her chin was firm, just shy of painful, as his thumb brushed against her jaw. “Next time I won’t be as lenient. If you ever embarass me like that over money, you will suck dicks a dollar until you have enough to buy your goddamn formula yourself, you hear me?”

“Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Tears pricked her eyes, and her lip quivered, but she forced herself to hold still under his grip.

“Stop sniveling,” he cut her off, his thumb pressing harder against her jaw. “You want to make it up to me? Start by thanking me properly. Don’t just stand there like a damn statue.”

Catherine’s lips trembled as her tears spilled over, her breaths coming in shallow, broken gasps. “Thank you, Alpha,” she whispered desperately, her voice cracking under the weight of her shame, as she bowed her head low. “Thank you for correcting me. Thank you for—for showing me how to be better. I—I love you, Alpha. I love you so much.”

“That’s better,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in and kissed her, his lips rough and possessive, swallowing the little sobs that escaped her. Catherine melted into the kiss, her body trembling as she clung to him like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline.

When he pulled back, his hand lingered, his thumb brushing against her cheek. For a fleeting second, there was something in his expression that almost resembled tenderness. Or maybe Catherine only imagined it. He caught one of her tears with his fingers, looking at it absently as though weighing something in his mind.

“You’re a hot mess,” he muttered, but there was a faint, almost begrudging softness in his tone now. “Come on, Cathy. I don’t want to hurt you, but damn, it’s the only way you learn sometimes.” His hand drifted to her hip, giving it a rough squeeze before letting go.

“Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, blinking up at him with wet, wide eyes. She could feel the sting of his earlier grip on her jaw, but she didn’t mind. Pain meant she was being taught, being guided. He only did it because he cared enough not to give up on her.

Willis leaned in closer, his sharp gaze pinning her in place. “Put the stuff in the trunk and bring back the cart,” he said, his tone low and edged with warning. “And if I catch you talking to anyone, you’ll be walking home naked. Got me?”

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered again, ducking her head submissively. She moved quickly, her hands trembling as she began unloading the bags into the trunk, careful not to let anything spill or crumple. The cart rattled loudly as she pushed it back toward the corral, the sound drawing more attention than she wanted. She felt exposed out here, without the reassuring presence of Willis to anchor her, and she kept her eyes down, avoiding the curious glances of strangers.

When she returned, Willis was waiting, leaning against the car with his arms crossed, radiating impatience. He didn’t say a word as she approached, just jerked his head toward the passenger side. She scurried to obey, sliding into the seat with quick, careful movements, her body curling in on itself to take up as little space as possible.

Jason stirred in his sling, letting out a tiny whimper, and Catherine instinctively cradled him closer, burying her face in his soft hair.

The car door slammed shut, and Willis rounded the front of the vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat. He lit another cigarette, the sharp flick of the lighter breaking the silence. As he exhaled, the smoke curled lazily between them, filling the car with its acrid scent.

After a moment, Catherine lifted her head, her voice trembling but hopeful. “May I make it up to you at home, Alpha?” she asked softly, her heart pounding at the audacity of her suggestion.

Willis turned his head, one eyebrow arching as a slow smirk spread across his face. “Oh yeah?” he drawled. “What are you gonna do, babe?”

She hesitated, her hands clutching Jason a little tighter as her mind raced. She wanted to say the right thing, to prove she could be everything he wanted her to be. “I’ll do whatever you need, Alpha,” she whispered. “Anything to show you how much I love you, Alpha, how grateful I am for you.”

Willis chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He reached over, brushing his hand against her thigh in a way that made her breath catch.

“You’re a good girl when you try, Cathy,” he said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “Don’t ruin it by screwing up again.”

“I won’t,” she promised quickly, her voice filled with fervor. “I’ll be good, Alpha. I’ll be better. I’ll make you proud.”

His smirk widened, and for a moment, she thought she saw something warm flicker in his eyes. “You better,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’d hate to have to remind you again.”

“Yes, Alpha”, she said, stroking Jasons tiny hand with trembling fingers. Her heart ached with a complicated mix of shame and relief. Willis wasn’t angry anymore. That was all that mattered.

“I love you, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the hum of the engine.

Willis glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “I know,” he said simply, his voice carrying a rough edge.

Back in the baby store, years later, Alpha Wayne didn’t comment on her lack of confidence. He just nodded and placed three big tins carefully in the cart, as if almost a hundred dollar were nothing to him.

“Good,” the Alpha said simply, his tone steady.

“Good choice, Mama,” Jason whispered, so quietly she barely heard him. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. He didn’t even sound like a boy his age, so subdued and careful, always eager to reassure her.

She squeezed his hand in return, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, knowing that she should shush him instead of encouraging him. But she couldn’t. She loved his sweet little voice and how he meant so well, cheering her on.

“What else do we need? Is there more to help with colic?” Alpha Wayne asked, his tone calm but with an edge of desperation that betrayed how much Damian’s constant crying was wearing him down. He stood in the aisle, scanning the shelves like a man on a mission, clearly determined to find any solution that might ease his pup’s misery.

Catherine hesitated, her mind racing as she thought back to the things she’d read, the whispered advice passed among Omegas.

“A pacifier might help, Alpha,” she said carefully, keeping her eyes low. “Babies often find comfort in suckling, even when they aren’t feeding. And maybe, if I dare, some almond oil or fennel caraway oil. If … I mean … if it pleases you, Alpha, I could massage your pup again. The oil … it’s good for the pups skin and for his digestion, when rubbed in, Alpha.”

She didn’t mention how she had been able to afford neither for Jason back then. Instead, she’d used what little she had—a clean strip of cloth wrapped tightly around her pinky, offered to him when he cried and needed soothing. It had been enough to quiet him, to settle his small, trembling body against hers. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his gums on her finger, the way his tiny hands would clutch at hers for reassurance.

When they reached the pacifiers, Catherine’s hands trembled so much she nearly knocked over a display. Jason’s eyes darted toward the colorful packs, but he didn’t say a word, his shoulders hunching as if trying to make himself smaller. The Alpha though noticed, pausing with the cart.

“What do you think, buddy?” he asked, crouching slightly to be at Jason’s level. The sight made Catherine’s throat tighten. Alphas didn’t kneel for anyone, especially not for someone like Jason.

Jason blinked at him, his eyes wide and uncertain. “I don’t know, Alpha Wayne,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t say.”

The Alpha frowned, his expression softening even further. “Of course you should,” he said gently. He gestured toward the pacifiers. “Which ones look good to you?”

Jason glanced nervously at Catherine, seeking her approval. She nodded faintly, her heart aching at his hesitance. Slowly, he pointed to a set of two. The shield was adorned with little animals, a lion on one and a koala on the other one in the package. “Those maybe,” he said quietly.

The Alpha smiled, the expression warm and unguarded. “Good choice,” he said, tossing the pack into the cart. Jason ducked his head, but Catherine caught the faint, shy curve of a smile on his lips.

Alpha Wayne guided the cart toward the section with baby toiletries, his eyes scanning the shelves with the same intensity as before. Catherine trailed behind, her hand still gripping Jason’s, her knuckles white. The air felt heavy with her own tension as they came to a stop in front of the oils.

The Alpha leaned forward, picking up a small bottle of almond oil and turning it in his hand. The bottle was plain, unassuming, but the price tag made Catherine’s stomach churn. It cost more than a week’s worth of groceries in her old life. Jason shifted uneasily beside her, his own unease likely mirroring hers.

“This one?” Alpha Wayne asked, his voice calm but weighted with expectation. He then picked up another bottle, that one labeled fennel caraway. “Or this? Or…” His hand moved to an even smaller bottle of oil in an elegant glass container. “This one says it’s for soothing and hydration.”

Catherine froze, her mouth opening and closing as her brain scrambled for an answer. “I—I’ve only heard about almond and fennel caraway, Alpha,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “They’re both good for digestion and soothing, but I don’t know which is better. I—” She stopped abruptly, her hands trembling as she twisted them in front of her.

Alpha Wayne turned to look at her, his dark eyes steady. She couldn’t read his expression, and that made her panic even more. Was he annoyed? Was she disappointing him? What if he thought she was incompetent, an imposer.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I—I should know, but I don’t.” Her scent wavered, lavender and fresh-cut grass tinged with the sharp, bitter edge of fear.

Jason tugged at her hand, glancing up at her with wide, worried eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He just held on tighter, his small fingers gripping hers like a lifeline.

Alpha Wayne sighed, a sound neither frustrated nor harsh. He set the bottles back on the shelf, save for the almond and fennel caraway oils, which he placed in the cart. “We’ll try both,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Catherine blinked at him, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “Yes, Alpha,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes.

Alpha Wayne led them back to the front of the shop to pay for their findings, when he stopped so suddenly in front of a towering display of baby carriers that Catherine almost bumped into him. Jason blinked up at the Alpha, his blue eyes wide, before following his gaze to the advertisement. Catherine looked too.

It was large, glossy, and impossible to miss: a serene beta parent carrying a baby in an elaborate carrier, all adjustable straps and polished buckles. The bold tagline sprawled beneath it: “Babies are calmest when carried in the comfort of the Artipoppe baby carrier.”

Alpha Wayne crossed his arms, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the image. “Is that good?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else. He reached out to touch the box as if testing its weight before glancing over his shoulder at Catherine. “I want to try that.”

The words startled her, and she barely had time to process them before Alpha Wayne gestured for a shop attendant. A beta woman in a crisp skirt and blouse hurried over, her eyes widening slightly as recognition flickered across her face.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said smoothly, her smile practiced and just a shade too bright. “It’s an honor to assist you. The Artipoppe is an excellent choice—modern, stylish, and perfect for Alpha parents like yourself. Let me show you how it works.”

Her gaze flickered briefly to Catherine and Jason but dismissed them just as quickly, her smile tightening into something almost condescending. Catherine’s stomach twisted, and she instinctively stepped back, pulling Jason with her. She felt out of place here - the betas scent tingled her nose. Aceton and Grapefruit, a sharp, bitter mix.

“This is one of our most exclusive models,” the woman continued, ignoring Catherine entirely as she unboxed the carrier with a flourish. “The design is sleek, and the adjustable straps make it a favorite among parents who love being hands-on with their pups. It’s practical and fashionable.”

Her tone was sickly sweet, but there was an edge to her words that made Catherine’s throat tighten. She watched as the attendant helped Alpha Wayne fit the carrier across his broad shoulders, adjusting the straps and buckles while prattling on about how wonderful it was to see an Alpha like him showing such interest in pup-rearing. “It really sets an example,” she said with a coy smile, “seeing an Alpha carry their pup like this. It’s quite… forward-thinking.”

Alpha Wayne, seemingly oblivious to her thinly veiled flattery, tested the carrier’s fit, tugging at the straps with a thoughtful expression. His movements were confident but unhurried, the kind that made Catherine feel even smaller by comparison. He caught her eye suddenly, his gaze steady and direct. “What do you think, Catherine?” he asked.

The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she froze. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she glanced at the carrier, then back at the Alpha. She couldn’t lie—not to an Alpha like him. But she also couldn’t risk offending him.

Catherine swallowed hard and forced herself to speak, her voice trembling but soft. “It… it’s very nice, Alpha,” she began, her fingers twisting nervously around the hem of her sleeve. “But…” She hesitated, the word hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Alpha Wayne tilted his head, his dark eyes watching her intently. He didn’t rush her, didn’t demand an answer, but his quiet patience was almost worse.

Catherine’s hands trembled as she gestured toward a nearby display of baby wraps—simple, unstructured, and made of soft fabric in muted colors. “The… the wraps, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “They… they let pups be closer. Almost like Skin-to-skin, I mean. It’s supposed to… to help them feel safe.”

The shop attendant’s smile faltered, her brows knitting together in a slight frown. “The wraps are an option, of course,” she said dismissively, “but they’re much less convenient. Alphas usually prefer—”

But Alpha Wayne just raised a hand, politly shushing the shop attendant. He looked back at Catherine, his gaze softening slightly. “Is that what you’d use?”

Catherine’s cheeks burned, and she dropped her gaze, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I… I couldn’t say, Alpha,” she stammered. “But… they’re gentle. For pups.”

Alpha Wayne studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the wraps. Without another word, he pulled one from the shelf—a neutral gray fabric with a subtle pattern. He ran his fingers over the material thoughtfully, then nodded. “This one,” he said, tossing it into the cart.

The shop attendant’s mouth opened slightly as if to protest, but she quickly shut it, her professional smile snapping back into place. “Of course, Alpha Wayne. An excellent choice.”

Catherine exhaled shakily, her shoulders sagging in relief. She glanced down at Jason, who was watching Alpha Wayne with an expression of quiet awe.

As they left the aisle with the baby carriers and wraps, Catherine noticed how Alpha Waynes imposing frame drew attention from the scattered shoppers around them. She quickened her step to keep up, gripping Jason’s hand so tightly he gave a small wince, though he said nothing. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a dull roar of anxiety she couldn’t shake.

The Alpha slowed his pace as they approached the front of the store, his towering presence steady and calm beside Catherine. She kept her gaze low, careful not to fall behind but equally careful not to step ahead of him. Jason eyes were wide as they neared the rows of colorful toys displayed at the entrance.

The Alpha stopped the cart near a long row of figurines, the logo on the shelves reading Schleich. Each shelf was neatly arranged, holding everything from farm animals to fantastical creatures. Horses reared on their hind legs, dinosaurs bared their teeth mid-roar, and circus animals stood frozen in delicate poses. Some small enough to fit in Jason’s little palm and others larger and more elaborate. Catherine stiffened slightly, unsure why they’d stopped.

