by Aiden Bates
Table of Contents
End of Book – Please Read This
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Turning a New Page
Holding Back
Frozen Beneath His Gaze
Thawing is Necessary but Painful
Heating Up
Empty Box, Empty Nest
Dark Secrets Beget Darker Fantasies
Heat of the Moment
Falling Hard, Falling Fast, Landing Rough
We Rise to Fall Together
Every Hope to Have
Smoking Coals Can Still Start a Fire
Acknowledgments
A New Chapter
A New Chapter
An Mpreg Romance
Aiden Bates
Contents
Get Your FREE Aiden Bates’ Book
1. Turning a New Page
2. Holding Back
3. Frozen Beneath His Gaze
4. Thawing is Necessary but Painful
5. Heating Up
6. Empty Box, Empty Nest
7. Dark Secrets Beget Darker Fantasies
8. Heat of the Moment
9. Falling Hard, Falling Fast, Landing Rough
10. We Rise to Fall Together
11. Every Hope to Have
12. Smoking Coals Can Still Start a Fire
End of Book – Please Read This
Acknowledgments
A New Chapter
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1
Turning a New Page
All things considered, Myrick had a pretty damn good life.
Well...he did now, at least.
A good life that had come after years of fighting stigmas and preconceived notions, of working against his family's disappointment and prejudice, and of fighting to keep himself safe and protected against those that could hurt him—physically or emotionally. Even now, as he leaned back against his office chair and pressed his fingers against his temples, against the oncoming headache he'd been fighting for the last few hours, he still felt on edge. In spite of his current surroundings, alone in the quiet of his office with security for the building a mere call away, he still felt unsafe. Like he could be led into something that could hurt him in the long run at a moment's notice.
Such was the life of an Omega, after all.
An Omega such as he was prized in society, most would say. They were considered important and in need of protection. There was a time where that had not necessarily been the case, where Omegas were simply part of the population, same as Alphas and Betas, and things were, more or less, fine. That was before birth rates began to drop. Before fertility became a rarer and rarer occurrence in those who could normally rear a child. Before Omegas began being born with less and less frequency.
As an end result, those that were born Omegas were given what were considered special privileges, they were nurtured, given the best education available, and better job prospects from the start. They were revered.
Though these privileges were only because of their potential to have a child, he had to admit he had enjoyed those benefits as he had grown up and matured into adulthood. All things considered, he had very little to complain about, looking back on his life and everything that had led up to that point.
Except the very thing that made him special also made him a commodity.
Ultimately, that had been the kerosene poured on the bridge between himself and his family. When he was old enough to sire a child his parents had gone out of their way to arrange a marriage, and by proxy a child, with another family whose son was an Alpha. On paper, it made a morbid kind of sense; Alphas and Omegas that had children together received benefits from the government to assist in raising the child. Benefits that increased if the two were wed. It would mean he would have been taken care of for the rest of his life. All he had to do was give away his autonomy, his choice, and any chance at happiness that he ever had.
He didn't mind lighting the match that burned that particular bridge down.
That's what he kept telling himself, at least.
Declining the marriage and leaving his family had put him in a precarious place, and he knew that he had done it to himself and had no one else to blame. So he rejected every benefit he could have gotten, ignored any potential jobs that specified they preferred Omegas in the work environment, and climbed his way to the top on his work ethic alone. It had taken years, the first few of which he had spent wondering where his next meal would come from, but ultimately, his struggles had paid off when he managed to get a cushy office job based on his education and experience and had only gone up from there, with the odd hiccup along the way.
Sparing a glance outside his window, out into the wide expanse of the city below his floor of the building, he caught his faint reflection in the glass. On the outside, he looked like any other white collar businessman—a well built, young man in his early thirties, tall with a sturdy build, with dark hair and bright gray eyes, and a well tailored business suit. While conventionally attractive, his appearance wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Yet to an Alpha, even to some particularly sensitive Betas, they would know him as an Omega simply by looking at him, by breathing in his scent.
That was the danger, really, the source of his fear of being taken or being hurt. With the increasing rarity of Omegas it wasn't unheard of for them to be grabbed or abused by desperate Alphas, to be whisked away and kept in a cycle of abuse until they were fat with child, or so he’d heard. Less common were the rumors of Omegas being outright taken, to simply disappear and be used by some organization which no one was sure existed as a means to breed and nothing more.
Even with the fear gnawing at his gut, he had to admit the rumors were, on the whole, just that: rumors. Sure, there were cases of domestic abuse—those happened whether an Omega was involved or not, sad as they were, and while the thought of a shadow government organization using Omegas as breeding stock in a bid to repopulate the world did terrify him, the thought also struck him as more than a touch strange. And yet...he still found himself on edge whenever he was out in public, avoiding streets that had any sort of alley he could be easily pulled into, looking over his shoulder more than he probably needed to. He supposed a bigger part of that was he was more than just an Omega—he was an Omega in a position of leadership, something traditionally unheard of in society.
