Unmarked

It took a couple of weeks but the four of them had settle ed into a nice routine at home. Work, home, dinner and night. And today started  as any other day. The office was its usual rhythm of heels on tile and brisk commands—Runway’s well-oiled machine in motion. Outside Miranda’s office, Emily flipped through garment notes, her brows pinched in concentration. The low hum of printers and distant phone calls made it feel like any other Tuesday.

Until the elevator dinged.

Two government agents stepped out, dressed in Bureau black, their expressions flat and unreadable. A hush followed them as they walked through the bullpen like a blade slicing through silk.

Emily stood abruptly. “Can I help you?”

The taller agent flashed a badge. “We’re here for Miranda Priestly.”

Emily blinked. “She’s in a meeting.”

The shorter one didn’t hesitate. “We’ll wait.”

But they didn’t have to. Miranda’s door opened, and she stepped into the hallway, cool and collected in a charcoal skirt suit and diamond-studded heels, her reading glasses still perched on her nose.

Her eyes met theirs instantly. She didn’t flinch.

“Miranda Priestly,” the lead agent began, voice echoing over the stunned silence of the floor.

“You have been under investigation for long-term status fraud under Omega regulation codes. A warrant for your arrest has been issued. You are to be taken into custody immediately.”

The floor went dead silent.

Miranda didn’t move, but her pulse roared in her ears. She could feel them all watching. The assistants, the editors, the interns who once trembled in her presence—now staring like the mask had finally cracked. Like they’d always suspected something but never had the courage to say it.

She nodded once.

“I will comply.”

Her voice was calm. Controlled.

But when they took her arms and fastened the sleek, silver-toned regulation cuffs over her wrists, her breath caught.

Emily gasped. “This is insane—she’s bonded now! There’s no fraud—she’s—”

“She was unbonded for years,” the agent interrupted. “Long enough to falsify every employment contract she’s ever signed. The investigation is complete. She will be held until the preliminary hearing. If you have concerns, direct them to her Alpha.”

Andy. Miranda closed her eyes for half a second. Andy wasn’t here, she was out for samples. She did not want to leave Miranda alone but because a lot of people were out of office they simple had no one else. And of course when she wasn’t here, they came. They had to have known.

She said nothing as they walked her toward the elevators. Cameras were already rising. Phones being lifted, flashes going off like it was a red carpet. The world’s most feared woman, led away in cuffs.

It felt like drowning.

Her heels clicked, her breathing shallow but composed. She would not give them the satisfaction of watching her break. Not here. Not in her own empire.

But when the elevator doors slid closed behind her and the silence enclosed her like a coffin—she did close her eyes.

And for the first time in decades… she was afraid.

**-

The holding cell was cold.

Not in temperature — though the chill of the concrete bench seeped through the layers of her designer coat — but in its silence. In its lack of meaning. No staff to bark orders to. No schedule to command. No Runway. Just grey.

Grey walls. Grey floor. Grey light slanting through the single slit of glass near the ceiling.

Miranda Priestly sat upright on the bench, ankles crossed, wrists still faintly marked from the regulation cuffs. She had refused to let them see her stumble when they took her jewelry, her phone, her dignity. She had handed over everything with clinical detachment.

Even her silence had been a performance.

But here… there was no performance to maintain. No audience. No escape.

Now the quiet was eating her alive and Miranda was spiraling

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, forcing her shoulders to stay square. This was temporary. This was political. Someone was making an example of her. She could fix it—would fix it. She had survived worse.

She had built an empire in a world that would’ve crushed her the moment it scented submission. She had survived heats alone, suppressed who she was alone, lied on every form, forged every permission slip from fake Alphas just to keep working.

She had raised her daughters while hiding every ounce of vulnerability. She had been called a monster, a tyrant, cold. But she had never been called weak. Until now. Because now, no one saw Miranda Priestly.

They saw an Omega who lied. A collar where there shouldn’t have been one. A mark, fresh and real, on her neck. Andy’s mark.

Her hand ghosted toward it before she caught herself. No. She would not cradle it. She would not ache for it. Except she did.

The silence twisted inside her, blooming like a bruise behind her ribs. Would Andy come? Did she know?

She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more: the idea that Andrea hadn’t come yet, or the idea that she might not come at all.

Because despite everything—despite the power, the ruthlessness, the sheer force she had spent her entire life cultivating—it hadn’t stopped this. The bond had happened. The agents had come. The system had finally caught up to her.

And Miranda Priestly… was caged. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. She had survived everything the world had thrown at her. But she had never been helpless. Now, she was.