Alpha Wayne crouched beside the cart and gestured toward the shelves, his tone light, almost conversational. “Every once in a while I get a figurine for Dick and Tim when I’m out. They’ve been collecting them for years now. Dick loves the Harry Potter ones and anything with circus animals, and Tim’s a big fan of dinosaurs.” He glanced at Jason, his smile warm. “I think today’s a good day to bring them something new. What do you think?”

Jason froze, his hand trembled in her tight grip. He glanced up at her, his expression uncertain, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t dare. Catherine felt her chest tighten. This was a test—it had to be. Alphas didn’t involve children like Jason in any decisions - not even ones like this. She swallowed hard and nodded quickly, her voice trembling as she said, “That’s very generous, Alpha.”

The Alpha turned to Jason, his smile softening further. “Jason, how about you help me pick something for them? The new arrivals are over here.”

Jason looked up at her, wide-eyed and silent, his expression pleading. Catherine felt the world tilt beneath her feet, her breath hitching in her throat. He’ll get it wrong. He’ll upset Alpha Wayne. He’ll think they were ungrateful.

She leaned closer to Jason, her voice barely a whisper, though the panic bled through. “You heard Alpha Wayne. Go on. Hurry.”

Jason hesitated, his cheeks burning red as he stepped forward. His eyes darted over the shelves, too many options overwhelming him at once. His lips moved faintly, mouthing words he didn’t say aloud. Catherine watched him in agonized silence, her heart racing as the minutes dragged on, while her child tried to find the right pieces for Alpha Waynes sons.

Finally, Jason’s gaze landed on a small figure. He squinted at the text, his lips moving slowly as he tried to sound it out. “H… Ha… Harry…” He stumbled, his voice barely audible.

Alpha Wayne crouched down beside him, his expression softening. “Harry Potter,” he said gently. “That’s right. Wow, buddy. Are you reading it?”

Jason nodded, his mouth continuing to move silently. “Harry… Potter… and…” He faltered again, his finger tracing the letters on the packaging.

“And his Patronus,” the Alpha supplied, just a Jason was growing nervous for taking to long. Alpha Wayne looked up at Catherine, his brows raised slightly in what seemed like amazement. “He’s reading that? At his age?”

Catherine flushed, lowering her head. Her hands twisted together in a nervous knot. “I… I’ve been… teaching him,” she stammered, barely audible. “Just… just a little.”

Alphas gaze softened further. “That is amazing” he said simply, then turned back to Jason. “This is a great pick. Dick will love it.” He placed the Harry Potter figurine into the cart.

Jason’s attention shifted to the dinosaurs, and his lips moved again, even more slowly this time. “Li…mi…ted… Ed…di…tion…” He squinted harder, mouthing each syllable with visible effort. “Tri… Tri-ce-ra…tops.”

“Triceratops,” Alpha Wayne said with a small nod, clearly impressed. “Tim already has one but not the yellow one in this limited edition. He will be so happy. Triceratops are one of his favorites.”

The dinosaur joined the Harry Potter figure in the cart, and Alpha Wayne stood, brushing his hands together lightly. “You did so good, Jason. You more than earned to pick one for yourself,” he said.

Jason froze. His head shot up to Catherine, panic flickering across his face. “For me?” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

Catherine stepped forward quickly, her movements jerky and unsure. She shook her head, her voice trembling. “No—no, Alpha Wayne, he doesn’t… it’s not necessary, please he doesn’t need anything. Please.” She swallowed hard, her words spilling out too fast. What was she doing? Contradictig an Alpha instead of of groveling at his feet.

Panic had alwas made her dumb.

The Alphas voice was calm but firm as he interrupted. “It is necessary.” He gestured again to the shelves. “Jason, take your time. Pick whichever one you like.”

Jason’s breathing quickened, and he turned back to the shelves, his small frame tense with indecision. His eyes flitted over the figures, moving too quickly to settle on any one of them. He didn’t know where to start, what to choose. This time he had no hint how to pick the right thing. What if he selected something that Alpha Wayne found dumb or to expensive or to nice for Jason. What if Jason picked wrong?

Catherine stepped closer, her hands shaking as she tried to guide him. “Just… something small,” she whispered, though her voice cracked. “Don’t… don’t take too long.”

Jason swallowed hard, his tiny hand hovering near the shelves but not daring to touch anything yet. His lips moved faintly again as he tried to read a few more labels, his mouth forming incomplete words. He paused at a brightly colored fire dragon, but his fingers jerked back before they could make contact. Too big, too fancy. He moved past a shiny Pegasus. Too special. He was afraid to take anything that looked this amazing.

Alpha Wayne stayed crouched by the cart, his expression unchanging, calm and patient. He didn’t rush him, didn’t bark an order like Jason expected. Instead, he just waited, his gaze following Jason’s hesitant movements.

Finally, Jason’s fingers landed on something at the edge of the lowest shelf. A small dark peregrine falcon, perched on a tree stump, wings spread wide. It was one of the simpler figurines there, unadorned and plain compared to the vibrant dinosaurs or magical creatures displayed above.

Jason stared at it, mouthing the word. He traced the letters with a trembling finger as if committing them to memory.

“This,” he said at last, barely above a whisper. His voice cracked again, and he picked it up with both hands, holding it carefully as though afraid it might break under his touch. “Th-this one, Alpha.”

Catherine’s heart dropped. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest as her son’s words hung in the air. He’d spoken—chosen—without first asking permission, without ensuring his choice was correct. Her blood ran cold, panic tightening her throat as memories of a different store, a different Alpha crashed over her like a wave.

The supermarket had been unusually quiet that evening, the hum of the freezers a constant backdrop as Catherine trailed after her Alpha Father. She was ten years old, skinny and pale, her oversized dress hanging loosely on her small frame. Her omega scent had only just begun to develop a few weeks ago, but it was enough to irritate her father.

She’d stepped too close to the cart, bumped it accidentally against the corner of a display. A simple mistake, nothing had even fallen down, but he’d spun around with fury blazing in his eyes, the vein in his temple pulsing like a warning.

"You clumsy little wretch," he’d hissed, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. “You think I’m going to let you embarrass me in public?”

Catherine’s heart had dropped to her stomach. The world narrowed, her breath coming shallow and quick as he grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the freezer section. It didn’t matter that people were around, that other shoppers glanced their way with wary eyes before quickly looking away. She didn’t dare fight him, didn’t dare speak. She knew better. Speaking only made it worse.

He stopped in front of the frozen meats and jerked her to a halt. “Over,” he barked, yanking at her arm.

Catherine froze, her legs trembling so violently she thought they might give out beneath her. “Please, Alpha Father,” she begged, despite knowing batter, barely able to form the words. “It was … it was an accident, I—”

His scent—iron and scorched earth after a wildfire—clung to him, oppressive and suffocating, filling the small aisle like smoke. It wrapped around her like a noose, pulling tighter with every passing second.

“Over!” he snarled and unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding through the loops of his jeans with a hiss that made her stomach churn. The sound was unmistakable, a prelude to pain.

He folded it in half, testing its weight in his hand. A sharp whimper catched in her throat as she shakily obeyed. Her hands clutched the cold steel edge of the freezer as she bent over, her cheeks burning with shame.

“Dress up,” he ordered, his voice cold and clipped.

Catherine hesitated for a split second, her hands frozen in place, and that was enough. The belt lashed across her legs without warning, the pain searing through her thin dress like fire. She yelped, her voice muffled as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

“Up!” he barked again, and this time her trembling fingers obeyed, lifting the hem of her dress to expose her bare thighs.

The first strike was a shock of pain that ripped the breath from her lungs. Then came the second, harder and more deliberate. She bit her lip until she tasted copper, her small body jerking with each lash.

“You’re lucky I don’t take you outside for this,” he muttered, his voice venomous. The air was thick with his scent, sharp and metallic, pressing down on her like a weight.  “Think you deserve warm food when you can’t even walk straight? Think you deserve my roof, my protection? Do you think you deserve the Lords forgiveness?”

Each word punctuated another strike, and Catherine’s tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and hot.

She didn’t dare scream, didn’t dare sob openly. She could only hold herself there, bent over the icy freezer as the belt tore into the skin of her bare legs and her bum, only protected by thin cotton pants.

Around her, shoppers continued their business, their gazes sliding over her as though she weren’t even there. One or two paused, their lips tightening, but they didn’t linger. Maybe it was a tad to harsh, a spanking with a flat palm over a clothed butt much more common than a belting. But overall this was nothing out of the ordinary. An omega child being disciplined by her alpha parent was a scene they’d all witnessed before.

When her Alpha Father finally stopped, she didn’t move right away. Her legs burned, every inch of her thighs and the bottom of her buttocks was covered in stinging welts, and her entire body shook with humiliation.

“Now apologize,” he said flatly, his voice without even the satisfaction of anger now.

She straightened slowly, her legs barely supporting her weight as she turned to face him. She sunk to her knees, her head bowed low, tears still clinging to her lashes. “I’m sorry, Alpha Father,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Thank you for correcting me.”

He nodded curtly, as if her obedience was expected, and coiled the belt around his hand again. “Next time, don’t make me repeat myself,” he said, grabbing the cart and walking away without a backward glance.

Catherine stayed there for a moment, her hands trembling as she smoothed her dress back down. The ache in her legs and her bumm was sharp and relentless, but the shame burned deeper. She shuffled forward eventually, her steps small and hesitant as she followed him, her head bowed low.

Even now, decades later, she could feel the sting of those lashes. Could hear the crack of leather and see the averted gazes of strangers. Every muscle in her body still remembered the way the cold metal had bit into her hands as she gripped the freezer edge.

And now, here in this store with Jason’s small voice whispering, “This one, Alpha,” she felt the panic rise like a tidal wave. Her stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in her throat. She wanted to pull Jason back, to protect him somehow, even if she couldn’t protect herself. But what if her interference made it worse?

Her gaze flickered downward, locking onto Alpha Waynes belt. It was a sturdy leather strap with a polished silver buckle, heavy and functional. A shiver ran through her, her body instinctively tightening, bracing for the worst.

She could see it all so clearly—Alpha Wayne grabbing Jason’s arm, dragging him over the register counter, his leather belt unbuckling with that awful, familiar sound. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stepped forward, trying to stop it before it could begin.

Her movements were  jerky with panic. “He’s asking, Alpha Wayne,” she said quickly, her voice trembling and desperate. Her hands twisted together, her fingers white with tension.

“The last word is yours, of course. As it should be, Alpha. He knows that. Please.” Her gaze flickered to her son, wide-eyed and clutching the falcon like it was a shield. “He wouldn’t dare to presume otherwise. He—he knows better. Jason,” she grabbed him, fingers curled around his upper arm, almost hard enough to bruise his soft skin. “Apologize to Alpha Wayne.”

But before Jason could obey, Alpha Wayne rose slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over them both, but his voice, when it came, was soft and steady. “He doesn’t need to apologize, Catherine,” he said firmly. “He did right what I asked, he made his coice and it’s a good one.”

Jason blinked, his wide eyes darting up to Alpha Wayne in disbelief. His small hands clutched the falcon tighter, his breathing shallow as though he expected the Alpha’s approval to vanish any moment.

Catherine hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. “Of course, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. She forced herself to bow her head, her fingers trembling as she twisted them even tighter. “Thank you for your lenience.”

Alpha Wayne crouched again, lowering himself to Jason’s level, his smile softened, and his scent turned sweet. “That falcon’s a great pick,” he said, his tone warm and easy. “You know they’re the fastest birds in the world? They can dive at over 200 miles per hour.”

Jason’s lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing in cautious interest. “Really?” he whispered, his voice trembling but laced with a faint thread of wonder, hanging onto Alpha Waynes words and his sweet sugary scent.

“Really,” Alpha Wayne said, reaching out slowly to ruffle Jason’s hair. “Good eye, buddy. You picked something special.”

Jason flinched momentarily but when he realized that he hand on his head was neither hurting nor scentmarking him, he relaxed. He stared down at the small figurine in his hands, his grip loosening slightly as the tension in his shoulders eased and a careful smile appeared on his lips.

Catherine stood frozen, unsure whether to relax or to brace for whatever came next. Alphas didn’t do this. They didn’t crouch down and smile at children like Jason. They didn’t let them choose or speak without reprimand.

Ghe Alpha placed the falcon gently into the cart, alongside the other figurines, and stood, his hand lingering on Jason’s shoulder.

“You did great,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that left Catherine breathless. “Thank you for helping me. I’m proud of you.”

Jason nodded, his cheeks flushed, his small hands now empty.

“Thank you, Alpha Wayne!” her child said but it wasn’t his word that hit Catherine like a physical blow, her knees nearly buckling. Proud. No Alpha had ever said that to Jason. Nor to her since she presented—not her father, not Willis.

Catherine followed silently as Alpha Wayne began to push the cart toward the checkout. Her mind whirled, a thousand fears and doubts chasing her like shadows.

She stole a glance at her son, his eyes wide and glistening as he stared up at the Alpha with a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

Chapter Text

The car ride was quiet except for the hum of the engine, with Jason cradling his new peregrine falcon figurine in the backseat. He held it carefully in both hands, turning it over as if trying to memorize every detail, his wide eyes filled with a wonder that made Catherine’s chest ache.

Seated in the passenger seat, Catherine kept her gaze fixed forward, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. Alpha Wayne was calm and steady as he drove, his broad hands resting lightly on the wheel. His scent and his presence filled the space, so commanding that it left no room for the nervous energy Catherine was struggling to suppress.