Despite being effectively groomed and pampered while they were being raised, Omegas were still regarded as a 'weaker' section of society, not fit to lead but to be led—by an Alpha, preferably. While a rather antiquated outlook, it still prevailed in many of the white collar work environments of society. There had been strides toward better equality in that regard—he was one such person showing the world that Omegas were capable and effective leaders, able to steer their business toward prosperity. Having clawed his way up to the CEO position of Principium Finis Industries through his own labors rather than through schemes and backhanded deals, he had to admit that every promotion he ever received over his Alpha and Beta companions felt that much better just because of it.
Though with that rise in power came an increase in the danger he faced—power made him even more desirable for a variety of reasons. There had been more than one incident where an Alpha thought that all Myrick needed was a good hard knotting to be 'put in his place' where security (and law enforcement) had gotten involved. Any thoughts he ever had that he would be safe at the
top had long since shattered along with those moments of fear, of helplessness, and he swore to himself that he would never be caught unawares.
He had done his best to keep everyone at an arm's length. What friends he did have he ensured never spent time alone with him, and none of them knew where he lived. He diligently took his suppressants, had a calendar and alarms on his phone marked for when they were running out and needed to be replaced and always, always made sure that he was never alone with an Alpha or Beta of any kind—alone meant vulnerable, vulnerable meant danger. He had gone to great lengths to ensure his safety was always his priority, though a quiet part of him admitted while it felt good to be at the top of the world...it was also alarmingly lonely.
Myrick wasn't so proud as to pretend he didn't long to have companionship with someone—he did, and he keenly felt the emptiness of spending holidays alone or not having someone he could confide in whenever he saw a couple in the street cuddling close or simply touching hands—human contact he had denied himself to keep from being hurt. He could admit, though only to himself, that he perhaps put up a few too many walls, though if it was either loneliness or pain, he would cope with going to bed alone at night, and make the same choice every single time.
Perhaps that apprehension was why he felt nervous about conducting interviews for his vice president position that had only just recently come up for grabs. While he had never been close with his current vice president, Isabelle was a known entity and had never made any attempts toward him. She was probably the closest thing he had to someone in the company he trusted, and the thought of her leaving left him antsy. They had been a good business team, with her handling the more social and public affairs of the company and leaving him to handle the technical parts that kept their boat floating—exactly as he had wanted it. He had immense respect for her, though her recent notice of resignation had done little to help his anxiety.
She was getting married, she wanted to settle down and attempt to start a family, and he could hardly blame her for that—she was older than him, and had been working in the business world longer than he had, and wanting to enjoy her life was more than understandable. She did promise to stay on and help him choose her successor, and while that did help take the sharpest of edges off of his nerves, he was still grappling with the uncertainty of having to work so closely with someone else, someone that would have to be in constant contact with him.
Myrick had another interview coming up in the next few minutes, one of the last before a decision was to be made. The waiting was only making him more nervous, though when Isabelle announced herself at his office door, he felt himself relax a bit, just enough that he wasn't wringing his hands. She was going to be interviewing with him, and that was an immense comfort.
“Come in, Isabelle,” he called out, wincing at the way his voice cracked. He reached for his cup of coffee, drinking deeply in the hope that it would help his parched throat—he hadn't realized it had grown so dry until he tried to speak. There was a faint alarm sound from his phone, a muted chiming muffled from his pocket. He hastily fished it out, only sparing it a cursory glance as he sought to turn the offending noise off, lest it serve to agitate the migraine that was already beginning to form behind his eyes. He rubbed at his temples, hoping to be rid of it before his next appointment came in; God knew he had enough to deal with without a headache coming into the equation and making things far more excruciating than they ever had to be. He made a mental note to drink more coffee around lunch—the caffeine usually helped keep the worst of the migraines away when he was stressed.
“Ready for this interview?” She asked with a grin as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. He groaned and rubbed at his temples.
“I'm ready for these interviews to be done, Isabelle.” He took another drink of his coffee while she settled herself in one of the chairs in the corner of his office, the corner he dedicated to meetings and interviews. He stood and made his way over to another of the chairs beside the one she was occupying in preparation for the interview. “You sure you don't want to stick around? We could just cancel the whole thing, we could re-negotiate your salary—”
“Myrick,” he flinched at the chiding tone in her voice. “I get why you're anxious—I've been in this position almost as long as you've been the CEO of the company.” He nodded with a grimace. “But it's time for me to go. I want to settle down and enjoy my life—God knows I've made enough to be comfortable at this point.” He sat in his chair, crossing his legs in an effort to feel a little more at ease. The last few interviews they'd conducted, while not horrible by any stretch of the imagination, hardly left an impression at all—almost as damning as having an interview go poorly, in his opinion. They were running out of candidates, and none had presented themselves as a good replacement for Isabelle. The clock was ticking down, and Myrick felt that fact keenly.