And she didn’t know how to survive that.

The heavy clunk of the lock disengaging snapped Miranda’s head up.

The cell door creaked open, and in its place stood a woman dressed in the sharply tailored navy suit of the Bureau’s upper echelon. Blonde, crisp, and cold as winter. The ID clipped to her lapel identified her as District Prosecutor Evelyn Sharpe — a name Miranda vaguely remembered from high-profile Alpha-Omega litigation cases. Ruthless. Efficient. A true believer in the system.

Just her luck.

Sharpe stepped inside, the guard remaining at the door.

“Miranda Priestly,” she said, voice devoid of warmth. “We’ve concluded our investigation.”

Miranda didn’t stand.

She didn’t move.

She simply lifted her chin and met the woman’s eyes.

Sharpe continued without flinching. “You’ve been found guilty of felony-level status fraud, as well as falsification of employment contracts, unlawful suppression of Omega designation, and obstruction of Omega Registry protocols over a span of—” she flipped a page in her folder, “—twenty-seven years.”

Miranda’s spine stiffened. “I was never hiding. I was surviving.”

“That distinction holds no legal weight,” Sharpe replied coolly. “You knew the laws. You violated them every day of your public life.”

Miranda said nothing. She refused to give this woman even a flicker of emotion.

Sharpe let the silence stretch a moment before closing the folder with a quiet snap.

“Sentencing will be issued at the end of the month.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “And until then?”

“You will be transferred to federal containment this afternoon,” Sharpe said. “High-security Omega detention.”

Miranda’s breath hitched — the first crack. “You’re sending me to prison?”

“We’re sending you to a regulated correctional facility pending sentencing,” Sharpe clarified. “For your own safety, of course. A high-profile Omega in Bureau holding presents... unnecessary complications.”

Miranda’s voice dropped to a sharp, precise whisper. “And my children?”

Sharpe’s expression didn’t shift. “Given the nature of your crimes — and the high risk of behavioral manipulation and secondary biological coercion — guardianship of your children will be suspended.”

Miranda’s hands clenched. “Suspended to who?”

Sharpe tilted her head slightly, almost curious. “Their biological father has been notified. He has already begun emergency custody proceedings.”

Miranda’s stomach dropped.

“They’re my daughters—”

“They were,” Sharpe said, clinical. “But you forfeited all legal protections the moment you falsified your secondary designation and endangered the minors in your household by refusing mandated Alpha support.”

Miranda surged to her feet. “Don’t you dare twist this into me being a danger—”

But Sharpe cut her off, voice sharp as a blade. “You endangered everything, Ms. Priestly. And now, you’re going to face the consequences.”

Miranda stared at her, shaking with silent fury. Her voice, when it came, was a razor’s edge.

“You want to humiliate me. Strip me of everything. The company. My daughters. My name. You want to see an Omega punished for daring to build something without a man holding the leash.”

Sharpe didn’t even blink. “No, Ms. Priestly. I want you to understand that you are not above the law.”

Miranda’s voice was low. “No. You want me to burn.”

There was no denial.

Sharpe turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Enjoy your last night in silk, Ms. Priestly. Tomorrow, you wear regulation grey. During sentencing we will try for forced pack labor unit then enjoy prison.”

She looked over her shoulder, just once. “You built an empire. It’ll be poetic to see you cleaning floors for one.”

Then she was gone. The door slammed shut behind her. And Miranda sank slowly, silently, back onto the bench. Her hands trembled.

Her empire was gone.

Her children were gone.

And Andy— No where to be seen

**-

They didn’t let her walk out the front door.

Instead, they escorted her through a back loading bay, down metal stairs slick with rain, where the press couldn’t get their flashbulbs on her. But the message was clear: she was no longer someone worth photographing.

Miranda Priestly was officially a prisoner of the Bureau. Her wrists were cuffed again—cold, tight, impersonal. The van ride was long. No windows. No words.

She sat on a plastic bench bolted to the wall, the hum of the engine and the vibration of the wheels the only sound. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t speak. She couldn’t afford to waste the energy.

Instead, she replayed Evelyn Sharpe’s words.

Pack labor. Custody suspension.

Her daughters.

She pressed her cuffed hands together in her lap, willing her breathing to remain calm, willing herself not to fall apart. Not here. Not yet.

The facility loomed into view like a wound carved into the landscape—barbed wire, tall grey concrete walls, no signage. No identity. Just numbered gates and a single Bureau seal.

Omega Correctional Facility 27-A.