“We’re making another stop,” he said matter-of-factly as he turned the car onto a different road.

Catherine swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice soft and submissive, no hint of argument in her tone. She wouldn’t dare.

Jason glanced up from his figurine, his small body tensing at the exchange. Catherine reached back instinctively, her hand brushing his knee in reassurance. She shouldn’t. Comfort was reserved for the quiet of their chambers. The facility had taught her. No Alpha wanted to see an Omega doting on a pup sired by another.

“You’ll need more than just toys,” the Alpha explained. “Clothes. Shoes. Essentials.”

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but Catherine’s heart began to race. She didn’t dare protest—didn’t even think of it. It wasn’t her place to question an Alpha, especially not one as commanding and imposing as Alpha Wayne. His words weren’t an invitation for discussion, merely a statement of intent.

She folded her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes glued to the floor. What kind of clothes would he buy her? Her mind wandered nervously, recalling the garments she’d been allowed in her father’s home—modest dresses that covered her from neck to ankle, the fabric plain and unadorned.

They had been chosen with care to ensure she wouldn’t tempt any Alpha into sin, a constant reminder of her duty to remain pure and unassuming. Her father had often reminded her that an Omega’s body was sacred, meant only for the Alpha who claimed them. Anything less than absolute modesty was an affront to the natural order, a failure of her role in the eyes of the Lord.

Then there was Willis. He agreed with her Alpha father that no omega should wear throusers but that was were his principles ended. He didn’t care about modesty or what she wore as long as it was cheap. He liked her naked the most anyway.

Would Alpha Wayne expect the same? Would he demand her to dress for his taste, or would his kindness extend even to this? She wouldn’t dream of asking for trousers or knitted fabrics, wouldn’t dare. But the thought of wearing something clean, warm, and untainted like the nightgown she had been provided with last night filled her with a trembling mix of hope and fear.

Her thoughts shifted to Jason. Alpha Wayne had provided the pup with a new pair of pajamas the night before—soft, warm, and colorful, with cartoon characters printed on the fabric. They had felt so strange to touch, so foreign in their quality, yet she’d dressed Jason in them with shaking hands, unable to fully believe it was real.

Would the Alpha extend that generosity further? Maybe he’d purchase a set of long-sleeved shirts for Jason, or even a sturdy pair of pants.

But what if he didn’t? What if he expected Jason to wear his facility-issued clothes every day until they fell apart? She swallowed thickly, pushing the thought away. No. She couldn’t question his decisions. If Alpha Wayne chose not to provide more, it was because he deemed it unnecessary, and she would have to accept that without complaint.

Her pulse quickened as she dared, for just a fleeting moment, to wonder if there might be a way to beg. Could she ask for Jason’s sake without overstepping her place? The thought terrified her, and she quickly dismissed it, lowering her head further in silent submission. It wasn’t her role to make requests, only to obey and to trust that the Alpha knew what was best.

Still, when she glanced at Jason she couldn’t stop herself from hoping, no matter how dangerous it felt.

When they arrived at the store, Catherine’s grip on Jason’s small hand tightened instinctively. the building loomed large and modern, with the name Bloomingdale’s spelled out in bold, gleaming letters across the front. She had only ever heard of stores like this—places where the air alone seemed heavy with money. Her stomach churned as she took in the perfectly dressed shoppers stepping in and out of the automatic doors, their clothes crisp and their shoes spotless.

It was that kind of store that had everything—clothes for adults and children, shoes, homewares, and accessories. The brightly lit display windows filled with intricate arrangements of clothing, homeware, and household goods that radiated wealth and comfort. It seemed almost garish to her and overwhelming.

The cheerful music spilling out into the parking lot only heightened her unease, a reminder of how out of place she and Jason looked in their facility issued clothes, worn and faded.

Inside, the atmosphere didn’t improve. The store was massive, with glossy floors that reflected the dazzling lights above, making the space seem even larger. Some shoppers moved through the aisles with purpose, others families and couples alike moved leisurely through the aisles.

Alphas, Betas, Omegas alike. Some stank of fear, like her, their postures tight and rigid, every movement calculated to avoid drawing attention. Others looked strangely neutral, their scents muted and steady like a Beta’s. They walked beside their Alphas with a quiet confidence, unbothered and composed. A few were unaccompied even, probably running errands for their Alphas.

Catherine wondered briefly what kind of lives they had, what kind of Alphas they served, to carry themselves like that.A

Her head dipped slightly as they walked, her eyes flitting to the gleaming tile beneath her feet. She kept Jason close, every nerve in her body on edge.

The smells in the air overwhelmed her—the clean, chemical sharpness of new clothes and leather; the faint, cloying sweetness of perfume; the deeper, unmistakable scents of Alphas, some sharp with dominance, others calmer but no less commanding.

Alpha Wayne didn’t glance back to check if they followed, but there was no need. Catherine trailed behind him with the instinctive obedience of a shadow, Jason tethered to her side.

To her wonder, they reached the children’s section, as the Alpha slowed. The clothing racks were a riot of colors and textures, soft fabrics spilling over hangers in neat rows.

Catherine stayed at the edge of the aisle, her posture shrinking inward. She felt out of place here among the bright displays of newness and comfort. Jason clung to her side, his wide eyes darting nervously between the colorful clothes and Alpha Wayne.

When Alpha Wayne began methodically sorting through the racks, pulling out shirts, pants, and sweaters with careful consideration, Catherine could scarcely breathe. Her eyes darted between his broad shoulders and the clothing in the cart. He examined each item with an ease that left her frozen, his fingers brushing fabrics with an attention that stunned her. He wasn’t just tossing things into the cart thoughtlessly—he was choosing. For Jason.

Her throat tightened as relief washed over her, warm and dizzying, though it was edged with fear. The cart was already filling with muted tones—grays, beiges, and blacks—clothes far better than anything Jason had ever owned. They looked whole, soft, and new. She blinked back sudden tears, her heart pounding with gratitude, but her mind swirled with doubt. How could an Alpha like him be so kind to a pup that wasn’t his?

She lowered her gaze submissively, her fingers tightening around Jason’s small hand as if to anchor herself. Relief was dangerous.

She knew better than to trust it. What if this was a trap, a way to see if she’d dare take more than she deserved? Maybe he expected her to prove to him that she was aware how undeserving her pup sired by another Alpha was of his generosity.

But the Alpha turned, crouching to Jason’s eye level. The movement startled her—an Alpha lowering himself like that. Again. The second time today, just like in the other store. Her father would have never—

“Jason,” he said, his voice deep and his scent even. “What colors do you like?”

Jason blinked at him, his small face flushing with uncertainty. He glanced at Catherine, as though seeking her approval.

Catherine took a deep breath, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Promping him to answer without saying a word herself. She would need to talk to him again, reinforce the lesson that he had to listen and obey Alpha Wayne without looking to her first. Her approval meant nothing when Alpha Wayne was present.

Finally, his voice, soft and hesitant, broke the silence. “Red, Alpha,” he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

Catherine’s heart seized. She tightened her grip on his hand reflexively, her pulse quickening as a chill ran through her. “Alpha Wayne,” she corrected sharply, her voice laced with panic. She darted a nervous glance at the towering figure beside her, her stomach twisting in knots. How could Jason be so careless? He wasn’t Alpha Wayne’s pup. He had no right to speak to him with such familiarity.

“Jason, you know better than to—” She cut herself off, her throat tightening as she awaited the Alpha’s reaction.

But Alpha Wayne only held up a hand, a subtle gesture that silenced her immediately. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s just a slip of the tongue, nothing more.” His tone carried no anger, no irritation—just a quiet authority that silenced her.

Catherine blinked, momentarily stunned.

Catherine froze, blinking in disbelief. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the tension in her chest refusing to ease.

A slip of the tongue? She had never known an Alpha to excuse something so easily. Most would see such familiarity as insolence, a challenge to their authority. She swallowed hard, keeping her head bowed, her words quiet and obedient. “Yes, Alpha Wayne.”

The Alphas gaze shifted to Jason, his expression softening. “Red’s a good choice,” he said, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s eyes.

Jason blinked at him, startled, but Alpha Wayne had already turned back to the racks. He began selecting clothes in varying shades of red—sweaters and jogpants in deep maroon, shirts with red and write stripes, a pair of cargo pants in a warm, earthy red tone.

“Do you like fire trucks?” Alpha Wayne asked, glancing back at Jason.

Jason hesitated, his lips parting as if to answer but then closing again. He looked at Catherine, unsure, and she nearly spoke for him again. But she shouldn’t.

Jason needed to answer. Hesitation was disrespectful. Alphas didn’t tolerate disrespect. And even Alpha Waynes kindness had to have a limit.

Her breath hitched as her mind spiraled. What if he grew impatient? What if he finally had enough and grabbed Jason, forced him to bend over the rack, and spanked him right here, in the middle of the store? It wasn’t unheard of. Willis had done worse to both of them. Her own Alpha Father had done far worse to her.

Instead Alpha Wayne waited patiently, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and slowly, Jason nodded.

“Good,” the Alpha said with a nod, plucking a shirt with a cartoon fire truck off the rack. “What about this one?”

Jason’s eyes lit up, the smallest spark of interest breaking through his wariness. He traced the edge of the fabric with his gaze, though his voice remained soft. “It’s nice, Alpha Wayne,” he murmured, his tone tentative.

The Alpha chuckled lightly, his scent was warm and sweet, as he tossed the shirt into the cart. “We’ll get it, then.”

Catherine stood frozen, her hand tightening around Jason’s reflexively. Her pulse thudded in her ears, her thoughts tangling as she tried to process what she was seeing.

This wasn’t how Alphas behaved.

They didn’t ask . They didn’t wait . Her Alpha father had never cared about what she like after she presented as an Omega.

Before her first heat, there had been glimpses of freedom. She’d worn blue jeans, soft knitted pullovers, and sneakers worn thin from constant use. She could climb trees and scrape her knees without consequence because, back then, she was a child, a Beta-to-be in her Alpha father’s eyes.

But then she’d presented.

The change had been immediate and brutal. The day the scent glands on her neck began to swell, her Alpha father’s heavy hand came down on her shoulder and shoved her to her knees. "You're an Omega now," he said, his breath hot and sour in her ear. " Your life of devotion and servitude begins now—to me, as your Alpha father, to God, and one day, to your Alpha husband.”

Gone were the jeans and knitted pullovers, replaced with plain, shapeless dresses that clung uncomfortably to her thin frame. They had to be long enough to hide her legs, sleeves down to her wrists, collars high enough to cover her scent glands. Modesty to stave of sin.

“You’re not a bitch yet,” her Alpha father had growled, yanking the fabric higher. “And you better keep it that way. You’re nothing until someone claims you to breed you full of some Alpha pup.”

Willis had been worse. He didn’t waste money on clothes—not for her. When her skirts wore thin, she’d patched them herself, her fingers sore from stitching late into the night.

“Panties are a waste,” he’d said one night, after he had ripped her last one beyond reparation. The acrid stench of alcohol was clinging to him like a second skin. “Why cover up what’s already mine?”

He’d backed her into a corner, his voice low and sickly sweet, his hand tracing the hem of her skirt. “I like easy access,” he’d murmured, his grin sharp as a knife. When she flinched, his grip tightened.

This wasn’t Willis. This wasn’t her father.

And yet her mind couldn’t reconcile Alpha Waynes actions with what she thought she knew. He was speaking to Jason like his opinion mattered. It made her chest ache in a way she didn’t quite understand.

Alpha Wayne handed Jason a pair of pajamas with an all-over fire truck print. Jason hesitated, glancing up at him before letting go of Cathrines hand and reaching out to touch the fabric. She noticed his small fingers trembling slightly.

“Soft, isn’t it?” Alpha Wayne asked.

Jason nodded, looking at the Alpha in awe. And Alpha Wayne just put it in the cart. It was to good to be true!

Alpha Wayne handed Jason a crew neck pullover with a colorful all over dinosaur print next, holding it up to the boy’s small frame. “How about this one? Dinosaurs are pretty cool, right?” he said, his voice warm and gentle.

Jason’s eyes widened as he ran his hand over the fabric, his touch hesitant like he was afraid it might disappear. “It’s... soft too,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” the Alpha agreed, crouching again down to Jason’s level. “That’s because it’s made to be comfy for kids like you.”

Jason nodded slowly, still shy, but the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips. He glanced up at Catherine, seeking her reassurance. She gave him a small nod, what else could she do, but her heart was aching at the sight. Kids like you, Alpha Wayne had said. As if it didn’t matter that Jason was sired by another Alpha. As if he was still worth all these soft and colorful and expensive clothes. Cathrine glanzes at the pricetag of the dinosaur pullover. 39,99 $. It was insane!

But she couldn’t dwell on it as Alpha Wayne reached for a pair of shoes, holding them up for Jason to see. They were sleek and simple, with a white base and a distinctive swooping arrow on the side in bright red. The shoes were designed with two wide velcro straps instead of laces, making them practical for little hands to manage.

“These might be just right for you,” Alpha Wayne said, his voice warm and encouraging. He crouched down again, pulling the straps open and closing them slowly to demonstrate. “See how easy these are to use? Why don’t you give it a try?”

Jason’s small hand reached out, tentative at first, but then he touched the straps, mimicking thd Alphas movements. His lips parted slightly in concentration as he tugged the velcro open, then smoothed it back into place.

“Perfect,” Alpha Wayne said with a small smile. “What do you think? Should we get these?”

