Chapter 1: My Biggest Dress!

A loud crash jolted him awake. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to alarms or to Andrew’s measured footsteps but to Mia was usually accompanied by shrieking laughter at her own chaos.

Christopher groaned, dragging the covers off his shoulder and rolling halfway onto his side. The sunlight spilling across the floorboards was too bright for someone who had no intention of being awake at six sharp in the morning.

"For the love of God, Mia," he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep. "We are on summer vacation. Aren’t you supposed to sleep until noon like a respectable child?"

Silence. Which meant she was ignoring him on purpose. Of course.

He shoved himself upright, bare feet finding the cool wood, and squinted around the room. His bedroom was ordinary, with pale walls, a desk perpetually cluttered with books and half-finished notes, and clothes folded neatly enough in the corner to keep Andrew off his back. He pushed his black hair off his forehead and stretched, long limbs unfolding awkwardly as though he hadn’t grown into them yet. Pale skin, darker shadows under his eyes from staying up too late.

He yawned, tugged a shirt over his head, brushed his teeth, and stepped down to the first floor of their house.

The smell of coffee hit him first. In the kitchen, Andrew was at the table, lifting the last of his mug with that quiet, steady presence that had carried them through the past year. Dark hair rumpled from too little sleep and too many responsibilities after their parents’ death, brown eyes bright despite the pain all of them had to overcome. He wore his work shirt already, sleeves rolled to his elbows, with a blue tie thrown haphazardly around his neck but not yet knotted.

Opposite him, Mia was in full attack mode, perched on the chair nearest the sugar bowl, demanding attention with every ounce of her eleven-year-old energy. Brown hair in a loose braid that had already come undone in the back, black eyes flashing with all the stubbornness she’d inherited from both brothers.

Andrew’s gaze lifted as Chris padded in. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

"Chris. You’re awake."

"Not by choice," Chris muttered, raking a hand through his hair before narrowing his eyes towards their little sister.

Mia grinned. "You sound like a grumpy old man."

"I live with one," Chris said flatly, dropping into the seat beside her and stealing one of the pieces of toast on the table before she could.

Andrew sighed, but the warmth behind it was impossible to miss. He set his mug down, meeting Chris’s eyes over the rim. "Can you take Mia with you to the checkup? I know I should go, but work has been hectic lately."

Chris waved it off, chewing. "Sure. Don’t worry. I’ll still be the same Christopher Malek, whether alpha or omega."

Andrew’s gaze lingered. He took in his brother’s tall frame, the elegant lines of his long limbs, and the way he carried himself without even noticing. He wasn’t alpha-tall; if he were to awaken as one, there would be time to grow even more. His jaw was already sharpening, his black eyes steady and too calm for eighteen.

"Maybe omega," Andrew murmured, half to himself, as though the thought had been circling him for weeks.

Chris made a face, reaching for Mia’s braid and tugging it lightly until she squealed. "Maybe beta," he corrected. "Would be easier to deal with just one hormonal child in the family and not two. Maybe even less screaming over breakfast."

Mia swatted at his hand, indignant. "Betas are boring."

"Good," Chris said, leaning back in his chair with the nonchalance of an eighteen-year-old. "That’s the dream."

Andrew only smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried both hope and worry in equal measure. Then he glanced at the clock, drained the last of his coffee, and rose with a rustle of fabric and the scrape of his chair.

"Just don’t give the nurse trouble," he said, smoothing his tie into something passable. "And if Mia talks you into ice cream on the way back, don’t let her eat half of it before dinner."

Mia gasped, scandalized. Chris only smirked, already reaching for his shoes.

"Can’t promise anything," he said.

Andrew bent to retrieve his bag, adjusting the strap over his shoulder, and paused at the door. His voice softened, almost too quiet for the morning bustle.

"Take our father’s car. And be careful."

Chris waved a hand as if brushing off a cloud of smoke. "Don’t worry so much. I’ll bring her back in one piece." He leaned sideways, bumping Mia’s shoulder with his. "And in exchange for your angelic silence during my checkup, you get your ice cream."

Mia lit up instantly, her indignation forgotten, black eyes gleaming like she’d just been crowned empress of the neighborhood. "Two scoops?"

Chris smirked, reaching for his shoes. "If you manage not to break anything before we leave, three."

"Deal!" She hopped off her chair, braid bouncing, and dashed upstairs to change, her voice trailing down the hallway. "I’m picking the biggest dress I own!"

