Behind the Mask

My name is Aren.

I’m a beta.

If that even means anything anymore.

In a world where betas made up ninety percent of the population, my secondary gender didn’t really matter.

I was normal.

Painfully normal.

Not powerful enough to be an alpha.

Not rare enough to be an omega.

Just a beta.

Just Aren.

And maybe that was the whole problem.

When I was a kid, people used to think I would present as an omega.

I had the face for it, apparently.

Soft features. Big eyes. The kind of baby face adults loved to comment on, as if my future had already been written across my cheeks.

Then puberty happened.

By high school, no one said omega anymore.

Not when my shoulders broadened. Not when I started standing taller than most of the boys in my class. Not when my body became something solid.

After that, people started whispering alpha instead.

They were wrong about that too.

I was strong, sure.

Stronger than most.

But strength and dominance weren’t the same thing.

I didn’t have the instinct to lead a room.

I didn’t crave control.

I just helped where I could.

Carried groceries for the old woman next door. Fixed broken fences. Lifted things other people couldn’t. Stepped in when someone needed a hand.

I had always been that way.

I still was.

And the funny thing was, I had never really tried to look strong.

I ate well. I trained. I lived clean.

My body had simply followed.

But no matter what people guessed when they looked at me—

omega, alpha, something special—

I had presented as a beta.

Ordinary.

Unremarkable.

Invisible.

I tried not to care.

Most days, I even convinced myself I didn’t.

After all, it wasn’t like I was unwanted.

That would have been easier to understand.

I wasn’t ugly. I wasn’t forgettable in that way.

I was handsome when I needed to be. Pretty, sometimes. Cute, if the lighting was right and people were feeling generous.

I had the kind of face people noticed.

The kind of body people looked at twice.

The problem was never whether people wanted me.

The problem was what they wanted me to be.

For alphas, I was too stubborn.

I didn’t like being controlled. Didn’t like being guided, claimed, handled—whatever softer word people used to make it sound romantic.

It made my skin crawl.

They wanted someone who would soften under their hands.

I didn’t.

For omegas, I was too passive.

Not weak.

Just not dominant enough.

I didn’t have that edge they usually looked for. That instinct to take charge. That presence that made people step back and listen.

They wanted someone who could make them feel protected.

And I could carry their bags. Fix their doors. Walk them home at night.

But somehow, that wasn’t the same thing.

Betas dated me, though.

Of course they did.

And wasn’t that supposed to be enough?

Betas dating betas. Betas marrying betas. Beta children being born.

The population continuing exactly the way it was expected to.

Normal.

Stable.

Unremarkable.

The kind of life no one questioned—

because no one bothered to look too closely.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I blinked.

Across the table, Mina stared at me with one eyebrow raised.

She was pretty.

Nice, too.

A beta, like me.

Exactly the kind of girl my father approved of.

The kind of person I was supposed to want.

The kind of person who made sense on paper.

“Sorry,” I said. “I got distracted.”

“You’ve been distracted all night.”

I looked at her coffee.

Untouched.

Then at mine.

Cold.

A perfect little metaphor, if I was feeling dramatic.

“I’m just tired,” I said.

Mina gave me a look.

“You said that last time.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

I had said that last time.

And the time before that.

And probably the time before that too.

Mina opened her mouth to say something.

Then a knock sounded at the door.

Once.

Twice.

Measured.

Polite.

The kind of knock that didn’t ask for permission, only announced duty.

Mina went quiet.

So did I.

“Young master. Young lady.”

The servant’s voice came from the other side of the door, soft, respectful, and painfully formal.

“My apologies for disturbing you, but breakfast is ready in the main hall. Your father specifically requested that you both come down.”

A small pause followed.

“Your mother and brothers are already waiting.”

Mina looked at me.

There it was again.

That careful, polite expression people wore when they were trying not to ask why my father summoned me like an employee instead of a son.

I exhaled.

“Tell him we’re coming.”

“Yes, young master.”

His footsteps faded down the hall.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then Mina set her untouched coffee down.

“So,” she said quietly. “Family breakfast.”

I gave her a tired smile.

“Something like that.”

I stood and crossed to the mirror, adjusting my jacket out of habit.

Behind me, Mina rose from the edge of the bed and came to stand beside me.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Family breakfasts still made her nervous, even after a year of being engaged to me.