Jason’s small hands trembled just a bit, overwhelmed by now with so many choices and the growing pile of clothes in the cart. “If… if it pleases you, Alpha Wayne,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His voice was stiff, almost formal, as he was reciting a line he’d learn at the facility. Cathrine knew all the horrible truths they had told him at the facility. Willis death had left him unclaimed and whichever Alpha claimed his mother would never ever treat him as nice as his own Alpha father had.

Alpha Waynes smile faltered for the briefest of moments. But then he gave a small nod, his tone gentle. “It pleases me if it pleases you, Jason,” he said softly, a slight smile on his face.

Jason looked back down to the shoes and Catherine’s hands twitched at her sides, her instinct to step in almost stronger than her usual restraint. Speaking unprompted in public wasn’t something she did. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut, if she wasn’t begging or blowing her Alpha.

But this was Jason. Her sweet boy.

Still, before Catherine could speak, Jasons voice piped up, soft but steady, “The red arrow is really cool.”

The words were so innocent, so young—so untainted by the life he’d known. His voice was the kind of soft, pure tone she hadn't heard in years, and it hit her with a force she wasn’t prepared for.

Catherine’s heart twisted in her chest. She stood frozen, the weight of Jason’s words sitting heavy on her.

Alpha Waynes smile stretched wider, warm and genuine, and something in his expression softened. His scent shifted—impossibly sweet. It was as if Jason’s simple comment had opened a whole box of sugary cookies.

And Alpha Wayne didn’t stop, his large, steady hands pulling a hoodie from the rack. This one was black but the front bore a striking design: a blue circle with a bold white star at its center, surrounded by three concentric red rings. “Do you like superheroes, Jason?” The Alpha asked, his tone as gentle as ever.

Jason tilted his head, his small body shrinking slightly as he considered the question. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice soft and uncertain, his gaze darting nervously to Catherine again. His fingers curled tighter around the little toy falcon still in his hands, as though it might shield him from giving the wrong answer. “I’m really sorry, Alpha Wayne.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted at the apology, a pang of sadness she couldn’t suppress. Jason shouldn’t have to apologize for not knowing something like superheroes. The knowledge he lacked wasn’t his fault—it was hers, and more so, it was Willis’s. The weight of it pressed on her shoulders, a familiar ache she’d grown accustomed to carrying.

Before she presented, Catherine had known a world beyond her father’s strict, overbearing gaze. Sometimes, when she could steal a few moments in the city library, she’d leaf through the bright, colorful pages of superhero comics. She’d never dared to check them out; the risk of bringing them home was too great. Her father believed superheroes, Harry Potter, and any form of fantasy were gateways to sin—temptations crafted by Satan himself.

Superheroes, he said, were false idols, their stories distractions crafted to lead people away from the truth of the Alpha's path and the Divine Plan.

But she had loved them. The bold, vivid artwork, the daring stories of ordinary people becoming extraordinary, the hope they carried—it had been her secret rebellion, one her father never discovered.

She remembered flipping through Marvel comics, her fingers brushing over vibrant illustrations of heroes in flight or in battle, protecting the innocent and defying impossible odds.

She remembered the thrill she felt whenever the library got a new Marvel edition, though she could never bring herself to linger too long for fear of being caught.

What her father hadn’t known couldn’t hurt him.

Jason had never touched a comic. He had never heard of Marvel. His world was so much smaller than hers had been at his age. He knew firetrucks only because he could see them from the kitchen window, a spot where he sat quietly, watching the world move outside while she prepared meals. Willis rarely let them leave the confines of their cramped space, and even when he did, Jason was never allowed to wander far enough to see or explore.

He knew about dinosaurs because, for a brief time, a poster for a Jurassic Park movie hung in the window of the corner store across the street.

Jason had pointed it out one day, his tiny hand pressing against the glass, eyes wide with wonder. Catherine had told him everything she could remember about dinosaurs—how they were giant lizards that once roamed the earth, some with sharp teeth, others with long necks.

Her knowledge was sparse, cobbled together from fleeting school lessons before she presented, before her father intervened.

Even those lessons had been controversial in her home. Her Alpha father had raged when she mentioned them, declaring that dinosaur fossils were a hoax planted by Satan to test humankind’s faith. She learned quickly to stop asking questions.

Jason, though, had no such lessons to unlearn. He only had her—her fragmented knowledge, her small stories whispered in quiet defiance of the limits placed on them.

And now, standing in front of Alpha Wayne, she felt the weight of how little she’d been able to give him. She swallowed hard, fighting the sting of shame. She hated herself for how many times she’d had to stifle his natural curiosity out of fear of repercussions.

“That’s okay,” Alpha Wayne said without hesitation, his deep voice warm and calm. “You don’t have to know. But superheroes are pretty neat, you know. They’re brave and kind, and they help people when they need it most.” His words carried an easy confidence, like he believed every bit of what he said.

Jason’s small hands hovered near the hoodie, hesitant but curious. Catherine held her breath as she watched him, her fingers twitching with the urge to pull him back.

It wasn’t her place to stop him—she knew that—but years of harsh lessons made her wary. Don’t want what you can’t have. Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you. She didn’t want Alpha Wayne to punish her pup in public. She didn’t want him to punish Jason at all.

The Alpha noticed Jasons hesitation and leaned forward just slightly, easing the hoodie into Jason’s arms. “Here, hold onto it,” he said, his tone as light as if they were discussing the weather. “See how it feels.”

Jason’s scent shifted, warming faintly as his hands closed around the fabric. His eyes lit up with a tentative wonder as he stared at the bold colors and his small hands brushed over the brightly printed superhero emblem. Catherine couldn’t help but watch him, her chest tightening at the sight.

She inhaled sharply, her body instinctively seeking the warmth in his scent, even as her mind warred with the guilt of doing so. She imagined locking that warmth away in a little mason jar in her mind, something to keep for when things became cold and damp again. Because they would, wouldn’t they? They always did.

Her gaze flicked to the shopping cart. It was already a fourth full with children’s clothing—soft fabrics in bright colors, sturdy materials that promised comfort and warmth. No Alpha would ever buy so many things for another’s pup.

The Alpha noticed Jason’s fond hold on the superhero hoodie.

“Let’s find you another one too,” Alpha Wayne said gently, crouching slightly to Jason’s level. He extended a hand toward the hoodie, his movements slow and deliberate, as if to show Jason there was no need to worry. “I’ll keep this safe for you,” he added, easing it from the boy’s arms and placing it carefully in the cart.

Jason’s scent flickered with uncertainty, but he stayed quiet as the Alpha turned to another rack. After a moment, Alpha Wayne pulled out a vibrant red hoodie with a small crocodile embroidered near the chest.

“What about this one?” he asked, holding it out with an easy smile. “It’s soft, and look at this little guy right here,” he added, pointing to the logo. “He’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Jason’s small hands trembled slightly as he reached out to take the hoodie. His wide eyes brightened as he looked it over, his fingers brushing the fabric with awe. The bold red color reminded her of the hoodie he used to have—a faded, hand-me-down treasure he’d worn almost every day. They had gotten it from an older omega in their apartment complex, whose pups had long outgrown it. It wasn’t perfect; the fabric had been worn thin in places, and a patch covered a fraying hole on the right elbow. But it had been warm, dependable, and Jason had loved it fiercely.

As he held this new hoodie—whole, soft, and bright— Jasons scent shifted, warming faintly, a ripple of quiet excitement breaking through the lingering wariness.

Jason glanced up at her, then back at the Alpha, who was watching him with calm patience. Boldness flickered in his eyes, rare and hesitant but unmistakable. “Could we… could we get this one, Alpha?” Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Catherine’s heart lurched. Panic flared as she prepared to intervene, to smooth over Jason’s words with apologies and explanations. But Alpha Wayne didn’t look annoyed or offended.

“Of course we can,” Alpha Wayne said warmly, his voice steady and reassuring. His smile deepened as he added, “That’s a great choice, buddy. It looks like it’ll keep you nice and warm.”

Jason’s face lit up with a shy, radiant smile, the hoodie clutched tightly against his chest. “Thank you, Alpha Wayne,” he said, his tone filled with a quiet joy that Catherine hadn’t heard in far too long. “I had one like this before… but Mama wasn’t allowed to bring it.”

Catherine’s hands twisted the fabric of her dress as she lowered her gaze, panic, once again, surging ghrough her. She wanted to tell Jason to stop talking, to stop before he crossed a line or annoyed Alpha Wayne so much that they left before getting any clothes at all.

Her instinct screamed at her to intervene, to apologize, to explain that Jason didn’t understand what he was asking. No Alpha liked being pressed by a pup who wasn’t theirs.

But the Alphas focus never wavered, his patience unshaken.

But Alpha Wayne’s expression didn’t darken. Instead, his smile deepened, though it was tinged with something softer, almost bittersweet. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over the hoodie Jason clutched.

Alphas smile softened. “Well, now you’ve got this one,” he said, his tone still light, as though they were just chatting about the weather “And you can wear it whenever you want. Sound good?”

Jason nodded vigorously, his small grin bright enough to warm the space around them.

“Thank you, Alpha Wayne,” Catherine whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to steady her breathing.

The Alpha glanced at her briefly, his kind smile unwavering. “Of course,” he said and reached for the cart, pushing it forward, but not before turning back to Jason. “Let’s see what else we can find, alright?

Alpha Wayne moved to another rack, his large hands carefully sorting through rows of socks. Some were plain and practical, but others were vibrant, covered in cartoon characters—race cars, spaceships, animals.

“What do you think of these, Jason?” he asked, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. “They’ll keep your feet warm, and look—theres Pikachu!” His tone was calm, steady, with just the faintest hint of playfulness.

Jason’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. His hands tightened around the hoodie as he glanced at the socks, then at Alpha Wayne, as though unsure if he was truly allowed to say something.

The Alpha waited patiently, the socks still held out, but Jason finally dropped his head. His shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry, Alpha Wayne,” he whispered, his voice thick with shame. “I… I don’t know Pikachu. I don’t know anything. I’m sorry for being so dumb.”

The words hit Catherine like a blow, her chest tightening with a familiar ache she’d grown to live with. Her sweet boy. Her Jason. She stepped forward without thinking, her movements small and hesitant, but she couldn’t stay silent.

“Alpha, if I may explain, please … Jason, he wasn’t allowed to watch television,” she explained softly, her voice trembling with the weight of her words. Her hands twisted in front of her, a subconscious show of submission, but her gaze flicked to Jason briefly.

Jason nodded quickly, his wide eyes darting nervously between her and the Alpha. “Sometimes,” he added, his voice timid but eager to justify himself, “sometimes I could watch football. Or darts. With Alpha and Mama.”

Catherine swallowed hard, memories washing over her in sharp, disjointed fragments.

Those rare, fleeting moments when Willis would settle into the creaking old recliner, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips, flicking the ash on the carpet.

If he’d come into some money, he might bring home chili dogs and wings, the greasy smell filling the small, cramped apartment like a rare feast. Once—just once, maybe half a year ago—he’d even brought home a can of Dr. Pepper.

She remembered how Jason’s eyes had gone wide, his little hands clutching the cold metal of the can like it was a treasure. She’d hesitated, thinking of the caffeine, but Jason needed all the sugar and calories he could get. He was too thin, always had been.

At first Catherine had stayed back, letting Alpha have his moment, letting Jason perch on the edge of the couch, serve Willis a new can of beer every once in a while, collect his empty take out containers an wipe Jasons fingers, after he’d been allowed to much on a small chicken wing.

And then Willis, half-drunk and full of himself, had barked at her to “quit hovering” and sit down. Like it was some kind of privilege to watch the game with him. She’d sat beside Jason, stiff and silent, as they pretended, just for a little while, that everything was okay.

And even then, Catherine could still see the way Jason had flinched at every loud cheer from the TV, every scrape of Willis’s beer can against the table. Fun had never lasted long in that house.

The game had barely been on for twenty minutes when Willis’s cheers turned to shouts, his booming voice rattling the walls of the cramped apartment. “What the hell kind of call is that? Are you blind, ref?” He slammed his fist onto the arm of the recliner, sending his beer can teetering dangerously on the edge of the side table.

Jason flinched, pulling his knees up onto the couch as if making himself smaller would make him invisible. Catherine reached out to touch his back, her hand a soft, steadying presence, but she kept her gaze on Willis, ready for whatever came next.

Her stomach rumbled suddenly, a low, traitorous growl that cut through the noise of the game. Willis froze mid-rant, his eyes narrowing as his head snapped toward her. “What the hell was that?” he barked, his beer-laden breath filling the room.

Catherine froze, her body going cold. “I’m sorry, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Willis’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You’re hungry, huh? Well, you should’ve said so, Catherine. I’m feeling generous tonight.”

He grabbed one of the chicken wings from the takeout container, holding it up for a moment as though inspecting it. Then, with exaggerated care, he bit into it, tearing most of the meat off the bone with his teeth. His sharp eyes flicked to Catherine as he chewed slowly, smirking around the food in his mouth. When he’d eaten nearly all of it, leaving only scraps of meat and gristle clinging to the bone, he held it out to her.

“Here,” he said, his tone mockingly kind. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Go on, eat.”

Catherine’s stomach churned with hunger and shame as she took the gnawed bone from his hand. She glanced at Jason, whose wide eyes were filled with silent worry, before lowering her head and biting into what was left. The flavor was bitter and greasy, the scraps tough and cold, but she forced herself to chew.

Willis laughed, pleased with himself. “Atta girl,” he said, tossing another wing onto his plate and repeating the process. Bite. Chew. Leave scraps. “Looks like my bitch likes all her bones,” he said with a cruel grin, holding out another nearly bare wing for her.