They stripped her the moment she arrived.

She was led into intake, processed without ceremony. Her collar was removed. Her jewelry—gone. Her designer heels, her silk blouse, her carefully tailored coat—confiscated. Every stitch of her life peeled away piece by piece.

Miranda stood motionless in the harsh fluorescent light as a cold-eyed intake officer barked orders without looking at her face.

“Strip. Step into the decontamination stall.”

She complied. Silently. Dignity clinging to her in tatters. A harsh spray of sterile mist coated her skin—disinfectant and control. She didn’t flinch, even as her bare feet stuck to the floor.

Then came the uniform. Regulation grey.

A shapeless two-piece set, thin and rough, like paper against her skin. No name tag. Just a numeric identifier printed across her chest: Inmate 418-O.

No more Miranda Priestly. Just another number.

They took her to Block C—Omega Holding—and assigned her to Barrack 4. Six bunks to a room. One toilet. No privacy. Her new home.

The others barely looked up as she entered. Most were young, quiet. All Omegas. None marked.

Miranda stood in the doorway, still and silent. No one moved to greet her. There were no introductions in places like this.

Her bunk was a narrow steel frame with a wafer-thin mattress and one flat pillow. She sat down on the edge of it, her spine straight, her hands folded in her lap.

Breathe. Don’t break. Not yet.

That night, the cell lights dimmed at exactly 21:00. Miranda lay flat on the unforgiving mattress, eyes wide open, staring at the cracked ceiling above her. She could still feel the phantom weight of the necklace Andy gave her, could still smell her scent clinging to her collarbone, no matter how hard the decontamination mist had tried to erase it.

She was gone.

Her daughters were gone.

Her name was gone.

And in the dark, surrounded by strangers, in fabric that scratched her skin and air that stank of disinfectant and despair, Miranda finally let herself do the one thing she swore she wouldn’t.

She cried, silently, One tear at a time.

**_

Earlier that day

Andy was in the backroom of Holt’s studio when her phone rang. She barely heard it over the low hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet shuffle of fabric swatches. She was elbow-deep in spring palette samples when Emily’s name lit up her screen.

She almost didn’t answer. Almost.

But instinct twisted in her gut, sharp and sudden.

She picked up. “Emily?”

“Where the hell are you?” Emily’s voice was trembling. “You need to come back. Now.”

Andy froze. “What happened?”

“They came for her, Andy,” Emily whispered. “The Bureau. Two agents. In the middle of the office. In front of everyone.”

Andy’s blood turned to ice.

“She went quietly, but—Andy, they cuffed her. They took her away.”

For a second, Andy couldn’t breathe.

The samples slipped from her hand and scattered across the table like spilled petals.

“Where did they take her?” she asked, voice deadly calm.

Emily gave her the last known address, and Andy was already moving. Her coat hit her shoulders. Her boots hit the floor with steel-tipped purpose. Her instincts were no longer suggestions — they were commands.

Miranda was in danger. And someone was going to pay for it.

Bureau Headquarters – Omega Compliance Division

The guards didn’t stop her when she marched into the lobby. Not with the energy she radiated.

The scent of an Alpha — not just any Alpha, but something older, deeper, and infinitely more dangerous — rolled off Andy like a rising tide.

By the time she reached the front desk, the receptionist was already sweating. The lady behind the counter told her that Miranda was already transferred.

“To where?!” Andy growled, showing her teeth

“Ma’am I’m not allowed-”

“I need to speak to the Director,” Andy said, voice calm and absolute.

The woman behind the desk fumbled. “I—Director Wren is in a meeting. If you’d like to submit a visitation request—”

Andy stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “No. You don’t understand.”

She reached into her coat and slammed a black ring onto the counter. It bore a sigil older than the Bureau itself — a silver wolf’s head encircled by flame and thorn. The receptionist went pale.

“I am Andrea Vaelthorn line of the Alpha Prime,” she said, each word sharp and ringing. “Direct descendant of House Vaelthorn, bloodline of the First Alpha. I invoke my ancestral right of Dominus Custodia.”

Silence. Stunned, choking silence. “I am here to take my Omega.”

The doors to the other side of the room opened, and a man in a suit far too polished for his panic approached.  That must be the director. “Ms. Vaelthorn,” he said tightly. “You understand we are handling a criminal investigation—”

“I am the investigation now,” Andy cut in. “Miranda Priestly is bonded to me. You violated that bond by detaining her without notifying her Alpha. Under Title VI of the Prime Legacy Code, Section 3.2.4—no Omega bound to the Vaelthorn bloodline can be held in federal custody without consent of the reigning Alpha.”

