19. Delcy

Grandpa Sid"sroom hummed with the soft beeping of monitors and the distant murmur of nurses in the hallway. The space smelled like antiseptic and something sweet I couldn"t quite place. His hand, a landscape of protruding veins and sunspots, felt fragile in mine. I perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that seemed too deliberate, as if every breath was a conscious decision.

"So, did you finally beat that level on your game?" I asked.

Grandpa"s eyes crinkled at the corners as he turned to look at me. "You know, I think the game"s rigged. Every time I get close, something pops out at me." His voice was weaker than it used to be, but his spirit flickered as strong as ever.

I chuckled, squeezing his hand. "I"m sure you"ll conquer it soon. You"re the most stubborn person I know."

He gave me a feeble smile, one that didn"t quite reach his eyes. "Stubbornness runs in our blood," he murmured.

I looked away, my gaze settling on the window where sunlight struggled to push through gray clouds. Grandpa had been fading slowly—each day stealing a bit more color from his cheeks, a bit more spark from his eyes. The new medication had offered a reprieve, a small victory in a war they were barely holding ground in.

"You remember to eat something today?" Grandpa"s question pulled me back from the encroaching gloom of my thoughts.

I nodded, though food was the last thing on my mind. "I grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria."

"That"s my girl," he said with a tired nod.

We lapsed into silence, our hands remaining clasped—a lifeline connecting us in this room where life itself seemed tentative.

A knock at the door preceded the doctor"s entrance—a man with kind eyes and a clipboard that seemed permanently attached to his hand. Dr. Harrington offered me a small smile as he checked Grandpa"s charts.

"Good news," he said after a moment. "Sid"s on the list for surgery now. We"re looking at about three weeks until it"s his turn."

Relief washed over me like warm rain after days of drought. "That"s amazing," I breathed out.

To Grandpa, Dr. Harrington said, "Mind if I borrow Delcy for a quick chat?"

Grandpa waved his hand. "Go on, I"ll be right here when you"re done."

"I"ll just be outside," I told Grandpa, brushing my thumb across his knuckles before letting go.

In the hallway, Dr. Harrington motioned for me to follow him.

"Please have a seat," he offered once we were inside his stark office.

I settled into the chair across from him, every inch of me on edge.

Dr. Harrington smiled. "I"m glad you decided to go ahead with it. It"s going to be lifesaving for him."

The word lifesaving echoed in my head like a mantra as I envisioned Grandpa living rather than just surviving.

"I know the wait can be difficult, but he"s holding on well for now. I"m glad we could get him on the list when we did."

I nodded, emotions swelling within me.

Dr. Harrington handed me a pen along with several sheets of paper filled with legalese and medical jargon. "There are some forms here that need your signature since you"re acting as Sid"s guardian. This one to approve the surgery costs and care plan."

I scanned the documents, my eyes snagging on the figures that represented costs—figures that loomed large and ominous. Signing here meant committing to something much more than just ink on paper; it was a vow to secure Grandpa"s future—and by extension, my own.

With each stroke of my name on those lines, I felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly onto my shoulders. My thoughts turned to the exorbitant sum offered by Colton and Jaxon for the games during our two-week vacation. It had seemed outrageous initially, but now, it could mean the difference between life and death for Grandpa.

Dr. Harrington watched as I finished signing, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Thank you," he said simply, taking back the papers. "We"ll do everything we can for your grandfather."

I nodded again because words seemed inadequate for this moment—a moment balanced between fear and hope.

Back in Grandpa's room, I found him dozing lightly, breaths shallow but steady. His dreams seemed peaceful enough that I didn"t wake him as I sat down again by his side.

The soft hum of medical equipment became a lullaby of sorts while I sketched ideas onto a notepad—a dress here, an ensemble there—each line drawn with purpose and determination.

Delcy wasn"t just hoping for victory; she was crafting it with every stitch she planned in her mind's eye.

* * *

I had barely startedmy second cup of coffee when a knock at the door ruffled the quiet of my apartment. The sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, lazy stripes across the linoleum. I set my mug down, wondering who could be there at this hour.

Opening the door, I found a woman with a sleek bun and a clipboard. "Delcy Charlton?"

"Yeah, that"s me."

"I"m here to escort you to your spa day, courtesy of Mr. Sterling."

My mind raced back to Jaxon"s call the night before, his voice smooth and unexpected through the phone line.

A spa day. Right before our trip to some exotic location I"d only ever seen in magazines. I guessed this was how the other half lived—beauty treatments not as an indulgence but as routine.

"Give me just a moment," I said, stepping back inside to grab my purse and lock up.

The ride to the salon was a blur of morning traffic and daydreams. I tried to keep my nerves from tangling into knots—the kind that wouldn"t be soothed by any amount of massaging.