Catherine reached for it, her fingers trembling slightly. But as her hand brushed the bone, Willis yanked it back, cackling like it was the funniest thing he’d ever done. “Not so fast. Gotta work for it, right?” He tossed the chicken wing onto the stained carpet at his feet.

“Pick it up,” he ordered, his tone sharp now. Jason’s breath hitched, and Catherine felt his tiny hand clutch her sleeve. “Mama—” he whispered, but she shook her head slightly, a silent plea for him to stay quiet.

She leaned down and picked up the wing from the carpet, forcing herself to ignore the dirt and lint clinging to the grease. She bit into the scraps of meat, gnawing the bone clean while Willis looked on, his laughter ringing in her ears.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, leaning back in his recliner and grabbing another beer. “You should be thanking me for this feast, Catherine. No one else would put up with an omega like you, let alone let you sit here and eat with an Alpha like me.”

Catherine swallowed hard, the bitter taste in her mouth making her stomach turn. “Thank you, Alpha,” she said softly, the words as automatic as breathing.

But as she sat back, her gaze flicked to Jason’s face. He looked stricken, his small frame trembling beside her, and the weight of her failure crushed her. How had this become their life? How had she allowed it to get so bad? And what kind of future could Jason have with a man like Willis shaping it?

Alpha Wayne, though, didn’t miss a beat, proving again what a generous Alpha he seemed to be.

“That’s just fine, Jason,” he said gently, his tone calm and steady, as though Jason’s lack of knowledge wasn’t something to be ashamed of. “If you ever want to know about them, I think Dick and Tim could tell you all about Pikachu—and a whole bunch of others.”

Jason blinked up at him, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “They like cartoons?” he asked, his voice tentative, as though it were strange for other pups—especially an Alphas pups—to be allowed to watch cartoons and to be exited about it.

“Of course they do,” Alpha Wayne said, crouching to meet Jason’s eye level. “Dick’s a little older now, but he still watches sometimes. And Tim is five, so he loves cartoons. He’s very into Dinosaur Train and Paw Patrol right now.”

Jason tilted his head, clearly intrigued, but still hesitant. Catherine watched him carefully, noting the way his small fingers fidgeted with the edge of the red hoodie Alpha Wayne had given him, clutching it like a lifeline.

Alpha Wayne turned to another rack, pulling out a jacket that immediately caught Jason’s attention. It was a sleek black down jacket, similar in cut to the dark blue one he was wearing now—the one borrowed from Tim for the day. But this one had bright red zippers and small, matching red dots running along the hood’s edge and cuffs. The inside lining peeked out, revealing soft beige fleece.

“It looks warm, doesn’t it? And it’s got these red zippers—I thought you might like that,” Alpha Wayne said.

Jason’s eyes lit up as he reached out, his little hands brushing the material with quier awe.

“It’s… so cool,” he whispered. Jason glanced at Catherine briefly, his expression both hopeful and uncertain, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was for him.

Catherine’s chest tightened painfully. Jason had never owned a jacket before—never had anything new, let alone something so sturdy and bright. She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Crying now, here in front of the Alpha and her son, would be unacceptable. She couldn’t risk ruining this moment for Jason.

“Go on, lad,” Alpha Wayne encouraged gently. “Try it on. Let’s see if it fits.”

Jason hesitated only a moment, slipping out of his borrowed jacket, before slipping his arms into the sleeves. Alpha Wayne helped him adjust the fit, tugging the hood up over his head and then smoothing it back down. “There we go,” he said, stepping back to take a look. “What do you think? Warm enough for playing outside?”

Cathrine looked at her pup. The red accents popped against the black fabric, giving the jacket a bold, playful look that seemed to fill her kid with quiet confidence. His smile was radiant, as he nodded.

“Yes! It’s so warm, Alpha Wayne!” Jason said.

Catherine blinked rapidly, trying to keep her emotions in check. Maybe Jason really could wear a jacket like this and roam the backyard with the Alpha’s son sometimes—if he proved himself to be a good child, obedient and hardworking. The thought was so far removed from anything she’d allowed herself to imagine that it almost felt dangerous to hope for.

Alpha Wayne straightened and nodded, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“Let’s put it in the cart then,” he said simply, placing a steady hand on Jason’s shoulder before turning to Catherine. “He’ll need gloves, too, and probably a hat to match.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she murmured, her voice trembling just slightly. She glanced at Jason, his excitement bubbling just beneath the surface, and felt a flicker of gratitude so sharp it made her dizzy.

Jasons and Catherines world had been small and brutal, dominated by harsh alphas and the absence of kindness. But now here he was, this impossibly good man—Alpha Wayne—asking if Jason liked superheroes and firetrucks, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It couldn’t last. It couldn’t last, she told herself. And what if it did? What if it lasted? What if Alpha Wayne really let Jason run around the yard and talk about cartoon with his own children in sturdy pants and comic book shirts. What if Alpha Wayne truly planed to treat Jason with more kindness than his own father ever had? Sure, she understood that Jason still needed to earn his keep and pull his weight, prove his loyality to a man who might accept him as a loyal servant of his household.

When Alpha Wayne had found a red beanie and matching gloves, they were just about finished in the child section. The cart was almost half filled with things for Jason, when he suddenly froze, his eyes locking onto something a few feet away. Catherine followed his gaze and saw a pajama set hanging neatly on a rack. The fabric was bright blue, dotted with cheerful cartoon puppies in firefighter hats, hard hats, and police uniforms.

It was nearly identical to the one Beta Alfred and Alpha Wayne had given him last night, the one he had reluctantly changed out of that morning. Jason hesitated, clearly gathering his courage, before he glanced up at the Alpha.

“Alpha Wayne,” he said softly, his voice so small it was nearly swallowed by the store’s ambient noise. His shoulders hunched, and he shifted from foot to foot, as though bracing for rejection. “Would… would it be okay if I wore the pajama again tonight? Please?”

The Alpha stilled, his face giving nothing away, but Catherine could feel the faint change in his scent—a quiet, simmering shock, like sugar that caramalized for to long, turning crisp and bitter.

“Of course, Jason,” Alpha Wayne said gently, his tone steady and even despite the disturbance in his scent, as if he tried to relax for the anxious pup.

Then, without another word, Alpha Wayne reached for two more pajama sets, each in a slightly different color and print, one red and one mint, each featuring the same cartoon pups in slightly different poses. He placed them in the cart without a second thought.

“This way, you’ll always have one, even if another is in the laundry,” he said lightly, as though he hadn’t just shocked both Jason and Catherine to their cores.

Jason's eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and awe filling his gaze. The weight of the gesture seemed to crash down on him, his body trembling from the quiet kindness Alpha Wayne had just shown. For a moment, Jason seemed to shrink under the enormity of it all, unsure how to respond. But then, almost without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of the Alpha.

His head bowed slightly, and his small neck arched just enough, an instinctual gesture of submission, a silent thank you that ran deeper than words. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again, his gratitude so raw it made Catherine’s chest ache.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely audible. “Thank you, Alpha.”

Jason’s hands still clutched his toy falcon but his entire posture reflected the weight of his gratitude, as though he were offering something sacred. And he was, he was … oh god, Cathrine pressed her hand against her sternum, trying to keep herself still.

Her pups small form trembled, filled with an innocent need to show his thanks, his actions born from the life he’d known—one where submitting to an Alpha’s care and kindness was the only way to express loyalty and respect.

Catherine’s heart raced in her chest, panic washing over her. She knew, deep down, that this was what Jason had been raised to do—kneel, bow, give thanks, and show that he understood his place. He had learned it by watching her in front of her Alpha Father and Willis.

They would have demanded more, would have had Jason kiss their feet in exchange for such kindness. Her stomach churned at the thought.

But Alpha Wayne was not like the others.

Before Catherine could react, the Alphas large hand gently came to Jason’s shoulder, a subtle but firm pressure that guided the boy’s head back up. His fingers were soft but insistent, making sure Jason’s neck and his scent gland weren’t left exposed in that vulnerable gesture.

He kept his hand on Jason’s shoulder, guiding him to his feet with the same gentleness.

“I’m not rejecting you, pup. But I won’t claim you in the middle of a store.”

“Okay, Alpha,” Jason whispered, his voice softer now, filled with a tentative trust he hadn’t known he was capable of.

The Alpha just smiled warmly, a look of reassurance in his eyes. “Let’s make sure you have everything you need, okay, Jase?”

Chapter Text

As they stepped into the women’s department, Catherine’s shoulders tensed. The vast space was overwhelming—mannequins dressed in sleek outfits stood on polished platforms, surrounded by racks of clothing in every imaginable color and texture.

She glanced at Jason, clutching his small hand like he might get lost otherwise, as they followed Alpha Wayne deeper into the section. Her eyes darted nervously to the polished floors, avoiding her reflection in the large mirrors that lined the walls.

Alpha Wayne opened his mouth, likely to tell her to what she needed, what he was generous enough to buy her. Catherine knew it wasn’t her place but she hoped against hope he’d be fine with her wearing undergarments. She’s do anything to be allowed the cotton ones, that covered everything from her folds to the buttocks.

She’d still be allowed to wear those back living with her Alpha father. Modesty was important to him, even if she was a bitch to be. But as long as she’d been living under his roof, right next to the church he was preaching at, she had to cover all her sinful parts.

But before Alpha Wayne could utter a word, a sharp scent filled the air. It was rich and cloying, a mix of leather and cherry, but not the sweet kind—the bitter, alcohol-soaked kind of cherry that burned going down. Catherine’s stomach churned at the scent as an alpha woman appeared from between the racks, her stride purposeful and commanding.

She was tall, with sharp cheekbones and sleek blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her fitted blouse and tailored pants exuded authority, and her heels clicked against the floor with a rhythm that demanded attention. Her eyes flicked to Alpha Wayne, and an almost predatory smile spread across her face.

“Mr. Wayne,” the woman said, her voice smooth and polished, oozing false warmth. “What an honor. I don’t think I’ve seen you in this section before.” Her gaze lingered, taking in his broad frame, and then slid dismissively to Catherine and Jason, still clad in their facility issued outfits, Jasons loose shirt at least being covered by the borrowed blue down jacket.

Catherine instinctively pulled her pup closer, her fingers tightening around his tiny hand. She tried to shrink into herself, lowering her gaze as the woman stepped closer.

Alpha Wayne nodded politely but didn’t offer much else. He remained composed, his posture effortlessly commanding as he stood near Catherine and Jason.

The other Alphas smile sharpened. “I’ve seen the tabloids, of course,” she continued, her tone light but edged with something that made Catherine’s skin crawl. “You’ve always been quite the enigma, Mr. Wayne. But I see now that you’ve decided to settle down.”

Catherine stiffened. Alpha Wayne though  didn’t react outwardly, his expression steady and polite, but Catherine caught the faintest tightening of his jaw, the kind of subtle reaction that would have been invisible if she hadn’t been so attuned to every little shift.

She shouldn’t have been watching him. She knew she shouldn’t. “Keep your head down, bitch,” Willis had always told her when he took her out in public. “And your mouth shut, or I’ll show them all what it’s best at.”

Once, he’d followed through on that promise. It had been their anniversary, though there was no romance in the air. She’d left Jason with her parents, her Alpha father and Omega mother. She had only given him away on Willis orders, but she was feeling an odd mixture of guilt and relief to not have to drag Jason with them into the dingy bar Willis had choosen for the occasion.

“Smile pretty,” Willis had said, as they entered.

The bar stank of stale beer and desperation, and Catherine’s stomach churned at the sight of the cracked vinyl seats and sticky floors. Willis had been in a good mood at first, throwing back beers and boasting loudly about his latest win at billiard.

Catherine, ever obedient, sat quietly beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, a small glass of cheap beer he’d shoved toward her barely touched.

But he wouldn’t let her sit in silence forever.

“Drink,” he’d ordered, his tone making it clear there was no room for argument. “Don’t embarrass me.”

She was acutely aware of his hand resting low on her back, fingers almost grazing her ass, a silent claim that left her feeling trapped. The sticky barstool squeaked beneath her slight weight as she leaned ever so slightly toward him, careful not to disrupt his good mood.

She’d taken small sips at first, the bitter taste unpleasant, but Willis kept nudging her, telling her to loosen up. She hadn’t eaten all day—there’d been nothing in the fridge except a few crumbs and an empty carton of milk—and the alcohol hit her harder than she’d expected. By the time her second pin of beer was empty her head spun, and she could feel her body growing clumsy.

But Willis was in rare form, laughing boisterously, his stories getting louder and cruder with every passing minute. The bartender humored him with polite chuckles, though his disinterest was obvious. Willis didn’t notice—or didn’t care. He was holding court, his presence filling the room.

“And then I told him, ‘If you can’t hold your liquor, maybe you shouldn’t be drinking with the big dogs!’” Willis boomed, slapping the counter for emphasis.

The bartender offered a strained laugh, glancing at Catherine for a moment before quickly looking away. Catherine forced a small, delicate smile, her hands clutching her glass so tightly she thought it might shatter.

Willis turned to her, his grin wide and expectant. “Ain’t that right, babe? You were there—you saw him.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Catherine murmured, her voice quiet but obedient.

He laughed even harder, leaning closer, his breath warm and thick with alcohol. His hand slid lower, fingers pressing possessively at the curve of her back. “You know I’m funny, don’t you, sweetheart? Funniest guy you ever met.”

Catherine nodded quickly, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. The room spinning just slightly but she tried to keep her composure, to stay quiet and agreeable.

