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“That doesn’t matter,” Dad says. “Delilah would want to see us right away.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”
My parents are already hurrying down the aisle.
“Dad!” I call out. “You haven’t given me the keys.”
Dad freezes. Mom looks annoyed as he takes his time to pat his pant pockets.
“Hurry up,” Mom hisses.
“Yes, darling.”
I chuckle as Dad hands me the keys and jogs down the aisle to catch up with Mom.
Shaking my head, I watch my parents struggle against the crowd to reach the exit doors.
“They’re total saps for her,” I mumble, waiting for the crowd to clear.
The air is so thick with alpha pheromones that even the mask isn’t helping. Luckily, I have the excuse to get away from the crowd.
When the auditorium empties, I jog down the aisle to reach the exit doors.
It’s a relief to step outside and feel the cool breeze blowing by. I breathe in the evening air deeply before heading toward the parking lot.
I take my time getting to the car, opening it, and taking out the massive bouquet of pink and white roses that my parents got for Delilah. They’re her favorite flowers.
Wrapping my arms around the bouquet, I breathe in their heady scent.
Roses are my favorite too. Their delicate fragrance always brings me a strange kind of comfort.
I go back inside the academy building that’s housing tonight’s dinner.
The place is already full of aristocratic alphas and their pack members. Valets move about the crowd with massive trays of champagne andhors d'oeuvre.The omegas who performed today are scattered around the room, smiling and talking.
No one spares me a second glance.
I spot Delilah in the far corner, surrounded by a massive crowd. Mom and Dad are beside her, smiling brightly.
I try to push through the crowd to reach them but get shoved aside. A few alpha men glare down at me for even trying.
“Scram!” one of them snaps, slamming me with his dominance.
Hit by his demand, I grudgingly step back.
My shoulders hunch. This isn’t the first time I get alienated from my family for looking different.
Clutching the bouquet, I shuffle to a nearby corner and watch the men trying to impress Delilah.
My parents are soaking up the attention, their faces beaming with pride.
Deep down, I know I can never make them smile like that.
I lift my hand to grab a glass of wine but the waitress swerves the tray away, looking at me like I’m gum under her shoes. “These are for guests only,” she huffs and walks away.
I look down at my clothes. My ripped jeans and hooded jacket are a sharp contrast to the tailor-made suits and lavish gowns worn by the men and women here.
Maybe I should’ve dressed in one of Delilah’s old clothes for the occasion.