He sputtered. “That law hasn’t been invoked in—”

“Two hundred and nineteen years,” Andy finished. “But it’s still law. And I am the Vaelthorn heir.”

A ripple of tension moved through the room.

The man blinked, mouth opening and closing. We would need—”

“You need nothing,” Andy said. “The moment I claimed her, the right became active. Miranda Priestly is under my mark. Any judgment of her falls under the protection of my house. By law—by ancient decree older than your entire Bureau—you are obligated to release her into my custody.”

The agent swallowed hard. “You’re asking us to surrender a high-profile Omega under federal investigation—”

“I’m not asking,” Andy growled. “I’m informing you. She is mine. And this court has no authority over her anymore.”

The directors jaw clenched. “And if we deny your invocation?” Andy stepped forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Her voice dropped, quiet but deadly. “Then I’ll bring the full weight of the Vaelthorn line down on this building and everyone in it. And trust me—your grandchildren will still be paying for it.”

The silence that followed was cold and absolute. Then man scrambled for the comm terminal. “I—I need to call the senator—”

“Do that,” Andy said. “But know that if you delay, I will walk through every floor of this building until I burn it down. And then it won’t just be a political scandal. It will be war.”

After what felt like an eternity another the director cam back to the front and after a brief discussion between him and the clerk the woman wrote down the address.

“They said they  transferred her to Omega Correctional 27-A until sentencing.”

Andy didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was already moving.

“I hope you know this isn’t over.” The man yelled after her Andy’s smile was ice. “No. It most certainly isn’t.”

**_

The Omega Correctional Facility loomed under the dim wash of floodlights, a concrete scar against the night sky. It was made to erase people. Andrea Sachs however wasn’t interested in being forgotten.

The black car pulled to a stop outside the main gate at exactly 21:30. The guards barely had time to register the vehicle before the back door opened and Andy stepped out, wrapped in long black coat. She didn’t wait to be greeted.

She marched up the steps to the facilities entrance, every line of her body tight with contained violence. Two armed officers moved to intercept her—then faltered. The look in her eyes was wrong for someone so young, too ancient and too sure.

The woman waiting inside the security vestibule was District Prosecutor Evelyn Sharpe herself.

Of course she was. Andy’s voice cut like ice. “Where is she?”

Sharpe lifted her chin. “Miss Sachs. You are not authorized—”

“I’m Alpha Vaelthorn,” Andy snapped. “Of the Alpha Prime. And as you were informed, I am here to invoke my Dominus Custodia.”

Sharpe’s brows knit. “That right is antiquated. Symbolic at best. We are in the jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau—”

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Prosecutor,” Andy interrupted, stepping forward. “You think the Bureau is powerful, and it may be. But your family,” she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make Sharpe’s blood run cold, “owes the Vaelthorn House a debt that has never been paid.”

Sharpe’s jaw twitched. “That’s… a rumor. A story told to keep the bloodlines in check—”

“It’s documented. And sworn,” Andy said, her voice soft and lethal. “Don’t make me collect it tonight.”

Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can just waltz in here and steal her back?”

“She was never yours to take.”

Andy didn’t wait for permission. She brushed past Sharpe and the guards, flashing the silver Vaelthorn seal once at the checkpoint. The door buzzed open immediately. Bureau officers might scoff at old laws—but no one ignored the blood mark of the First Alpha. Not in the right corridors.

Miranda’s cell block was colder than she expected. Echoing. Every step of her boots clicked like a metronome, ticking closer to the woman who had once ruled the fashion world — and now sat caged by it.

The guard at the final checkpoint swallowed visibly. “Cell 14, Ma’am. She’s been... quiet.”

Andy nodded once. And walked through.

**-

Miranda hadn’t moved from her bunk. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t spoken. The others left her alone—some out of awe, some out of fear. But no one dared touch her.

The the doors slammed open. Guards poured into the barracks, flanking a woman who moved like fire incarnate. Miranda looked up. Andrea.

But not the soft-spoken, defiant girl who had walked into Runway months ago. This was something else entirely. She radiated power. Not just Alpha presence — but something ancient, something rooted in blood and bone and history.

Miranda stood slowly, eyes wide. Andy’s voice rang out, steady and clear, filling the space with the gravity of law and bloodline:

“Miranda Priestly. You are hereby released from Omega containment by authority of the Vaelthorn house, in accordance with Law 8-C of the Dominion Edicts. You are to return with me immediately. Your sentence will be reviewed and served within the confines of House Vaelthorn.”