But the alcohol made her lightheaded, loosening her guard in a way she couldn’t afford. “You’re so funny, Willis,” she giggled, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Willis’s laughter stopped abruptly, the grin vanishing from his face as though it had never been there. His eyes darkened, sharp and dangerous, and Catherine’s heart sank, her blood running cold.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice low and cutting, like a blade pressed against her skin.

She froze, panic creeping into her voice as she stammered, “I-I meant Alpha. I’m sorry, Alpha—”

But the damage was done.

Willis’s hand shot out, gripping her arm in a punishing hold. The stool screeched against the sticky floor as he yanked her off balance, his strength overpowering her easily.

The bartender looked up, startled, but Willis shot him a warning glare.

“You think you can disrespect me like that? In front of everyone?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice venomous even as his tone stayed low, for appearances.

“I didn’t mean to—” Catherine started, but Willis cut her off with a sharp yank that left her stumbling to her knees.

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice dropping further, almost a whisper now as he leaned close. “If you’re gonna act like a bitch, then you’ll stay where bitches belong.”

Still smiling for the onlookers, he shoved her down harder, forcing her to kneel on the filthy, sticky floor. Her knees ached against the rough, grimy tiles, but she didn’t dare protest.

“Get to it,” he barked, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs as he gestured downward.

Catherine’s throat tightened with humiliation, but her body moved on autopilot, instinct overriding her shame. She craned her neck painfully, reaching up to him as he sat relaxed on the high stool, his smirk back in full force. His dick was thick in her mouth, her nose pressed against his pubic scent glance, scenting sharp tobacco.

It’s uncomfortable and nasty, the way her Alphas cock tastes foul and unwashed. She was used to sucking his cock whenever he wanted, after nights spent wherever the hell he was or days without changing his boxers. But doing it in a dingy bar felt dirty somehow. It felt like something her Alpha Father would never do to her mother.

No one in the bar intervened. The beta bartender glanced away, muttering something under his breath as he wiped a perfectly clean glass. A few patrons stared for a moment but quickly turned back to their drinks, unwilling to get involved. Others looked shamelessly while she was down on her knees.

Willis didn’t care. He reveled in his dominance, his grin growing wider with every second Catherine remained on her knees with his thick dick in her mouth. When he was satisfied, and she had swallowed all of his load like he had trained her to do, he leaned down just enough to grab her chin roughly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

“Next time, you remember your place,” he said, his voice cold and final, pulling her up by her arm, his grip harsh and unyielding.

She nodded weakly, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she whispered, “Yes, Alpha.”

Catherine could hardly piece together the rest of the evening. The anger in Willis’s voice had cooled to something more sinister—mocking, almost jovial, as though his outburst had been nothing more than a passing storm. His grip on her arm loosened just enough for the blood to flow back into her fingers, but the humiliation remained, burning in her cheeks as he leaned closer.

“You’re too stiff, babe,” he murmured, forcing a smile onto his face, though his eyes still carried the shadow of his earlier rage. “Loosen up. Here—finish this for me.”

He slid the beer across the sticky bar counter, the glass leaving a streak of condensation that glistened in the dim light.

Catherine hesitated, her hands trembling as she lifted the glass. The rim was warm from his touch, and the sharp tang of alcohol filled her nostrils. She hated beer. The bitterness turned her stomach, but she knew better than to refuse.

“Drink,” he repeated, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise of the room.

Her throat worked around each sip, the liquid heavy and foreign, even though it was the third pint he’d forced on her already. It burned on the way down, and her empty stomach twisted in protest, but she didn’t stop until the glass was nearly empty. She dared a glance at him, hoping her obedience would appease him, but Willis was already waving to a group of men at the pool table, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging her off the stool so suddenly that she nearly fell. Her head was already swimming, the alcohol spreading like wildfire through her veins. She stumbled after him, her body unsteady and pliant under his guidance.

The lights above the pool table were blinding, casting stark shadows across the green felt. The sharp clack of billiard balls echoed around the room, punctuated by bursts of raucous laughter.

Willis wasted no time positioning her at the table, pressing his body against hers from behind. His hands moved over hers under the guise of teaching her, but his fingers were rough and careless, sliding down her arms and kneading her small breasts.

“You’re a natural,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. The mocking tone made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to stay still.

He didn’t stop there. His hands roamed lower, gripping her hips, pressing her closer. His hands moved down towards her folds, fingering her roughly through the thin fabric of her skirt.

“You gotta feel it,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear. The laughter that followed was coarse and jeering, and Catherine’s face burned with shame while her slick rand down her inner tights. Willis rarely tried to give her pleasure and her own body betraying her, even under the influence of alcohol made her feel odly violated.

“See, boys?” Willis called out, leaning into her even harder. “This is how you handle a stick.”

He basked in the attention, his arm slung possessively over her shoulders while he ordered another round of drinks.

“C’mon, Kitty Cat,” he drawled, sliding a fresh beer in her direction. “Don’t be shy. It’s a celebration, isn’t it?”

Catherine hesitated, her trembling fingers brushing the cold glass. She didn’t want to drink any more—her head was already spinning—but the sharp edge in Willis’s voice left no room for refusal. She lifted the glass to her lips, forcing herself to take a sip as the bitter liquid burned her throat.

Willis’s laugh was loud and grating as he clinked his own glass against hers. “That’s my girl,” he said, the words dripping with mock affection.

The drinks kept coming. There were rounds of shots now, the small glasses slammed onto the table with boisterous cheers. Sometimes Willis downed his in one smooth motion, throwing his head back with a satisfied grunt. Other times, he shoved the half emtied shot glass into Catherine’s hands, his smile turning cold and expectant.

“Drink up,” he said, his tone deceptively light but with a warning lurking beneath.

Catherine obeyed, the fiery liquid scorching her throat as her vision blurred. She clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her body swaying slightly as the alcohol took hold. The once-awkward shifts of her body grew sluggish, her movements uncoordinated.

The more she stumbled, the louder Willis’s laughter became, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. The others joined in, their jeers and taunts wrapping around her like a noose. Every clumsy misstep, every unsteady attempt to right herself only seemed to fuel their entertainment.

But somewhere in the blur of noise and movement, Willis’s patience ran thin. He pulled her away from the table, his grip firm and unrelenting as he dragged her toward the bathroom.

The narrow hallway was dark, and Catherine’s vision swam with each step. By the time he shoved her into the cramped stall, she could barely stand.

The bathroom stall reeked of piss and mildew, but Willis didn’t care. The cold metal wall pressed against her back as Willis crowded her, his breath hot and sour with beer. “Don’t go getting shy now,” he sneered, his hands already working to tug at her clothes. Catherine whimpered, her head lolling as the room spun violently. She wanted to fight, to push him away, but her body wouldn’t respond.

His weight bore down on her, pinning her in place. The sounds of the bar faded, replaced by the harsh rasp of his breathing and the cruel mockery in his voice. She barely felt the sting of the metal digging into her skin or his dick entering her in a swift motion; the numbness was already setting in and she was till wet with slick.

When it was over, Willis straightened his clothes, his expression smug. Catherine stayed slumped against the wall, her legs shaking too much to hold her up. She felt his semen and her slick run down her tights, making them sticky but Willis didn’t clean her up.

The next memory came in fragments: the blare of the car radio as Willis drove them home, the acrid taste of bile in her throat, the dull ache spreading through her body. She remembered the slam of the apartment door, the way Willis laughed as he shoved her toward the kitchen.

The rickety table wobbled under her as he pushed her onto it, his hands greedy and rough. The edge of the table dug into her back, sharp and unyielding, but she didn’t protest. Her voice was gone, swallowed by the thick haze of her intoxication and the suffocating weight of her shame.

When he was finished, Catherine lay there for a long time, her body aching and cold, semen pooling between her legs on the kitchen table and her mind blank.

She stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, the cheap light fixture flickering above her. Somewhere in the apartment, Willis was already moving on, rummaging through the fridge and turning on the TV, as though nothing had happened.

Catherine stayed where she was, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. The sharp edges of humiliation and pain dulled into a sickening void, one she would carry long after the bruises faded.

Jason’s small hand tightened around hers, pulling her abruptly back to the present. She glanced down at him, her heart clenching at the sight of his uncertain expression.

The shop attendant, oblivious or indifferent to Alpha Waynes silence, turned her focus to Catherine. Her eyes swept over her from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if assessing a piece of merchandise.

Catherine’s skin prickled under the scrutiny, a deep unease settling over her as the shop attendant’s sharp gaze lingered on her. The memory of Willis’s hands burned against her skin like a phantom ache, and she instinctively lowered her eyes, her free hand brushing against her opposite arm in a nervous gesture.

The Alpha woman tilted her head, her polished smile widening, though it did little to soften the glint of derision in her eyes.

“She’s... different,” she said, her tone deceptively light, as though she were choosing her words with care. “Not quite what one might expect for someone of your stature, Mr. Wayne, but I suppose even the simplest canvas can be refined into something extraordinary.”

Alphas face remained impassive, unreadable. He gave a curt nod, but his lack of response only emboldened the woman.

“With the right choices,” she continued, her voice smooth and honeyed, “we can emphasize her... finer qualities while discreetly masking any shortcomings. A little polish can go a long way.” She let out a soft laugh, as though she were sharing an inside joke with Alpha Wayne.

Catherine’s stomach churned, a sick, hollow ache spreading through her chest. She was used to Alphas making decisions for her—it was their right, their role, and her place to obey. What she wore, how much she ate, whether she ate at all; even her body wasn’t her own. It was theirs to command, to touch, to use.

Her body wasn’t hers to hide or protect; it was theirs to claim. The way her skin burned with shame when they appraised her, criticized her, touched her—it didn’t matter. She wasn’t allowed to flinch, wasn’t allowed to pull away. Even the privacy of her thoughts felt like a rebellion she had no right to.

Every order came with the unspoken promise of consequence. She’d been punished before for stepping out of line—humiliated, berated, reminded of her place until she felt so small she could barely function.

Catherine knew her own omega mother had given up early. Long before Catherine had even been Jason’s age, her mother had surrendered completely—resigned to her place, her worthlessness, her role as nothing more than a vessel for service and obedience. Catherine couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give up. She had Jason. Her boy, fragile and bright, his tiny life tethered to her own broken body and bruised soul. She had to protect him, no matter how worthless she was. No matter how much it hurt.

But not giving up hurt so much more.

Every day was a battle against herself, against the voice in her head that told her it would be easier to stop fighting, to stop hoping. To let go. Sometimes, in those rare moments when everything became too much, she lost time. Minutes, sometimes hours, would slip away, her mind retreating somewhere safer, somewhere quieter. She couldn’t remember everything that happened in those spaces, but she knew her body had obeyed as it always did. It had hurt, yes, but it had felt distant. Her mind felt less violated in those moments, as though the worst of it had happened to someone else.

And when she came back to herself, there was always Jason. His small hand in hers, his quiet, careful movements, the way he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him from disappearing. Jason needed her. That fragile, trembling light in her chest couldn’t go out, not while he was still there to protect.

Even if it felt like she was losing pieces of herself every day.

So she came back again after losing a few seconds, just to see the shop attendant’s eyes flicked briefly over Jason before returning to Alpha Wayne, her smile turning brighter as if to smooth over any perceived offense. “And it’s so kind of you, Mr. Wayne, to take on such responsibilities. Not everyone would be so... generous.”

The words hung in the air, deceptively sweet, yet laced with condescension. Catherine’s grip on Jason’s hand tightened instinctively, her nails biting into the palm of her other hand. She knew exactly what the woman meant—Jason was a burden, an unspoken flaw in the equation, an omega’s pup tainting the perfection expected of an Alpha’s household.

Her gaze dropped to the floor as heat rushed to her face, shame and humiliation burning through her.

Beside her, Jason tugged lightly on her hand, the tiny movement snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts, this time at least not caught in a flashback in the middle of a store. She glanced down at him, her heart aching at how small he looked, his toy falcon clutched tightly in his other hand.

The shop attendant turned back to Alpha Wayne, all but ignoring Catherine and Jason now. “I’ll take care of everything,” she assured him, her tone light and confident. “You’ve made the hard part easy by being here. I’ll make sure she’s outfitted properly.” She gestured toward the seating area with an exaggerated flourish. “Why don’t you relax, Mr. Wayne? We’ll put on quite the show for you once we’re ready.”

Catherine stiffened, the casual ease of the alpha’s words sending a fresh wave of humiliation through her. She dared a glance at the Alpha, her heart pounding, but his face remained unreadable.

He gestured toward the seating area. “Jason and I will wait here while you pick out a few things. Take your time,” he said, his tone as steady and kind as it had been all afternoon.

She didn’t want to leave her child alone with the large Alpha. She didn’t trust Jason to hold his tongue, to not say something foolish or defiant that would draw the Alpha’s ire.

But she had no choice. Her hands trembled slightly as she gently pried Jason’s fingers from hers. “Stay close to Alpha Wayne,” she whispered, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Be good, Jason. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, okay?”

Jason nodded, his wide eyes flicking between her and the Alpha, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem as scared as she expected. There was a flicker of something else—curiosity, maybe even a trace of trust.

Still, Catherine’s stomach churned. She wanted to pull him close, press a kiss to his cheek, and whisper promises to protect him. She wanted him by her side, where she could shield him from anything that might come. But that was a foolish dream. Jason wasn’t hers to shield, not truly. She had no authority over his safety, no power to decide who held influence over him.

