He Called Me Omega, Then Begged for My Help

The key slid into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn.

I stood there, shivering in the damp hallway of our apartment building, water dripping from the hem of my trench coat onto the dirty linoleum. I jiggled the key again, harder this time, panic rising in my throat. It refused to budge.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with trembling fingers. It was Vincent.

*Don’t bother coming up. I had the superintendent change the locks an hour ago. I’m subletting the place starting Monday, and I need it staged properly. Leave the furniture—it fits the aesthetic I’m going for. You can pick up a box of your clothes from the lobby tomorrow.*

I stared at the screen, the blue light blurring through my tears. The furniture? I had paid for that grey sectional with six months of overtime shifts. I had bought the coffee table from a thrift store and refinished it myself because he said he wanted something "rustic yet modern."

He wasn't just leaving me. He was erasing me.

I banged on the door once, a pathetic, hollow thud that echoed my own emptiness, but nobody answered. I had nowhere to go. My parents were gone, and I had drifted away from my few friends because Vincent always demanded all my time.

I walked thirty blocks in the rain to the bakery.

Using my employee key, I slipped into the back entrance of *The Golden Crumb*. The air smelled of yeast and sugar, a scent that usually brought me comfort, but tonight it just smelled like work. I curled up on a stack of empty flour sacks in the storage room, pulling my damp coat tight around me. The floor was hard and cold, seeping into my bones. Every time the industrial refrigerator hummed to life, I flinched, expecting to hear Vincent’s voice telling me I was doing something wrong.

I didn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring into the dark, letting the anger slowly burn away the shock.

By morning, the sadness had hardened into desperation. I had twelve dollars in my bank account. I needed the money I had loaned him. I needed to survive.

I washed my face in the bakery sink, trying to scrub away the exhaustion, and headed downtown. The Blackthorn Legal building was a glass monolith that pierced the grey Seattle sky. I marched up to the front desk, my jaw set.

"I need to see Vincent Carter," I told the security guard.

He looked at my wrinkled coat and the dark circles under my eyes. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I have a debt to collect."

"Please wait outside, miss," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He stepped out from behind the desk, his hand hovering near his belt.

I retreated to the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. Twenty minutes later, the revolving doors spun, and they walked out.

Vincent looked pristine in a navy suit, laughing at something Kennedy was saying. She looked effortless in a cream-colored cashmere coat, her arm looped through his. They looked like royalty. I looked like the trash they’d thrown out.

I started to storm toward them, but then I froze.

The morning sun caught something on Kennedy’s wrist. It wasn't a diamond bracelet or a designer bangle. It was a men’s watch with a worn leather strap and a gold rim that was slightly dented at the two o'clock mark.

My breath hitched. That was my father’s watch.

I had pawned it at a shady shop on 4th Avenue three days ago to pay for Vincent’s suit—the very suit he was wearing right now. I had cried for an hour after handing it over.

"You bought it," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. Vincent hadn't just bought it back; he had given it to *her*.

"Vincent!" I screamed, running toward them.

He flinched, his head snapping toward me. When he saw me, his lip curled. "Riley. I told you to pick up your box from the lobby. Don't cause a scene here."

"That watch," I pointed a shaking finger at Kennedy’s wrist. "That’s my father’s watch. Give it back."

Kennedy looked down at her wrist, then back at me with a bored expression. "This? Vincent gave it to me this morning. Said it was a charming vintage find. Honestly, the leather is a bit grimey for my taste."

"I sold that to pay for his suit!" I shouted, not caring who heard. "It’s the only thing I have left of my dad!"

"You sold it," Vincent said coldly, stepping between us. "Which means it wasn't yours anymore. I bought it from the shop. It’s mine to give."

"You sick, twisted—" I lunged past him, reaching for Kennedy’s arm. "Give it to me!"

"Get off me!" Kennedy shrieked.

My fingers brushed the cold leather of the strap. I wasn't trying to hurt her; I just wanted to unclasp it. I just wanted my dad back.

"Let go, you psycho!" Kennedy jerked her arm back with surprising strength.

The clasp snapped.

Time seemed to slow down. I watched in horror as the watch slipped from her wrist. It tumbled through the air, the gold catching the light one last time, before it smashed against the marble pillar of the building's entrance.

*Crunch.*

The sound was sickening. The crystal face shattered into a thousand glittering dust motes. The delicate hands inside, which had marked the minutes of my father’s life, snapped off.

Silence fell over the sidewalk.

I fell to my knees, reaching for the pieces. The mechanism was crushed. It was gone.

"Look what you did," Vincent spat, adjusting his cuffs. "You ruin everything you touch, Riley. Come on, Kennedy."

He guided her away, stepping over the wreckage of my family heirloom as if it were nothing but street trash. I knelt there on the cold concrete, clutching the broken leather strap to my chest, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to kill.