“You'll get bored in a week.” He smiled wryly.
“Maybe,” she laughed. “But I'm okay with bored.” She leaned over the side of her chair and fumbled with her bag, pulling out a file. “Who is it we're interviewing this time?” She flipped it open. “Tristan Chefant?” She snorted a laugh. “His name sounds fake.”
“Or terribly formal,” Myrick drained his coffee cup, and had half a thought to pour himself another when there came a knock at his door. His shoulders tensed.
“Looks like your interviewee is prompt, I'll give 'em that.” She smirked as she stood to answer. “Maybe that pompous name of his comes with some manners.”
Myrick's eyes drifted to the door, and though the glass surrounding the wooden edges was frosted, he could make out the details of someone alarmingly broad waiting on the other side. He wondered for one panic stricken moment if he would need to have security wait by the door. Then Isabelle was ushering Tristan inside the office, and Myrick had to remind himself this was just an interview for a job that this man wants, and schooled his thoughts into a more professional direction as he stood to formally greet him.
Even as he stood to his full height, Myrick had to quietly admit that Tristan cut an intimidating figure—he towered over both Myrick and Isabelle and somehow managed to look even wider and more imposing now that he was seeing the man clearly. While his suit was well tailored on his frame, Tristan was clearly muscular, built like a linebacker with muscles defined even through his suit coat. His deep olive skin was stark against the crisp white of his button up shirt and soft gray suit, though his eyes were darker still as they met with Myrick's brighter ones. The shock of dark hair atop Tristan's head was well groomed and professional, and though he was intimidating to look at, Myrick had to quietly admit to himself that he also cut quite the impressive visage.
“Mister Thomas,” Tristan greeted, voice deep but warm. “As I said to Miss Plume, it's an honor to be considered for this position.” Myrick gave a well-practiced smile as he extended his hand out to shake.
“It's a pleasure to have you here, Mister Chefant.” Tristan’s hand was warm and large enough to engulf his own as he shook it. “Please,” he motioned for Tristan to take a seat in the available chair across from himself and Isabelle. As they all sat back down, Myrick noticed how nearly comically small the chair was compared to Tristan's bulging muscles and his wide frame. He'd seen Tristan around the office on more than one occasion since he started working here, though they had always been in different departments and he had never gotten a chance to speak with him. Now he tried to pin down what this man was about, though he figured he would have answers soon enough—he need only ask the questions, after all.
“Thank you for having me here,” Tristan's smile widened, and even Myrick had to admit, it was at least a little charming.
“Refresh my memory, you've been with the company for...?” While he'd seen Tristan around for quite some time since working here, he never pegged when he'd started seeing him.
“Ah, this October will mark my fifth year with the company, sir.” Tristan said with a proud nod of his head. So, he
was here when Myrick was hitting his third year here, he noted to himself.
“Well, at least we wouldn't have to do introductions,” Isabelle said beside him, and the three of them shared a humorless chuckle—a 'business laugh' where it hadn't truly been a funny statement but it had been clearly made in jest, so a laugh was socially expected. At least Tristan could play the game of business interaction, Myrick noted.
Still, there was something that was...niggling in the back of Myrick's mind as he watched Tristan reach into his briefcase and pull out copies of his resumé for Myrick and Isabelle. Something deep in his mind zeroed in on Tristan in an alarmingly focused way, a way that he had never really thought about other than when he was around–
“Ah, you're an Alpha,” Isabelle noted idly as she flipped through Tristan's resumé, and then suddenly everything was clicking into place. Thanks to his suppressants, Myrick was not in heat, though he was still...overly sensitive to Alphas that were in close proximity to him, and this was no exception. Though looking at the burly mass of muscle dressed in a suit, he felt almost stupid for not at least wondering if Tristan was an Alpha.
“I am, miss.” Tristan, for his part, seemed neither overly proud nor shameful of the fact. “I hope that won't be a problem...?”
“There's no problem,” Myrick said, though he could feel his very teeth vibrating with nerves. “Though for disclosure's sake, you are aware that I am an Omega, yes?” It was something that needed to be disclosed, as did someone's status as an Alpha, for workplace coexistence—there were laws in place demanding it was not hidden, to prevent...unfortunate circumstances.