Andrew watched her disappear with the ghost of a smile tugging at his tired mouth. He lingered in the doorway, eyes shifting back to Chris. For a moment, the weight of everything, the year since their parents’ accident, the bills, the responsibility, hung between them like a shadow only Andrew carried.

Chris caught it, as he always did, and straightened his cuff with exaggerated calm. "We’ll be fine. Go save the world, Andrew. We’ll survive the doctor’s office without you."

Andrew exhaled, something like gratitude flickering across his face, then pulled the door open. "Just don’t let her talk you into a fourth scoop."

Chris chuckled, pulling on his shoes. "I’m reckless, not suicidal."

The door shut behind Andrew with a soft thud, leaving the house briefly quiet, except for Mia upstairs, already turning her room upside down in search of her ’biggest dress.’ Chris tied his laces slowly, letting the silence stretch, the taste of coffee and toast still clinging faintly to the morning air.

It would be a simple day. A drive, a test, maybe an argument over toppings. Ordinary. Exactly what he wanted it to be.....

Chapter 2: Betas Are Boring

The car was warm from the sun when they slid inside, Mia in a yellow cotton dress that flared around her knees every time she moved too quickly. She had insisted on bringing a bag ’just in case the clinic gets boring,’ which Chris knew meant she’d stuffed it with sweets she wasn’t supposed to eat before noon.

Chris sighed but let her do her thing. She wasn’t a bad or spoiled child, just eleven and still patching herself together in ways no one could see. Of the three of them, she had taken the most from their parents’ death. One day they’d been laughing in the park, fighting over who had stolen the last sweet, and the next Andrew had come home and told her she would never see them again.

It had been an accident. A truck driver, forced into too many hours with too little sleep, had closed his eyes at the wheel. Their mother’s car had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All three, both parents and the driver, died instantly, the highway swallowing their lives in one blink. The company that hired him had paid compensation, almost too quickly, as though they’d known exactly how many laws had been broken to push that man onto the road in the first place.

The money had been enough. Enough for Andrew to keep the house, to keep them safe, and to raise two siblings without falling apart himself. But no amount of figures on a statement could fix the echo of that night or the sharp memory of absence that never really faded.

Chris rested his hand on the worn steering wheel, black eyes flicking to Mia’s reflection in the window as she unwrapped a sweet with exaggerated secrecy. She had been a child that day. She still was. But she had grown up all at once when Andrew told her the truth.

So he let her eat sugar before noon. He let her choose the biggest dress she owned. She deserved that much.

"Seatbelt," he said, starting the engine.

Mia huffed, snapping it in place anyway. "You sound like Andrew."

"That’s the point." He glanced at her braid, already loose again. "And fix that before we get there, or the nurse will think I dragged you out of bed without warning."

She stuck her tongue out at him but smoothed her hair obediently, her reflection pouting back at her in the window.

The drive wasn’t long. Their father’s old car rattled when he shifted gears, but it moved steady and loyal, carrying them down familiar streets. The city in summer was half-asleep: shops opening late, buses half-full, sidewalks glinting with heat that hadn’t even settled properly yet. Chris kept one hand loose on the wheel, black eyes fixed on the road, the other resting casually on the window frame.

He didn’t feel nervous about his secondary gender evaluation. He knew what he was and was already hiding it from Andrew. His older brother deserved peace for a while.

By the time they pulled up in front of the clinic, Mia was humming under her breath, swinging her legs in impatience.

"Come on, come on," she chirped, tugging his sleeve the moment they stepped inside.

The building was cool, a relief after the heat outside, but the air smelled of antiseptic, making Mia’s nose scrunch. The waiting room was lined with pale chairs and framed posters reminding citizens of the importance of early registration. Chris scanned the desk, gave his name, and was handed a number card.

Mia slumped beside him, immediately fishing a lollipop from her bag.

"You can’t eat that here," Chris said automatically.

"Watch me," she muttered around the stick, grinning up at him with sugar already staining her mouth.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back against the chair. The minutes ticked by. Nurses called names. Alphas went in nervous and came out smug. Omegas went in with pale faces and came out with hands clenched tightly around their cards. Betas walked out looking relieved, like they’d dodged something they couldn’t name.

"Malek, Christopher," a voice finally called.

He stood, smoothing his shirt unnecessarily, and Mia hopped up behind him like a shadow.

The exam room was colder than the lobby, with white walls and cabinets stacked with kits. A doctor sat at a small desk, middle-aged and tired in the way people get after too many years of hearing the same questions.