Stepping into the salon was like walking into another world. The air held hints of lavender and jasmine, and every surface gleamed with an understated elegance.

The first stop was for a facial—a soothing experience that left my skin feeling like it could breathe for the first time in years. Then came the full-body wax, which was less about relaxation and more about endurance—a test I passed with gritted teeth.

Afterward, they ushered me toward another room for a body scrub that sloughed away more than just dead skin—it scraped off layers of fatigue I hadn"t realized I"d been carrying.

Wrapped in the soothing embrace of the body wrap, I felt a serenity I hadn"t known in months. My muscles uncoiled, my thoughts drifting like leaves on a slow-moving stream. That was until their voices, sharp as thorns, pierced through the tranquility of the spa.

Lydia"s was unmistakable, the kind of tone that commanded attention even when you wished to offer none. "Can you believe Delcy lately? Naive as a newborn pup. She"s like a lost little omega, always two steps behind. It"s like she doesn"t realize her place in the world."

Nora"s reply was softer but no less cutting. "Sometimes, I actually feel sorry for her. But then I remember, she does this to herself."

I lay there, the wrap around me suddenly feeling like a shroud. Hurt surged through me—a cold wave that made my heart pound and my hands clench into fists beneath the fabric.

Lydia"s laughter trickled into my ears, cruel and carefree. "Well, you know I"ve always had a soft spot for charity cases. That"s why I decided to do something for her. Delcy"s been struggling with her grandfather"s medical bills, and we all know she doesn"t have the money. Now she's acting all crazy because I signed her up with the Gold Club. Imagine the cash she"ll rake in; it could cover her grandfather"s surgery, maybe even more."

Amanda"s voice chimed in, tinged with what sounded like genuine concern. "So you did it to help her."

Lydia"s laugh was more of a snort, her disdain barely concealed. "Of course it's to help her! Why else would I do it? That ungrateful bitch."

I felt my blood boil. How could she talk about me like that?

Lydia continued, her voice taking on a cruel edge. "Have you seen her latest sketches?"

There was a pause where I imagined Amanda and Nora shaking their heads and exchanging looks that said more than words ever could.

Lydia"s laugh morphed into something ugly—a snort that seemed to scoff at my very existence. "Trust me, you"re not missing out on much. They"re dreadful." Her words were knives, each syllable expertly sharpened to wound. "Doodles on napkins might as well be Picasso compared to her work."

My cheeks burned beneath the layers of skin care products that had felt so luxurious moments ago.

Lydia continued with relish that turned my stomach. "An omega dreaming of becoming a fashion designer? As if those rags she calls designs would ever see the light of day."

The pain twisted inside me—shame, anger, despair—all mixed into a toxic brew that threatened to choke me.

It was true that my designs weren"t perfect, but I"d been working hard to improve. I"d been pouring my heart and soul into my sketches, and to hear Lydia dismiss them so casually was like a dagger to the heart.

But then I remembered something my grandfather always used to say. "You can"t let other people define you, Delcy. You have to define yourself."

And that"s exactly what I was going to do. I would prove Lydia and the others wrong. I would show them that an omega could be a successful designer, that I could rise above my circumstances and make something of myself.

"As if she could ever crawl out from that poverty hole she was born into," Lydia added sharply, her voice laced with venom.

The heat in the room seemed to intensify until sweat beaded along my hairline—not from the wrap but from a fury that simmered beneath my skin.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling a new sense of determination wash over me. I would not let their words get to me. I would not let them win.

As I lay there, cocooned in the body wrap, I made a promise to myself. I would work harder than ever before. I would pour every ounce of my energy and creativity into my designs. I would not give up, no matter how many obstacles stood in my way.

And when I finally made it, when I finally achieved my dream of becoming a successful fashion designer, I would look back on this moment and smile. I would remember the hurt and betrayal I felt, and I would be grateful for it. Because it was that pain that pushed me to be better, that made me stronger.

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. I was ready to face whatever came my way. I was ready to prove them wrong.

"I"ll make it on my own terms," I whispered to myself. "As a designer."

The words were an oath to myself—a promise carved from their scorn and shaped by my determination. With each contemptuous remark they persisted in making about me, my resolve only intensified—fueling dreams they"d never have the power to tarnish again.

Peeling off the body wrap felt like shedding a second skin—one that had been carrying the weight of their scorn and my own insecurities.

The stylist ushered me into her chair, her hands working through my hair with an artist"s touch. As she snipped and styled, the mirror began to reveal someone I barely recognized. Someone who seemed to belong in the glossy pages of a fashion magazine rather than behind the counter of a coffee shop.

"You"ve got amazing hair," she murmured, her fingers weaving magic into every strand. "It frames your face perfectly."

