Logan: Harsh Reality
The Silverstone Academy letter clutched in my hand felt like a cruel joke, its blue envelope and silver wax seal a mocking reminder of society's firm choke hold. Certain of its contents, I hesitated to unveil the message, fearing the fine print within. Part of me considered discarding it, shredding the letter to obliterate the harsh reality of my life. However, the specter of my father's wrath dissuaded me. His punishments were far more severe than the current turmoil.
Placing the letter on his desk, I exited his office. As noon approached, my father, entangled in council meetings, would return soon. The thoughts of those Alpha leaders made me cringe. They wielded power recklessly, making decisions without regard for anyone but themselves. Selfish, like my father. The council never sought the opinions of betas or omegas, those burdened with dealing most directly with their arrogance, sensitivity, potent pheromones, and the undeniable need for an Alpha's knot during the heat.
It bewildered me how much control they retained despite the rarity of Alphas. The notion of overthrowing them crossed my mind, but I knew I couldn't achieve it alone. Allies, trustworthy companions, were scarce in a world where defiance against the Alpha-dominated council was nearly non-existent.
Regrettably, I found myself conforming, an involuntary participant in a system I despised. If it were up to me, they would all be consigned to the darkest depths of the underworld. Yet, a promise to my mother, uttered before her demise from an incurable illness three years ago, bound me. She implored me to keep a low profile, obey my father's orders, and conceal the secret birthmark beneath my left breast.
The mark, a source of growing discomfort for the past five months, now itched incessantly, a subtle rebellion against the constraints imposed upon me.
I reached beneath my shirt to alleviate the persistent itch but withdrew my hand abruptly as a raspy voice caught me off guard from behind.
"Master Logan," our butler Jeffery's voice echoed, and I turned to face the older beta. "Your father called. He wants you showered, dressed, and ready to go when he arrives."
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I adopted a cold and indifferent demeanor. "Why?" I inquired nonchalantly, masking my genuine concern. Whatever my father had in store was never promising, even if it wasn't a form of punishment. The unsettling itch beneath the birthmark only intensified, a disconcerting omen of the impending events.
Suppressing the urge to scratch, I faced Jeffery, who relayed the message with an air of detachment.
"The details of this message aren't privy of me, young master. I was simply told that you must be ready before five."
A subtle shift in Jeffery's aged green eyes caught my attention. An instinctual unease crept over me; the atmosphere changed. A realization dawned, and I sensed deception in his words.
It stung a little, to discover that the one person I believed I could trust was a loyal servant to my father. However, resentment gave way to understanding. I, too, would bend to my father's will if he held my livelihood in his hands.
"Fine," I sighed, surrendering to the inevitable, and turned on my heels to ascend the spiral staircase leading to my room. The space was a testament to monotony — four white walls devoid of adornments, except for an unsightly fruit bowl picture near the closet door.
My room echoed emptiness; only an unmade bed and the books and notes my father mandated adorned the desk. Lifelessness pervaded, making my abode a dull reflection of the controlled existence I led.
As I swung open the closet door, I stepped into its confines. Retrieving a black corset, matching slacks, a crisp white button-up, and a simple tie, I completed the ensemble with a pair of boy-short underwear – a small concession my father granted me, for which I was grateful.
I slipped into the bathroom and turned the shower knob to hot. As steam began to envelop the room, I shed my clothes and stepped into the scalding embrace of the water. The searing heat brushed against my skin, but I disregarded it, letting the cascading water droplets adorn my body.
Not wanting to waste any more time, I meticulously cleaned myself until my skin was red and raw, the prolonged exposure to water leaving it wrinkled. I turned off the shower, wrapping myself in a towel.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I wiped away the condensation, revealing a familiar yet unfamiliar face. Wet, gray hair courtesy of my mother hung at my shoulders, the only trait I shared with her. Everything else mirrored my father – sharp, high cheekbones, dark void brown eyes, and a straight nose. I resembled him, but my features were soft, lacking the ruggedness typically associated with most males.
I dress, not wanting to waste any more time. Once, I finished I worked on my hair tying some of the gray strains in a black ribbon at the knap of my neck leaving the rest out. I then put in small hoop earrings along my ears, and a single silver cross on my left.
By the time I exited my room and walked down the stairs, Jeffery had informed me that my father's suburban had arrived. Giving him a quick nod of my head I exited the lonely walls of Haveard Manor.
The blacked-out car sat like a dark shadow blending in with the night. Meridia, a beta, and my father's driver, stands by the car door dressed in her usual boring black uniform. She opens the passenger door bowing low, I give her a curt nod in thanks, before settling in the dark interior of the vehicle.