"Sit," the doctor said simply. "We’ll start with a blood draw and a scent panel."

Chris sat. The tourniquet bit against his arm, the needle slid in, and the crimson filled the vial as if it were in a hurry. He didn’t look away.

"Routine," he told himself, out loud this time.

Mia, perched on the extra chair, kicked her feet and squinted at the machine. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Chris said, though the sting lingered. "Don’t even think about fainting for drama."

She huffed, unimpressed, and went back to sucking her lollipop, swinging her braid.

The nurse labeled the vials, carried them to a sleek analyzer on the counter, and pressed a sequence of buttons. The machine whirred, lights flickering in a steady rhythm. Chris tapped his fingers once against his knee, then stilled them.

The machine hummed, a steady low rhythm like a heart that didn’t belong to him. Chris sat very still, his black eyes fixed on the blinking lights until the nurse returned with a small printout clipped neatly to a chart. She handed it to the doctor with the indifference that came from seeing a hundred names a week.

The doctor scanned the page, his frown folding into something annoyed but not alarmed. He tapped the screen twice, muttered under his breath, then looked up at Chris.

"Well. That’s irritating."

Chris arched a brow. "What is it?"

The doctor sighed, setting the tablet down. "The analyzer flagged dominant omega."

The words landed with the quiet sound of a boulder. Mia, oblivious, was twirling the stick of her lollipop between her teeth, but Chris felt his whole body go still.

The doctor, however, shook his head with the weary calm of someone who had seen this before. "It’s not accurate. The model we’re using is outdated; six months from now we’ll be rid of it entirely. Until then, it likes to throw up false positives. You are the fourth this week alone," He flicked the chart closed, already dismissing it. "Given your presentation, it’s most likely a calibration error."

Chris swallowed, his throat dry, but kept his voice steady. "So...?"

"So," the doctor said, already pulling a fresh card from the drawer, "I’ll mark you as beta. Your labs are within normal limits, and there are no concerns that would warrant verification by a newer model in the capital. If you notice anything unusual, such as strange shifts or irregular scent responses, schedule a re-evaluation in six months when the new machines are in place. But frankly, I doubt you’ll need to."

Beta. A single word, stamped across his life like a shield.

Chris managed a small nod. "Understood."

Mia perked up in her chair, swinging her legs. "So, what is he?"

The doctor glanced at her, faint amusement flickering across his tired features. "Officially? Beta. Congratulations, young man."

Mia made a dramatic little sound of disappointment, as if she’d been hoping for something more exciting. "Told you betas are boring," she muttered.

Chris smirked faintly, though his hands were curled too tightly in his lap. "Boring’s the dream, remember?"

The nurse returned with the printed registry card, neat black letters declaring Malek, Christopher: Beta. She handed it over, and Chris slipped it into his wallet with careful fingers, the plastic already warm from her grip.

The doctor was already moving on, shuffling papers, and calling for the next patient. "You’re free to go. Take care of yourself."

Chris stood, his limbs unfolding with the ease of a man fleeing from execution. He placed a hand briefly on Mia’s shoulder, steering her toward the door before she could ask anything else.

In the corridor, the cool air smelled less of antiseptic and more dust. Chris walked steadily, one hand in his pocket, the other still curled around his wallet. His pulse had slowed, his face was calm, but the word lingered like smoke behind his teeth.

Dominant omega.

Dismissed as an error. Labeled as beta.

Six months,the doctor had said. if anything feels odd, come back.

Chris already knew he wouldn’t........

Chapter 3: Three Scoops

The ice cream parlor smelled like sugar and nostalgia, cool air drifting in lazy waves from the glass counter. The hum of freezers mixed with the chatter of children pressing their faces to the glass, debating flavors like their lives depended on it. Mia was one of them, braids swinging as she pointed, her black eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement only sugar could summon.

"Three scoops," she declared proudly, reminding him of his promise. "You said if I behaved, I’d get three."

Chris leaned on the counter, pale arms folded, his black eyes still shadowed from the sterile brightness of the clinic. "You call what you did there behaving?"

"I didn’t faint," Mia shot back, chin lifted.

"You almost asked the nurse if she could draw your blood instead of mine."

"That would’ve been fun!" she said, stomping her feet, scandalized that he’d think otherwise.

Chris shook his head, lips curving despite himself. "Three scoops, then. Don’t cry to me when you can’t move afterward."