I wanted to believe her, to see myself through her eyes, but doubt lingered like a stubborn shadow.

Then came the face—a gentle assault of creams and powders that highlighted my features. The makeup artist hummed a tune I didn"t know, dabbing and blending until the face staring back at me was transformed.

As she added the final touches—a hint of color here, a dash of shimmer there—she stepped back, her expression one of pride and satisfaction.

"You"re stunning," she said simply, as if stating an irrefutable fact.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The reflection that gazed back at me was radiant, almost otherworldly in its beauty. My hair cascaded around my shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that glowed with an elegant polish I"d never managed on my own.

The hairstylist and makeup artist stood beside me, beaming as if they"d just sculpted a masterpiece from marble. "You could be a supermodel if you had a few more inches to your height," the hairstylist declared with confidence. "You have the perfect look, the perfect body—a man"s dream girl."

Heat crept up my cheeks at her words—a blush that no amount of makeup could conceal. It wasn"t just the compliment but the acknowledgment that I could be seen as desirable, as someone worth noticing.

I wondered what Colton and Jaxon would think if they saw me now. During our two dates, I had dressed up and thought I looked beautiful. But this... This was something else entirely.

I felt more elegant and polished, like someone who truly belonged in their world of wealth and luxury—not just playing dress-up but actually fitting in.

The idea sent a thrill through me mixed with a twinge of sadness. For all this beauty and poise staring back at me from the mirror, it wasn"t really me—or was it? Was this polished version just another layer waiting to be discovered or an illusion destined to fade?

Shaking off those thoughts, I squared my shoulders and embraced my new look. This was more than a physical transformation; it was a symbol of what I could become—of potential waiting to be unleashed.

"Thank you," I told them sincerely, seeing their craft for what it was—an art form that had given me a glimpse of a different life.

Stepping out onto the bustling street outside the salon, I took a deep breath. The city seemed different somehow—as if it had changed while I was inside or perhaps it was me who had changed.

People passed by without sparing me more than a glance—a sea of strangers unaware of the storm of emotions swirling inside me. And yet I walked with my head held higher than before, buoyed by their ignorance and my secret transformation.

As I got into the car that'd take me home, I caught sight of my reflection in a shop window—elegant, polished, ready for whatever lay ahead. And for just a moment, I allowed myself to revel in that image—to believe in its promise before reality could claw its way back in.

* * *

I stoodin the small bathroom of my apartment, the mirror reflecting a version of Delcy I barely recognized. The girl who used to hide behind loose shirts was gone. In her place was someone who carried a touch of elegance even in simplicity. The white blouse I chose this morning was one of my best—frilly and delicate—and it made me feel like a character out of a story where everything ends happily ever after.

My hair, now silky and shiny, fell around my shoulders in gentle waves, a testament to the stylist"s skill. My face, with its radiant glow, owed its soft luminescence to the makeup artist"s deft hands and the new techniques she had generously shared. The natural makeup look felt like a delicate armor, enhancing rather than hiding.

A nervous flutter danced in my stomach as I peered at myself. Any moment now, a car would arrive to whisk me away to an adventure I never could"ve imagined—two weeks at a private island in the Caribbean with Colton and Jaxon. Two weeks in a centuries-old manor where every corner promised luxury and every moment held the possibility of change.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. It wasn"t just the trip that had me on edge—it was the fact that I"d be spending so much time with two alphas. As an omega, it wasn"t just my social status that made this arrangement unusual—it was biology itself.

I stepped out of the bathroom and into the living area where my luggage sat waiting by the door. My fingers traced over the soft fabric of my suitcase as I crouched down to double-check its contents.

Clothes for every occasion—check. Toiletries—check. Sketchpad and pencils—check. My heart skipped as my hand found the small bottle tucked safely within an inner pocket—suppressants.

I ordered extra for this trip, aware that being around Colton and Jaxon would make my body more... aware... than usual. The suppressants were necessary—a way to keep myself composed and ensure that I could focus on more than just instinctual reactions.

I zipped up my suitcase once more, standing upright with a newfound resolve.

"You can do this," I murmured to myself—a quiet pep talk meant only for me.

A knock at the door startled me from my reverie, and I peeked through the window blinds to see a sleek black vehicle idling at the curb below.

This was it—the beginning of something new.

Grabbing my purse and rolling my suitcase behind me, I opened the door to leave when something caught my eye—a photo on the small table by the entrance.

It was an old picture of Grandpa and me at one of the dress design competitions years ago when I was seventeen. His proud smile beamed at me from across time.

"I won"t let you down," I whispered, touching the glass briefly before turning away.

Locking up felt symbolic—like sealing away one chapter before stepping into another. As I made my way down, each step echoed in the empty hallway—an audible countdown to an unknown future.