Her heart ached as she watched Alpha Wayne crouch slightly to Jason’s height, speaking to him in a low, calm voice.

"I know this is a lot, Jason, but you’re doing really well. Let’s go sit over there, and I’ll make sure you’re okay until your mom’s back."

Jason hesitated, glancing back at her one last time before nodding.

„Okay, Alpha Wayne.“ He said, before the Alpha gently guided him toward the waiting area.

Catherine’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as the distance grew between them. Her body screamed to go after him, to stay close, but her feet remained rooted to the floor. She could do nothing but stand there, helpless, as another Alpha took charge of her pup.

The shop attendant worked briskly, her sharp heels clicking against the polished floors as she moved through the racks. Her hands skimmed over fabrics, pulling out one item after another—tight dresses in deep reds and blacks, skirts that barely looked wearable, tops with plunging necklines that left little to the imagination.

Catherine stood silently nearby, her hands folded in front of her, her head low. She was painfully aware of the woman's scrutinizing gaze each time she looked back with a dismissive glance before hanging the selected pieces on a rolling rack.

"You know," the Alpha said, her voice light but laced with condescension, "it’s important for an omega to look their best, especially when they’re standing next to someone like Mr. Wayne. A man of his caliber needs an omega who knows how to turn heads. Lace, leather, a bit of skin—" She plucked a barely-there piece of lingerie from a hanger and smirked. "Just like that.”

Catherine swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the floor. The words buzzed in her ears like a swarm of wasps, each one stinging more than the last.

She stood rooted to the spot, hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze pinned to the floor. She could feel the Alpha’s eyes on her, sharp and judging, every glance like a scalpel cutting through her already fragile self-worth.

A smirk tugged at the Alpha’s lips, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every flaw she uncovered. “No makeup at all,” she said, her voice sharp with judgment. “I suppose it works for... whatever backwater place you came from. But belogning to someone like Mr. Wayne?” Her laugh was low, dripping with mockery. “Completely unacceptable. An alpha of his stature deserves perfection.”

The shop attendant took a step closer, her voice softening into a tone that was almost intimate but somehow even more cutting.

“Fortunately, I have excellent taste. And we carry everything here. The full range of high-end omega products.” She reached toward a nearby display and plucked a small, sleek jar from its shelf. Turning it over in her hands, she smiled slyly.

“Even the crème,” she said, her voice dropping as though sharing a secret. “Alphas might enjoy leaving their marks— I know I do —but nobody wants to see them in public. It’s distracting.” Her gaze slid toward Catherine’s neck for a moment, the implication sharp enough to cut.

Catherine’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move, even as the Alpha stepped closer and tilted her head as if inspecting her more thoroughly.

“And those lips,” the Alpha lady sighed, waving the jar dismissively before setting it back down. “So thin. I like an omega’s mouth to look soft, plush, and inviting. But these? They hardly make a statement. A good lip liner might help, but honestly, it’s not going to work miracles.”

“What you really need,” she leaned in slightly again “is hyaluron filler. Just a little here—” her manicured finger hovered mockingly above Catherine’s upper lip, “—and here.” She motioned to the lower lip, smirking. “It wouldn’t take much, but the difference? You’ll look like you sucked cock all night.”

Straightening, she tapped a perfectly polished nail against her lips in mock thought. “There’s a clinic downtown, high-end, of course. They do wonders with cases like... well, yours. I’d be happy to pass along the address to Mr. Wayne. I’m sure he’d appreciate the suggestion.”

Her gaze swept over Catherine’s face, lingering like a predator sizing up prey.

Her hand moved again, gesturing vaguely toward Catherine’s eyes. “Dull,” she pronounced, her tone matter-of-fact.

“No spark here. Not a hint of brightness. I’ll pick out a few shades that will add some color.“

The Alpha lady leaned in again, her eyes narrowing as she studied Catherine’s eyebrows. “And this.” She made a small clicking noise with her tongue, shaking her head. “Stray hairs everywhere. No shape, no grooming, no effort. Do you even know what threading or waxing is?”

Her fingers, cold and calculated, reached out to thread through the strands of Catherine’s long, thin hair. Catherine flinched, but the alpha’s grip was firm, tugging just enough to sting.

"It’s so... lifeless," the shop attendant mused, tilting her head as if examining a particularly perplexing problem. She let the strands slide through her fingers like they were something unpleasant. "Dull, thin, and completely unkempt. No shine, no volume—do you even bother brushing it? It is like you’ve never heard of basic grooming. Has no one told you how an omega is supposed to present themselves?”

Catherine stood rooted to the spot, hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze pinned to the floor. She could feel the alpha’s eyes on her, sharp and judging, every glance like a scalpel cutting through her already fragile self-worth.

“No, Alpha, Ma’m. I’m sorry,” Catheine said quietly, but the Alpha lady tugged at another lock, twisting it between her fingers as though searching for something redeeming.

She finally released Catherine’s hair with an exaggerated flick of her wrist, as though shaking off something dirty. Catherine’s scalp burned where the strands had been tugged.

The Alpha turned back to the rack, her voice rising slightly as she continued her tirade. "You’re an omega, for goodness’ sake. There are expectations. Standards. Did your former Alpha fuck your brains out or have you just decided that looking like this—" she gestured vaguely in Catherine’s direction, “is proper? Dumb Omega. I’ll recommend a good hairdresser to Mr. Wayne, who can salvage... whatever this is."

Her hand reached out once more, brushing Catherine’s hair off her shoulder as if to get a better look.

"Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s even bothering with you," she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Catherine to hear but quiet enough to feign innocence.

"You’re lucky Mr. Wayne has such a charitable streak," she added, turning back to the rack with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Because honestly, if it were me, I wouldn’t bother. And his kindness extends to your bastard pup too, I see," she added with a glance toward Alpha Wayne and Jason. "Very... generous of him, don’t you think?"

Alpha Wayne was seated in a plush chair nearby, Jason perched next to him, and he was talking softly to the boy. Catherine couldn’t hear the words, but Jason was nodding, his little fingers clutching his toy falcon like a treasure. The boy’s shoulders, so often tense, looked relaxed for once.

Her stomach twisted as she watched them. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the quiet exchange between the Alpha and her pup making her chest tighten with a cold, suffocating dread. Jason was talking—actually talking. What if he said something foolish? What if he asked too many questions or said something that made the Alpha angry?

Alpha Wayne’s patience had seemed unshakable so far, but everyone had limits. Catherine knew that all too well. Jason would make a mistake. He was young and naive. Just a pup. He was bound to make mistakes. And when he did, Alpha Wayne would finally show his true colors.

Her hands trembled as she watched the Alpha lean forward slightly, speaking softly to Jason. He didn’t seem irritated. In fact, his body language remained relaxed. But that didn’t mean anything. Alphas could be deceptively calm right up until the moment they struck.

Then, a second shop attendant approached with a tray. A steaming coffee cup rested on it, accompanied by a tall glass of water and a single wrapped cookie. Alpha Wayne accepted the items with a polite nod and then turned his attention to Jason again. Catherine’s breath hitched as she watched Alpha Wayne pick up the glass of water. His hand hovered protectively under Jason’s, guiding the boy as he carefully tipped it to take a sip.

The water was filled to the brim, and Jason’s hands trembled under the weight. Catherine wanted to step forward, to take the glass away before Jason spilled it, before he gave the Alpha any reason to lash out. But Alpha Wayne didn’t scold or rush him.

Instead, his other hand hovered nearby, steady and ready, but never overbearing.

Jason sipped the water carefully, his eyes darting up to Alpha Wayne, looking for approval.

Catherine braced herself, expecting a sharp comment, a hint of impatience, but instead the Alpha smiled faintly and nodded, as though Jason had done something remarkable.

Then he unwrapped the cookie, handing it to Jason with the same steady patience.

Jason hesitated, his small fingers hovering over the cookie before he finally took it

His eyes lit up with tentative delight.

Catherine’s chest tightened. She couldn’t look away, her vision blurring with the sting of tears she wouldn’t let fall. No Alpha had ever been that careful with her pup.

The shop attendant let out a small, theatrical sigh as she held up another tight dress, inspecting it before adding it to the rack. "Mr. Wayne has always had... interesting charitable ideas," she said, her voice lilting with faux admiration but dripping with venom. She stepped closer to Catherine, her scent—a pungent mix of leather and cherry—settling heavily in the air between them.

The shop attendant leaned in, her smile sharpening. "If it were me? I wouldn’t have the patience, not for some other alpha’s mess." Her eyes flicked disdainfully toward Jason, sitting quietly beside Alpha Wayne.

The shop attendant’s gaze flicked briefly toward Jason again, then back to the Alpha, who was still speaking softly to the boy, oblivious to the conversation that was happening right under his nose. The sight of Alphas careful gestures with Jason—the way he helped the child sip water, how he looked at him with such gentleness—only seemed to infuriate the alpha more.

Her sharp smile didn’t waver as she added, almost too brightly, “Such a generous man, Mr. Wayne. Always taking on responsibilities no one else would. Other people’s pups, no less. But I suppose even an alpha like Mr. Wayne has his… eccentricities.” The saccharine sweetness of her tone was so heavily layered it was almost nauseating.

Catherine flinched, her instinct to defend Jason warring with the deep-seated fear that had been drilled into her for years.

She glanced back at her pup, still sitting quietly, nibbling on his cookie, blissfully unaware of the words being spoken about him. It wasn’t worth it.

The Alpha lady cut herself off abruptly, her gaze snapping back to Catherine, her expression feigning sweetness. “Oh, but I’m sure you’re very grateful. You must be.”

Catherine’s chest tightened painfully, her breath hitching. She nodded quickly, her voice caught in her throat. “Yes, Alpha, Ma’m,” she whispered, though her words felt as small as she did in that moment.

The alpha leaned in closer, her sharp scent suffocating. “Good,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “Because you’d better be. Not everyone would tolerate the kind of desaster you are.” She straightened abruptly, clapping her hands together in a mock display of enthusiasm. “Now, let’s get you sorted, shall we?”

The attendant’s energy shifted as they entered the changing stalls, but her condescension only sharpened. She pulled a tight black dress from the rack, holding it out with a critical eye before handing it to Catherine. “This will do,” she said. “Mr. Wayne will want to see you in something… flattering. Though, with what you’re working with, it might take a little extra effort.”

Catherine’s fingers trembled as she reached for the dress, the fabric feeling heavier than it should in her hands. She fumbled with it, trying to figure out how to get it on. The zipper at the back eluded her shaky fingers.

The shop attendant sighed dramatically, stepping forward and brushing Catherine’s hands away as though she were dealing with a child. Her tone dropped, low and cutting as she added, “You are an especially dumb thing, right? At least let’s make you look fuckable.”

The words stung, but Catherine didn’t respond, biting her lip as the Alpha tugged the dress into place. The fabric clung uncomfortably to her thin frame, highlighting every ridge of bone and every shallow dip.

The Alpha’s hands lingered at the neckline, her fingers grazing the fabric with deliberate slowness as her sharp eyes flickered down to Catherine’s chest. “Hmm,” she mused, lips curling into a cruel smile that exposed the faint edge of her teeth. “Small and saggy,” she said with a pointed sneer, the words cutting through the air like a slap.

Catherine flinched. The Alpha lady turned briskly, exiting the changing stall and a couple minutes later she was back there with a lacy push-up bra between her manicured fingers. The red fabric glinted under the store lights as the alpha held it up with a mocking flourish.

“Here we go,” she said, smirking as she dangled it in front of Catherine like some kind of trophy. “This might actually give you some shape. ”

Catherine’s cheeks burned with humiliation, and she opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. The Alpha stepped forward, her hands cool as she tugged at the zipper of Catherine’s dress, pulling it open at the back. The fabric slipped down Catherine’s shoulders, exposing her bare skin to the cool air of the changing stall. A shiver ran down her spine, and she felt her nipples harden involuntarily from the chill.

The Alpha’s sneer deepened as she caught the reaction, her voice thick with derision. “Sensitive, aren’t we?” she drawled, stepping closer. Catherine’s entire body tensed, the space between them shrinking as the Alpha’s fingers brushed against her shoulders, adjusting the straps of the bra she was now forcing onto her. The pressure of the straps digging into Catherine’s thin frame made her breath hitch, but the Alpha lady didn’t stop there.

Her hands lingered far longer than necessary, smoothing over Catherine’s exposed skin with a false pretense of adjustment. Then, with an almost clinical efficiency, she tugged at the cups of the bra, shoving Catherine’s breasts even more upward. The alpha’s smirk widened as she leaned back to inspect her work, giving Catherine a mocking nod of approval.

“There,” the alpha said, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Now this tits might actually do something for your Alpha.”

She tugged the black dress back up Catherine’s body, the tight fabric compressing her chest further as the push-up bra exaggerated her already thin frame.

The zipper at the back whined slightly as the Alpha lady yanked it closed. “Perfect,” she declared, her hands giving the fabric one final, possessive tug.

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. The dress was tighter than before, the constriction making her feel small, trapped. Her hands trembled as they hovered at her sides, she knew she wasn’t allowed to tug at hem to cover herself up just a bit more.

The alpha took a step back, her eyes roving over Catherine with a predatory gleam. “Much better,” she said with a sharp smile, tilting her head. “Now let’s go show Mr. Wayne, shall we?” Her tone was mocking, as though she were presenting a doll she’d dressed rather than a person.

Catherine swallowed hard, her throat dry. She cast a fleeting glance at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing the figure staring back at her. Her cheeks burned with shame as she allowed herself to be ushered out, the weight of the alpha’s hand pressing against her back.