The lead guard stammered. “She’s been formally charged. We have orders—”

Andy didn’t even look at him. “And I have rights older than this concrete box. Try me.”

Miranda didn’t move. Not yet. Her breath shook in her chest, eyes shadowed with disbelief.

Andy stepped closer, her voice softer now.

“You’re mine,” she said. “By mark. By law. By blood. And they don’t get to take you from me.”

Miranda’s voice cracked. “They want to take my daughters.”

Andy’s gaze sharpened “I already handled it,” she said quietly. “The girls are at home with Cara. Nobody is taking them from you. I promise.”

Miranda never experienced relief like that. Not in her entire life. Andy held her gaze for a long beat — then reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out a small velvet pouch and opened it.

Inside was the necklace. Miranda’s necklace.

Andy stepped forward slowly. “They tried to take everything from you. But they will figure out that they cant.”

She lifted the chain, brushing Miranda’s tangled hair away from her neck, and carefully fastened the necklace back where it belonged — over skin that had been cold and bare too long. Miranda didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Andy turned to the guards, her arm sliding gently but possessively around Miranda’s waist.

“We’re done here.” And together — in front of every prisoner, every guard, every set of watching eyes — Andy led Miranda Priestly out of the cell.

“What did you do to get to me?” she whispered.

Andy stood and offered her a hand. “What I should have done from the start.”

Miranda stared at the offered hand. And slowly, with a breath that trembled just slightly, she reached for it.

“I think it it’s about time I told you a little more about myself.”

**-

The car pulled away from the correction facility in silence.

Miranda sat stiffly in the backseat, her hands resting in her lap like they didn’t belong to her. Her wrists were bare now—no more cuffs, no more grey suit—but the weight of it all still clung to her skin.

Andy sat beside her, her scent was calmer now, carefully controlled, a steady balm against the chaos of Miranda’s thoughts. Still, it took her a long moment before she finally spoke.

“How did you do it?”

Her voice was quiet. Strained. Like she wasn’t sure she even wanted the answer.

Andy looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Get you out?”

Miranda nodded, eyes fixed on the city lights streaking past the window. “You walked in and they just… handed me over. That’s not something even my lawyers could’ve pulled off. You didn’t just argue, Andrea. You overruled them.”

Andy was silent for a beat too long. Miranda turned to look at her then, her voice sharper. “Who are you?”

Andy exhaled slowly, eyes still forward. “Andrea Vaelthorn.”

Miranda blinked. “I thought your last name was Sachs.”

Andy gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “Legally, it still is. It’s Safer. I didn’t want the name following me everywhere.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Vaelthorn,” she repeated. The name sat on her tongue like something half-remembered. “Why does that sound… familiar?”

Andy finally looked at her, the streetlights casting shifting gold across her face. “Because it’s old,” she said simply. “Older than the Bureau. Older than most bloodlines still standing. My family founded some of the first Alpha councils, before they were even called that. We don’t do politics anymore, not openly. But the name still carries weight.”

Miranda stared at her, tension creeping into her voice again. “You said you invoked some… ancient right. That they had no authority over me anymore.”

Andy nodded once. “They didn’t. Not once I stepped in.”

Miranda’s breath hitched, just slightly. “So you’re telling me I’ve been bonded to royalty?”

Andy chuckled under her breath. “Not royalty. Just… the old guard. I was raised to follow tradition. To protect my Omega. To protect my people, if needed. That’s what I did today.”

Miranda looked away, her throat tightening. Her voice was a whisper. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know,” Andy said. “But I did it anyway.”

“They were going to take my name. Reduce everything I’ve built to a criminal record and pack labor. Like I was nothing. Like I was just—” her voice shook, “just another Omega who got too bold.”

Andy stepped closer. “You are not just anything. And you’re never going to be alone in this again.”

Andy saw her hands were trembling. Andy sat a bit closer to her, cautious, careful not to crowd her. “You’re safe now. No one can touch you here.” At that, something cracked.

Miranda turned her head. Just slightly. Her eyes were dry—but they burned.

“I wasn’t afraid for myself,” she said, voice so soft it was almost soundless. “They were going to take the girls.”

“I know,” Andy said.

“They stripped me, and they caged me, and they called me lesser.” Andy opened her arms. “Miranda—”

Miranda leaned forward and shattered. The sob tore out of her like it had been buried for years. Her hands clutched at Andy’s coat, and she folded into her like she was collapsing from the inside. Andy caught her and held her tight.