Mia beamed, tapping the glass as if the ice cream maker needed her approval. "Chocolate, strawberry, and mint. All together."

"Disgusting," Chris muttered, but he ordered it anyway, sliding bills across the counter. He got a smaller cup for himself, coffee flavored, his usual. Something bitter to cut the sweetness.

They sat at one of the outside tables, the summer air pressing down warm but not unbearable. Mia dug into her tower of scoops with the joy of a child who hadn’t yet learned moderation. Chris stirred his ice cream slowly, thoughts turning back, unbidden, to the clinic.

Dominant omega.

Calibration error.

Beta.

The words stacked in his head were like cards he didn’t want to play. His wallet felt heavier with the new card tucked inside, neat black letters that told one story while his body whispered another.

A buzz broke through his thoughts. His phone lit up on the table. Andrew.

Andrew: "Working late tonight. Don’t wait. Grab something from a restaurant and bring dinner home for the three of us."

Chris stared at the message for a moment, jaw tightening. Andrew was only twenty-five. At his age, he should have been out with friends, thinking about a mate, about making a family of his own, not raising two siblings like a father who had never asked for the job. Chris didn’t want to be another burden.

He sighed; if the machine wasn’t broken and he was really a dominant omega, then things would get more than complicated.

Dominant omegas were rare, precious, and sold to the highest bidder. Usually to a dominant alpha, sometimes into royalty itself, their lives rewritten overnight. They weren’t considered people anymore so much as inheritance, dynasty carriers.

They were a mystery, with little information available about them, as if someone wanted to keep them out of the public eye.

Royal omegas... his family had seen one.

Great-Aunt Elara Malek. Her name was always said in half-whispers after she was taken.

Chris could remember being small, barely ten, listening from the hallway as his uncles and aunts retold the story. Elara had been registered at eighteen, just like everyone else, and the moment the word ’dominant’ appeared on the page, her life had been over. A car had come before the ink was dry. She was sold, married, and removed from the registry of the Malek as though she’d never belonged to them in the first place.

The elders always dressed it up: our Elara, they said, living in a palace, jewels like water, clothes from fabrics they couldn’t even name. She was lucky, they insisted, whisked into a life they could only dream of.

But Chris had noticed the pauses, the fact that their father never mentioned her, and how his mother’s mouth pressed thin whenever someone mentioned fortune.

Silk and marble didn’t erase the fact that she was sold.

He looked down at the neat little card in his wallet, the one that said ’beta,’ and felt a wave of grim relief coil in his chest. Let the world think of him unremarkable. He had no desire to be anyone’s dynasty.

Across the table, Mia was already halfway through her monstrosity of three flavors, her smile sticky and wide. "You’re staring at your ice cream like it owes you money," she said, voice muffled around a spoonful.

Chris blinked, pulled back to the present, and shook his head. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how disgusting that combination looks," he said smoothly, flicking his spoon at her cup.

Mia gasped, protective, hunching over her melting tower. "You just don’t understand art."

Chris smirked, letting her chatter wash over him as the summer sun leaned heavy on his shoulders. For now, he could pretend. He was a beta on paper, a brother keeping promises, and a young man with ordinary problems.

’I won’t make Andrew’s life even harder.’

"What do you want for dinner?" Chris asked, pulling a small packet of wet wipes from Mia’s bag and catching her sticky fingers before she could smear chocolate across her yellow dress.

She blinked up at him, cheeks still round with sugar. "Can I choose?"

"Let’s make something good for Andrew." He wiped her mouth carefully, ignoring her squirming protest. "Something that won’t make him think we only survive on sweets."

Mia thought hard, her brows pinched together as if she were deciding matters of state. Finally, she lit up. "Noodles! From the place with the red lanterns. He likes those."

Chris tucked the wipe back into the packet and leaned against the table with a faint smile. "Then noodles it is."

He slid his phone out again, sending Andrew a quick reply: ’We’ll bring food home. Don’t worry.’ No complaints, no reminders that Andrew was too young to carry so much. Chris would do anything to help him without feeling pressured that he wasn’t enough.

Then he tucked the phone away, stood, and ruffled Mia’s hair despite her indignant squawk. "Finish up, sticky fingers. Andrew’s going to need dinner waiting when he drags himself through the door."

Mia grinned, clutching her cup with renewed purpose, as if noodles and ice cream together made the perfect feast.

And for Chris, watching her smile, it almost felt like it was......