Alpha Waynes initial reaction was almost imperceptible—just a subtle flicker of his brow—but his expression softened almost instantly.

Catherine noticed his slight hesitation, her stomach twisting as she assumed the worst.

He nodded approvingly though and his gaze softened as it lingered on Catherine, as though he was carefully considering his words.

His voice, low and calm, carried an undercurrent of reassurance. “It’s an interesting choice, Catherine,” he said, offering her a faint, encouraging smile. “If it’s something you feel good in, we can certainly get it.”

Catherine’s chest tightened at the words. Was he being polite? Did he like it? Surely he did, right? The Alpha Lady had told her this was what Alpha Wayne expected and she’d knew better than Cathrine.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Catherine just said, voice demure.

The shop attendant swooped in then, gesturing to Catherines breast, her tone a sugary syrup that set Catherine’s teeth on edge. “Look at her. These are some charming curves, right Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes, of course,” Alpha Wayne said. “You look very good, Catherine.”

“You’re so lucky, ” the Alpha gushed at Cathrine, voice so unlike it had been in the changing stall. “Let’s make sure to find more flattering looks for you, Omega.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and Catherine wanted to shrink into herself. Alpha Waynea either didn’t notice or chose not to acknowledge the jab, instead turning his attention back to Jason, who was sitting quietly nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed jacket.

She saw the way his gaze flicked nervously between her and Alpha Wayne, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Her heart ached, knowing that the dress—tight and exposing, something she’d never willingly wear—wasn’t just making her uncomfortable. It was unsettling Jason too. He had never seen her like this before, and she could tell by the way his lips pressed into a tight line that he didn’t liked it.

Alpha Wayne leaned slightly toward Jason, his large frame folding gently as he rested his forearms on his knees. Catherine’s breath hitched at the motion. Her eyes darted nervously to the Alpha.

“What do you think, Jason?” Alpha Wayne asked, his tone so measured it sent a ripple of uncertainty through Catherine.

Jason froze, the question clearly catching him off guard. His fingers twitched against the hem of the jacket, tugging at it as though he could disappear inside it. He glanced at Catherine, his wide eyes almost apologetic, before lowering his gaze.

“I… Mama looks…” Jason’s voice wavered, and he ducked his head further, almost hiding behind the oversized collar of the borrowed jacket. “Different.”

Catherine’s throat tightened. Jason’s discomfort mirrored her own, but hearing it aloud made her stomach churn. She couldn’t bear the thought of him upsetting the Alpha. What if he said the wrong thing? What if Alpha Wayne took his words as an insult?

But the Alpha didn’t seem upset. His gaze softened, and his voice remained steady.

“Let’s see what else she got, huh, buddy?” alpha Wayne proposed, his voice kind and low, but Cathrine took it for what it was. He wanted to see more outfits.

So back in the stall the Alpha resumed her work. She unzipped the dress with a practiced efficiency, her movements brisk and invasive. The fabric slipped free, pooling around Catherine’s feet, leaving her standing there in nothing but the push-up bra and the facility issued grey cotton tanga, discomfort crawling under her skin.

The next outfit—the skimpy mini skirt and nearly transparent blouse—made Catherine’s stomach churn just to look at it. She’d never worn something like this. Her Alpha father expected modesty, even from bitches to be and Alpha Willis likes her naked the most, not bothering on clothes that made her look sluty when he could just strip her bare.

Catherines fingers trembled slightly as she worked the blouse over her arms. She caught her reflection briefly in the mirror: a pale, stick-thin figure staring back, her rips showing like they did since she was a teenager, her collarbones jutting and the bra exaggerating curves she barely had.

The Alpha’s sharp eyes zeroed in on her midsection as Catherine adjusted the blouse, her movements awkward. The moment the blouse rose enough to expose her lower abdomen, the alpha’s hand shot out, her fingers pinching at the loose skin there. Catherine flinched violently, gasping as a sharp sting radiated from the pinch.

“Catherine, are you alright?” Alpha Wayne spoke up from outside the changing stall.

She was fucking this up royaly with her sensitivity. A little pinching and fondling never hurt nobody. So she said: “Yes, Alpha,” swallowing the shame.

“Oh my,” the Alpha lady purred, tuning her voice down a notch, but her words were still dripping with mock concern. “What’s this, hmm? Greedy thing. You should really eat less and exercise more.” Her nails dug in slightly, making Catherine swallow a wince.

The alpha’s lips curled into a smirk. “No discipline, I swear,” she said with a sharp laugh. “I’ve seen the latest photos of Talia al Ghul. Gave birth to Mr. Wayne’s pup ten weeks ago, and she’s already back in perfect shape. That’s where alpha discipline gets you.” Her eyes gleamed with malice as she let go of Catherine’s skin, the sting still lingering.

“But omegas… well, you’re just lazy,” the Alpha finished, her voice lilting with faux pity as she stepped back, clearly pleased with herself. Catherine stared at the floor, the sting of tears threatening the edges of her vision. Her hands fumbled with the blouse, trying to pull it into place, but no amount of adjusting could make it feel right.

Catherine swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep tears at bay as the Alpha disappeared again, returning moments later with a set of impossibly tight shaping underwear. “Put this on,” she said briskly. “We’ll make you presentable yet.”

Catherine nodded, her hands trembling as she reached for the garment. She didn’t argue. She never did.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the garment, the fabric feeling foreign and unyielding beneath her fingers.

As she struggled to pull it on, the Alpha stood back, watching her with a smirk of satisfaction. Catherine’s cheeks flushed with humiliation as the garment cinched uncomfortably at her waist, compressing her body tight.

The Alpha’s fingers lingered boldly at Catherine’s buttocks, adjusting the fabric of the shaping pants with a mocking precision that made Catherine’s skin crawl.

“This is a special kind,” the Alpha lady said smoothly, her tone teetering between patronizing and condescending. She gave Catherine’s backside a light tap that felt more like a slap. “It’ll push up your flat little ass, Omega. But only squats will really get you there.” Her smirk widened, her eyes glinting with malice. “Wouldn’t want your Alpha to feel fooled when you present your bare tush now, would we?”

Catherine’s throat tightened, shame coursing through her. The Alpha stepped back and gestured to a pair of sleek, high-heeled leather boots that rested near the mirror. “Now, get those on,” she instructed sharply.

Catherine hesitated, her gaze darting nervously between the boots and the Alpha lady. They were impossibly tall, rising to her ankles, with a narrow toe and a heel that promised discomfort with every step. The leather looked stiff and unyielding. She reached for them silently, her fingers trembling as she slid them on. They pinched her feet immediately, and standing up felt precarious, like she was balancing on stilts. Each wobbling step felt like a reminder of her inadequacy.

As she moved awkwardly toward the mirror, Catherine felt a flush of humiliation creep over her. The impossibly short skirt, the boots, the tight blouse—it all made her feel like a slut . But maybe Alpha would like her that way. Maybe this was what she had to be to please him.

But when Alpa Wayne finally saw the outfit, his expression was as steady and kind as ever. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

Catherine noticed his careful inspection, the way his gaze lingered on her face rather than the outfit. But then he nodded and she was relieved to think she hadn’t disappointed him.

“The shaping pants are good,” the shop assistant said, her tone clipped. “But they’re only a start. She’ll need more than this to keep up.” Her smirk widened as she motioned toward Catherine’s face. “Lip fillers would do wonders for her. Plump them up, make them more appealing. And that hair…”

She reached out and flicked a strand of Catherine’s hair between her fingers, her touch as degrading as her words.

“Extensions, obviously. Long, glossy ones—something to hide this... lack of effort. And of course, they can deal with her brows. I know just the place, Mr. Wayne.”

Catherine’s heart pounded in her chest. She stood frozen, clutching at the fabric of her blouse as if it could shield her from the disdain. But nothing was shielding her. Nothing ever really had. No parents, no clothes to cover her body, no Alpha mate.

“And then the rest, of course,” the shop attendant continued, her voice dripping with condescension. “A proper manicure, some makeup—real makeup—and moisture treatments. A tan would help too. And a few weeks of dieting, naturally. A cup of broth, some cucumbers, a bit of kale and that loose fat on her belly should be dealt with.”

Alpha Wayne sharp inhale broke through the other Alphas monologue. His voice cut through the air, calm but firm.

Alpha Waynes eyes met hers, steady and searching. “Do you like the outfit? Do you feel good in it?”

Catherine flinched, her instincts screaming to please, to say the right thing. “Yes, Alpha,” she replied quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alpha Wayne tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “So you want to wear clothes like this? Exclusively?”

Her fingers twisted into the hem of the blouse, gripping tightly. “If it pleases you, Alpha.”

His brow furrowed slightly, his voice growing firmer yet remaining gentle. “It pleases me if it pleases you, Catherine. Do you want to wear clothes like this? Do you want lip fillers? Extensions in your hair? Do you want to diet, Catherine? Do you think you’re too thick?”

Catherine's head lowered as Alpha Waynes words echoed in her mind. Do you think you’re too thick? Do you want to diet? The question burned in her chest, and she fought the urge to shake her head instinctively. But what if they were right?

Both Alphas had said it—the shop attendant with her sharp, mocking tone, and now Alpha Wayne, though his voice was kind. Maybe her loose belly skin really was unacceptable. Maybe her body, thin as it already was, wasn’t thin enough.

Catherine’s thoughts spiraled as she stood frozen under her new Alphas steady gaze. Panic clawed at her chest, the same suffocating sensation she’d felt so many times since Alpha Willis had died three weeks ago. His death had thrown her world into chaos, leaving the future more uncertain and cruel than ever. Panic made her dumb, and lately, she was panicking a lot.

The words from the shop attendant replayed in her mind, sharp and cutting. She had mentioned Talia—Alpha Wayne’s former partner, an Alpha model. Catherine clung to the name like a thorn, remembering what the woman had said: Talia al Ghul had been back in shape less than ten weeks after giving birth to Alpha Waynes pup. Ten weeks. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Talia must have starved herself, Catherine reasoned. There was no other way. She wasn’t even nursing, Catherine thought bitterly, because Damian was all alone without his mother. His Alpha mother.

Two Alphas. Catherine shuddered. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. Strange. Powerful. Did Alpha Wayne even find Omegas desirable?

And even if he did, why would an Alpha like him want her? She wasn’t remarkable. wasn’t alluring or delicate in the way Omegas were supposed to be. She wasn’t even soft anymore—not after everything. Her edges had been worn sharp from too many nights spent guarding Jason and too many days spent trying to survive.

And Jason wasn’t his blood. That thought gnawed at her. No matter how kind Alpha Wayne seemed now, no matter how gentle he was with her pup, kindness had limits. Men like him weren’t known for their patience. She’d seen it before—Alphas growing tired of what they couldn’t shape, discarding what no longer served them.

Her chest tightened, her pulse quickening. She glanced at Jason, sitting quietly next to Alpha Wayne, his small hands clutching the toy falcon. His scent was calm, his body relaxed.

Had the Alpha taken them in out of pity? Out of some misguided sense of responsibility?

Was this just another one of his many charitable ventures, something to make himself feel better about the world’s cruelties?

Or worse, was there something darker waiting?

Catherine swallowed hard, her fingers curling into her palm. She’d heard the stories. Omegas taken in only to be used as broodmares, their bodies worn down with pup after pup until they were discarded once their usefulness ran out. Others had been reduced to entertainment—offered in brothels and streetcorners or dressed up, and shown off like exotic pets. M

Others were used as scapegoats, worse than her Alpha Father ane Willis had ever treaten her. They weren’t only punished, they were beaten just because they Alpha wanted to, every day for the rest of their lives until they couldn’t stand and still expected to crawl.

Was that what awaited her? Was that what awaited Jason?

Her chest tightened, panic fluttering at the edges of her thoughts. No. No, she couldn’t let her mind spiral. Alpha Wayne wasn’t like that. He didn’t seem like that. He’d bought Jason the hoodies. He’d been patient, even when Jason had asked for things without understanding the rules. He’d knelt down and spoken to him softly, not with the heavy-handed authority most Alphas used.

But appearances could lie. Catherine knew that better than anyone.

And he was still an Alpha. One with money and power—more than she’d ever seen up close. He could do anything he wanted to them. No one would stop him. No one would care.

Catherine’s stomach twisted as she thought of Jason’s hopeful eyes, the way he looked up at the Alpha like he wanted so desperately to trust him. She wanted to pull him close, to keep him from growing attached, but it was already too late. He was opening up to the Alpha in small, careful steps.

It scared her. It scared her because she didn’t know if she was walking into safety or into a trap she couldn’t escape.

And what terrified her even more was how much she wanted it to be real—how much she wanted to believe in the quiet, steady kindness Bruce Wayne had shown.

But she couldn’t afford to believe it. Not yet. Not when she didn’t even know what he truly wanted.

And then Catherine thought about the many times she’d gone without food to make sure Jason could eat. She was used to hunger, used to the lightheaded, floating feeling of starving herself. It had been a necessity then, something she endured for her pup. To do it now, on purpose, just to please her Alpha—it sounded cruel, dangerous even. But if that was what it took to be the Omega Alpha Wayne wanted, she would do it.

Talia had done it. She must have. Nobody got back in shape ten weeks after delivering a baby without pushing their body to its limits. Without starving, suffering, enduring. Catherine’s throat tightened at the thought.

Talia, perfect and poised, shedding every ounce of weakness until she looked untouched by motherhood.

Cathrines body wasn’t tight and trim; it was soft and stretched, a map of scars and exhaustion.

Would Alpha Wayne see that? Would he resent it?