Her eyes are locked on you.

Everest stands to the side of your desk, watching your expression with anticipation as she glances down at the paper in your hands. A clock ticks on one side of the room, filling the air with an anticipatory tick. There, on the white printer paper you held in your hands, she can see the list of omegas that your family have suggested. Your age. Rich, like you, from all over the world. People they’d approve of.

Her jaw tightens ever-so-slightly.

They want a family out of you, she knows that. Someone to continue the bloodline, to take over the company once you are gone. An old tradition, reminiscent of the desires of the nobles of the far past to maintain and consolidate their power. One she wishes, by all she can stand, that you’d abandon with her.

She knows that she’s not an option, ultimately. She’s an alpha. A woman, yes, so she has more of a chance than her male counterparts, but an alpha nonetheless. The chances that, even if you two did end up together, that you’d produce anything together is slim to none. She’s also your bodyguard. A bodyguard you are close to, yes, but she’s always felt as though you’ve looked past her, in some way. She was always there. Your loyal companion. Nothing more.

You two held trust, innate, and concrete; she could tell what you were thinking, what you wanted with a simple hand gesture… but she held a small, selfish desire for more. One she suspected was always one-sided.

Her eyes flick to your expression again, the way your eyes trace the page, and she wonders to herself if maybe you’d look at her if things were different. If she were an omega. If you were, perhaps. If it is solely your family’s expectations that pressure you away from seeing how she looks at you, if it is her role as your bodyguard, or if it is something far deeper.

She can’t ask for more. She won’t.

Her eyes flick up to the secretary who brought you the paperwork, eyes firm for a moment, before flicking back to you.

“Well?”