The driver greeted me with a nod as he took my luggage, stowing it carefully before opening the passenger door for me.

As we drove away from everything familiar, I watched buildings and streets give way to open roads—the cityscape dissolving into horizons filled with promise. My hands folded in my lap, fingers twisting nervously. There were so many questions swirling in my mind—about Colton and Jaxon, about what they expected from me as their girl during this trip, about how much this experience would change me.

The car glided to a halt, and as I stepped out, the private airport"s opulence struck me—a world so far removed from my own. The tarmac stretched out like a black sea, at the edge of which sat a luxurious plane, its sleek body glistening under the midday sun.

Colton and Jaxon stood before it, dressed in white that complemented their relaxed, vacation-ready postures. Their presence seemed to command the space around them—two statues of modern-day Greek gods who had decided to mingle with mere mortals.

I took a tentative step forward, clutching my purse a little tighter. The heat from the asphalt rose in waves, yet it was their stunned stares that made sweat gather at the nape of my neck.

Their eyes latched on to me as if I were a rare spectacle, a vision that they hadn"t expected to grace the mundane backdrop of the tarmac. I felt the intensity of their gazes, as if their pupils dilated solely for the purpose of capturing this image of me.

Colton"s lips parted slightly, a breath he hadn"t intended to release slipping past them. Jaxon"s posture, once relaxed and casual, straightened—a reflex action as though my presence demanded it.

The air between us charged with an electric current that hummed with silent words and unasked questions. Their eyes held me, searching, probing beneath the surface of my transformed exterior.

Jaxon let out a low whistle—a sound that might have been offensive in another context but now carried a note of genuine awe.

"Delcy," he said, drawing out my name like it was a discovery he was savoring for the first time.

It was surreal, feeling their attention blanket me like a tangible force—a hunger in their eyes that seemed to feast on every detail of my appearance. The way they looked at me wasn"t just about physical attraction; it was deeper, as if they recognized something in me that resonated within themselves—something beyond mere beauty.

I watched as Colton"s adamantine facade cracked just enough to let slip a small smile—a rarity that spoke volumes more than any words could. There was admiration there, and perhaps something more tender, something he usually kept shielded behind layers of control and businesslike detachment.

Jaxon moved closer, his stride confident yet filled with a kind of reverence as if he approached something precious. His hand rose as though he wanted to touch my hair—to confirm that I was real and not some figment conjured up by his imagination.

"Look at you," he said when he finally stood before me. His voice held an edge of wonderment that made my heart race faster.

Colton joined us then, closing the space with measured steps. The sunlight played across his features, casting half his face in shadow and highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

"You"re stunning," he said simply, his voice low and filled with an emotion I couldn"t quite place—a sentiment that seemed too vast to be contained within those two words.

I felt exposed under their hungry gazes—seen in a way that left little room for doubt or modesty. It was empowering and disarming all at once. Their reactions told me they saw not just the Delcy who had been polished by stylists and makeup artists but also the Delcy who dreamed big dreams in a small apartment—the Delcy who sketched dress designs into the late hours of night.

The weight of their stares should have made me want to shrink back into myself—to find shelter in anonymity once again. But instead, I found myself stepping into their regard with an unexpected boldness. Their appreciation was like sunlight coaxing a flower open. I felt myself blooming under its warmth.

For so long, I"d convinced myself that men like Colton and Jaxon would never see me—really see me—for who I was or could be. But here they were, looking at me as if I were someone worth noticing—someone worth knowing beyond surface impressions and first encounters.

Colton reached out then—hesitant yet deliberate—and brushed a stray hair from my face. His touch sent shivers down my spine, gentle yet filled with unspoken promise. The contact was brief but electric—leaving behind an imprint that lingered like the afterglow of a fading star.

Jaxon leaned in closer too—a conspiratorial glint in his eyes as he whispered, "Let"s get our vacation started and have some fun, darling."

His endearment sent a ripple through me—warm and unsettling all at once. It was a reminder of how different our worlds were, and yet here I was, about to step into his.

As we boarded the plane together—their hands occasionally brushing against mine or guiding me gently by the small of my back—I knew we were embarking on more than just a trip to an island retreat. We were stepping into a chapter where roles might shift and lines might blur.

Colton"s and Jaxon"s hungry gazes had not diminished as we settled into our seats—their eyes still held stories untold and questions unasked—but there was time ahead for all that... time measured not by hours or days but by moments shared and memories made.

As we took off, leaving solid ground behind, I thought about Grandpa. I wouldn"t let him down—I couldn"t. Not when he had given me so much without asking for anything in return. For Grandpa"s sake—and for mine—I would conquer this new world with every thread of determination I possessed.

* * *

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