More Than That

"Elara."

Beta Rowan's voice cuts through the quiet of the afternoon like something that's been sharpened specifically for the purpose of irritating me.

I look up from the greenhouse bed I've been tending, brushing a smear of soil from my glove, and find him standing in the doorway holding a file and a pen.

His expression is the one he always seems to reserve especially for me—somewhere between impatience and mild disdain, with a faint undercurrent of why do you exist.

"Luna," he corrects himself, almost as an afterthought. Like my title is something he remembers only when it's useful, "These are the documents Alpha Kael needs you to sign."

I pull off one glove and take the file from him, dropping my scissors onto the potting bench. My gaze falls to the bold title printed across the front page.

Mate Or Break. Reality TV Show Participation Contract.

I study it for a moment. Something about seeing it printed and official makes the whole arrangement suddenly feel very real.

"And what exactly does this entail?" I ask, flipping it open, "What am I signing? What am I giving them rights to?"

Rowan exhales sharply, as though the question itself has personally inconvenienced him.

"As I just said, it is a participation contract," he replies, his tone the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll, "Alpha Kael intends to improve his public image, and you will be appearing alongside him in a couples-based reality program. It's not a big deal. You'll just be an actress… one would think you'd be excited to go back to being in front of a camera."

I don't look up from the page. I keep reading.

The language is dense and the clauses are extensive. Conduct expectations. Filming schedules. Narrative obligations. A section about emotional disclosures on camera that makes me read it twice.

I'm halfway down the second page when he interrupts.

"You can stop pretending to read it," he says, and now the impatience has teeth. "Just sign it. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. It's not like you'd understand it anyway."

I stop.

I lower the document very slowly and look at him. Not with the polite, smoothed-over expression I usually offer Rowan as a kind of social mercy. Just my actual face, looking at him.

"Then explain it to me," I say.

"What?"

"You said I wouldn't understand it," I close the file, keeping my hand resting flat on top of it, "So explain it to me, if you're sooo smart. Walk me through every clause… or you can wait here quietly while I read it myself, which I am perfectly capable of doing. Either works for me."

The silence that follows is deeply satisfying.

Something moves through Rowan's expression, a brief, confused recalibration, like he's trying to locate the version of me he's used to and coming up short.

"... it's standard," he mutters finally, though roughly sixty percent of his earlier confidence has vacated the premises, "Filming schedules. Expected behavioral stuff. Things like that."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for me to review it," I reply and open the file again.

For once, Rowan has absolutely nothing to say.

I take my time with every page. So long, he actually leaves like an angry toddler.

Good. I hate that guy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I finish the contract at the kitchen table with a cold cup of tea beside me and a pen I haven't picked up yet.

It is a lot more extensive than standard. There are provisions about public statements, about interviews and confessionals and something called organic emotional moments that I suspect means crying on camera. There's a clause about not disclosing the terms of any private arrangements between participants.

I read all of it and then I sign, even though it seems extremely invasive.

But when I look at it plainly, is actually quite simple. I show up. I perform. I give Kael what he needs for however long it takes. And then, for the first time in five years, I get to choose what my life looks like.

Mark or rejection. Mate or Break. Either way, I walk away from this with an answer and a different life.

And to be honest… I’m starting to think it won’t be that bad to ask for rejection and then move on, have my omega child and get enough money during the divorce to buy a piece of land somewhere quiet and full of nature.

That’s all I want, even if it doens’t involve Kael at all.

I sit with that thought for a moment, testing its weight and waiting for the anxiety to rush in and complicate it. But it doesn't. Instead, something loosens in my chest.

I have a way out of this. All I have to do is walk through it.

With a child. An unplanned child who is currently staging a hostile takeover of my energy reserves. But one I will love anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel lighter for the rest of the day.

And when I finally lie down after a long, warm shower, sleep comes faster than I expected. Easier than it's been in weeks.

Which is why I don't immediately register the shift.

Kael is always careful when I’m already sleeping. He simply gets in bed quietly and carefully, but my awareness about him is too high.

I open my eyes and turn my head.

He is there. Closer than I expected, close enough that the space between us feels suddenly, uncomfortably intimate.

He's still fully dressed—shirt, no jacket, the sleeves rolled to his elbows— and he's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

He doesn't speak. But that doesn’t surprise me. Speaking is not exactly what he wants to do when we’re both in bed.

Physical touch is his preferred communication method.

I stay still as he moves to lay on his side and stare at me… his cold eyes exhausted and hair undone. He looks better like this.

What takes me aback is when he lifts a hand and then carefully places it over my stomach. The first real acknowledgement about his child.

It surprises me, I was expecting him to completely ignore it until he had free time to do so.

I take a deep breath and let him do it for a second, unmoving… until he moves his hand and lifts it to my face. He very softly pushes my hair out of my forehead and studies my face, his tired eyes falling to my lips.

I know what he wants. Usually, I would let him take it. I would part my lips and offer myself to him.

Tonight I don't.

I feel the bond, faint and persistent, doing what it always does—pulling toward him with an insistent hum, regardless of what my mind thinks about it. My body has never been particularly good at listening to reason where Kael is concerned.

If I shift even slightly, if I give him the smallest signal, he'll close the distance without hesitation. I know that too.

So I stay still.

A minute passes. Maybe two. Then Kael exhales, long and quiet. He takes his hand back, then shifts back to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling again.

I close my eyes.

Neither of us says anything. Eventually, somewhere in the dark, I fall back asleep.