It was a mistake.

This thought is spinning in your head like a jammed record, haunting you every day of your damn life. But you can't figure out exactly what point in your life this thought belongs to. When you ran away from your cold and rude wife? When you agreed to have a baby? When you let your parents marry you off?

Or maybe you made a mistake by being born at all?

A soft squeak from your baby pulls you out of these thoughts. You immediately shudder, looking down at the small bundle in your arms. The baby shivers slightly, making a few unhappy noises before settling back down and falling asleep. Here it is, all that you have left from your previous life. A broken heart, fear, and a child.

You shake your head and exhale heavily. Your chest starts to ache again from the memories that seem to remain forever etched in your mind. You continue standing in front of your new apartment door in an unfamiliar city, a suitcase with modest possessions at your feet - all you managed to pack on that fateful night when you decided that it was enough for you to be just a beautiful decoration, a trophy wife and a submissive omega.

Joan can think what she wants, but you will never return to that ill-fated apartment, permeated with cold and unobtrusiveness, to plunge into an unhappy marriage once again.

Love is an illusion, a sweet deception that leaves you broken. And you have learned this from your own experience.

The sun has long since set below the horizon, giving way to a cooler night. You've been standing here for what feels like hours, your hands trembling treacherously as you try to calm the child in your arms and cope with the jammed lock at the same time. The baby starts to fuss again, letting out a loud squeak followed by cries that echo in the quiet hallway.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A smooth, confident voice with a noticeable Spanish accent asks from behind you. You startle, turning to see a tall, muscular woman standing a few feet away. She has dark copper skin, emerald eyes that seem to glow in the dim hallway light, and jet-black hair tied back in a messy bun. Her mechanic's overalls are smudged with grease, and her arms are covered in colorful tattoos. Despite her rugged appearance, there's something disarmingly charming about her.

"The doors are often jammed here, so I can help you with the lock," she offers, nodding toward your trembling hands. You notice her eyes flick briefly to the baby in your arms before meeting your gaze again. There's something in her expression - curiosity, perhaps, or maybe something softer - that makes you instinctively tense up. After everything you've been through, you don't trust alphas, especially attractive ones who look at you like she is right now.