I glanced over the silk dress, the delicate earrings, the diamond necklace resting against her throat.

“You look beautiful.”

Her hazel eyes rolled.

“Liar.”

Then she reached up and adjusted the collar of my jacket, as if she had done it a hundred times before.

Maybe she had.

Her arms slipped around my neck in that same familiar motion.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said.

I smiled faintly and held out my hand.

“Come on. Let’s go survive breakfast.”

She laughed as she took it.

The expensive solitaire ring on her finger caught the light.

“Try not to say anything stupid.”

“No promises.”

And just like that, we stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall.

The closer we got to the main dining room, the louder the house became.

Servants moved quickly through the corridors.

My mother’s soft voice mixed with my father’s deeper one.

My brothers bickered over something pointless, as usual.

For a moment, it almost sounded warm.

Almost.

Then we stepped inside.

The illusion broke immediately.

“If you were going to make us wait, you shouldn’t have come at all,” my father said.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He never needed to.

The reproach in it was heavy enough.

He sat at the head of the table, wearing a suit, as always.

Even at breakfast, he looked prepared to give orders.

My father was the classic definition of an alpha made flesh.

Strong.

Severe.

Authoritative.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Father,” Alex said.

My sixteen-year-old brother leaned back in his chair, alpha confidence already too big for his body as his eyes flicked between Mina and me with a filthy little grin.

I opened my mouth to scold him.

Before I could, Noah smacked the back of Alex’s head.

Hard.

Alex hissed and grabbed the back of his neck.

Despite being an omega, Noah was the eldest of the three of us.

And in our family, secondary gender mattered.

But age mattered more.

“Don’t talk like an idiot,” Noah snapped.

Our mother, an omega herself, watched the whole thing with an embarrassed little smile.

“Don’t mind him, dear,” she said to Mina. “He’s still at that age. You know how alpha puberty is.”

Then she gestured toward the empty seats.

“Come, sit down. Please.”

Mina thanked her softly.

I said nothing.

We took our places at the table, slipping into an arrangement that had existed long before either of us entered the room.

My father sat at the head.

Of course he did.

My mother sat to his right, Noah to his left, with Alex beside him.

I took the seat next to my brothers.

Mina sat beside my mother.

A perfect arrangement, if anyone cared about appearances.

And in this house, everyone did.

While Mina and my mother fell into polite conversation, I turned my attention to the plate in front of me.

Omelets.

Avocado salads.

Too many kinds of cheese.

Fruit carved into tiny animal shapes.

Toast, pastries, poğaça, and enough baked goods to feed a house twice our size.

Everything carefully prepared.

Everything excessive.

Everything normal for this house.

“Aren.”

Alex nudged me under the table.

I lifted my head.

Everyone was looking at me.

“Yes?”

Noah gave me a look, half warning, half pity.

“Father asked you about university.”

My father raised one hand, cutting him off.

“I asked how your classes were going,” he said, his voice low with irritation. “But apparently, listening to me requires too much effort.”

His green eyes settled on me.

That same look.

Critical.

Disappointed.

As if I had failed him simply by existing.

“They’re fine,” I said.

My father’s mouth tightened.

“Fine.”

The word sounded worse in his voice than it had in mine.

“That is not an answer.”

I picked up my fork.

“It was the question you asked.”

Alex made a sound that was almost a laugh.

Noah kicked him under the table.

My father didn’t look away from me.

Neither did I.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the soft scrape of Mina’s knife against her plate.

Then my father leaned back in his chair.

“Still clever enough to be disrespectful, I see.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“But I expect more from you than fine.”

I shrugged.

“I haven’t gotten anything below an A.”

A pause.

“I’m at the top of my department.”

Mostly.

There was one other person I kept trading first place with, depending on the exam, the assignment, and the professor’s mood.

But I didn’t feel the need to mention that.

Not here.

Not to him.

My father’s expression didn’t change.

Of course it didn’t.

For most fathers, that might have been enough.

For mine, it only proved I was capable of doing what was expected.

Nothing more.

“That is the minimum,” he said.

Mina’s hand stilled beside her plate.

Noah looked down.

Even Alex stopped smiling.

I stared at my father for a moment.

Then I smiled.

Small.

Tired.

“Good morning to you, too, Father.”