She said nothing — just whispered soothing nonsense, pressed kisses to Miranda’s hair, rubbed slow circles into her back. Miranda cried for everything that happend to her. When the sobs finally slowed, Miranda was curled against her on the backseat of the car, legs tangled with Andy’s, face buried in her Alpha’s neck.  A long silence followed, broken only by the hum of the car on the road.

Miranda’s hand tightened in her lap. “And what now? You’ve revealed yourself. Your name. Your claim. Everything is out now, even the last of you secrets…”

Andy reached out and gently laid her hand over Miranda’s, warm and solid.

“I think it’s better,” she said softly, “if I just show you.” Miranda looked at her sharply, lips parting like she might protest.

**_

It was nearly dawn when the car turned onto the long, winding drive. On there way to the estate Andy had called Cara to inform her they would be away a week or so. Cara told her to take al the time they would need and that she will take care of the girls until they are back. After that was handled she called Emily and told her that she managed to get to Miranda but that they would again need a week to recover a bit and to take care of Runway. Emily told her she would gladly hold down the fort until Miranda could get back to work.

The city was far behind them now—replaced by wide fields and dense woodland, the kind that seemed to hush the world around it. Towering wrought iron gates marked the entrance, engraved with the crest Miranda had seen once before on Andy’s ring: the wolf’s head in flame and thorn.

The Vaelthorn estate wasn’t a house. It was a stronghold.

Stone walls stretched high and wide, wrapped in ivy and shadow. The main structure was a manor carved out of age and reverence, every window lit with a soft golden glow that made it feel less like a building and more like a sentinel — watchful, waiting.

Miranda stepped out of the car slowly, heels clicking softly on the ancient cobblestones. The air smelled of pine, moss, and something deeper… old power, maybe.

Andy came around to her side and held out a hand. Miranda hesitated for only a breath before taking it.

“This is your home?” she asked quietly, unsure why she felt the need to whisper.

Andy gave a small nod. “It was my grandfather’s before it was mine. And his mother’s before him. It remembers every Alpha who’s ever ruled from within these walls.”

Miranda’s fingers tightened slightly in Andy’s. “It’s… overwhelming.”

Andy glanced sideways at her, a small smirk playing at her lips. “You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

**-

The grand hall was cathedral-like, with stone pillars and high arched ceilings. The crest was carved into the floor in obsidian and silver, right at the center of a massive sunken hearth that glowed with flickering firelight. Portraits lined the walls — stern-faced Alphas in regal poses, each one bearing the unmistakable Vaelthorn eyes.

Servants in formal black nodded respectfully as they passed, none making eye contact with Miranda — not out of disrespect, but deference. An Omega in this house… meant something. She could feel it in the way they bowed their heads, the way their steps quieted.

Andy led her through silent corridors to a smaller chamber off the main hall. It was richly furnished — warm, with velvet curtains, soft rugs, and a fire crackling gently in the hearth.

“This is yours,” Andy said simply. “If you want it.”

Miranda blinked. “My room?”

Andy tilted her head. “Your space. Until you’re ready to share mine.” A delicate silence followed.

Miranda looked around. Everything about this room was intentional. The soft lighting. The books. The quiet luxury. It wasn’t a cage. It was… a sanctuary.

“You knew,” Miranda said slowly, turning to look at her. “You knew I wouldn’t be ready.”

Andy shrugged a shoulder. “I know what it’s like to be forced into a role. This house honors tradition, but I won’t chain you.” Miranda stared at her.

And then, unexpectedly, she laughed. Soft and breathless. “You say that,” she murmured, stepping slowly toward her Alpha, “but I’ve never felt more claimed in my life.”

Andy’s eyes darkened, her scent blooming in the space between them. “Because you are.”

Miranda stopped in front of her, looking up. “You said this house remembers its Alphas.”

Andy nodded.

Miranda reached out and placed her hand over Andy’s chest, right where her heart beat slow and steady.

“Well, it’s about time it remembered its Omegas too.”

Andy’s breath caught. Miranda stepped closer. “You keep talking about tradition,” she whispered. “So show me.”

Andy blinked. “Show you what?”

Miranda tilted her chin up. “What it means. To belong to something this old. This powerful. To you.”

Andy was still for a long moment. Then she took Miranda’s hand and kissed the inside of her wrist — a gesture that was far older than she’d ever explained. A Vaelthorn rite. An Alpha’s vow.

Miranda’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

Andy whispered against her skin, “Then let me show you everything.”