The Beta's Shadow
1056 Words
Amanda's POV
The air in the university quad wasn't scented with the heady, complex notes of dominant Alphas, nor did it carry the sweet, soothing fragrance of Omegas.
It smelled of cheap coffee, old textbooks, and the relentless, dull neutrality that characterized the vast majority of the population. It smelled like my category.
It smelled like a Beta.
Seven years ago, I didn't feel worthless. I felt useful. And usefulness, for a Beta like me, was the highest form of love.
My entire world was centered on Scott Knight. Scott, the golden son of the Knight family, already a legend in the business school, and an Alpha whose presence was so effortlessly commanding that even the senior professors treated him with deference.
His pheromones weren't aggressive; they were cool, sharp, and carried the distant scent of polished chrome and old leather, a scent that promised power and ambition. But it was a shame I had never smelt it before since again, I'm a beta.
And I, Amanda Whitlock, was his shadow.
I first met him during orientation week. He had dropped his massive finance textbook, the kind that could double as a defensive weapon and I, instinctively, had sprung to retrieve it.
I handed it back to him with hands that shook slightly, not from fear, but from the proximity of such focused greatness. He hadn’t even met my eyes. He’d just given a quick, curt nod and walked away.
That nod was all it took. In my mind, it was an acknowledgment. A thread of fate.
From that day on, I learned his schedule better than my own. His lectures, his study hours, his favorite (and only) coffee shop: The Gilded Cup. I never intended to be intrusive;
I intended to be essential.
My day revolved around making small, perfect offerings. He liked his coffee black, single espresso shot, with a splash of cinnamon.
He had a weakness for the overpriced French almond croissants from the bakery across town, which I would buy on my meager student budget before sunrise, ensuring they were still warm when I slipped them onto his desk.
I never presented them with fanfare. I simply found a moment when he was engrossed in his work or distracted by another Alpha discussing market futures, placed the goods silently, and melted back into the background.
He consumed them, of course. Always. But he never once looked up to ask who the provider was.
That was fine. In a world where Omegas were treasured for their beauty and Alphas for their dominance, my purpose was defined by the fact that I needed no recognition. I was the stable, dependable force that made his life smoother. I was the perfect Beta and I was happy with that the least.
"Amanda, did you get the notes from Professor Alistair's 3 p.m. class?" my twin sister, Aurora, asked, floating into our shared dorm room.
Aurora. My Omega twin.
The campus beauty and angel, the extrovert one. Ten minutes older and leagues ahead in the world’s estimation. Where I was quiet and beige, Aurora was effervescent, her skin practically glowing, her scent a beautiful blend of lavender and honey that subtly calmed anyone nearby. People worshipped her on campus like she was a goddess and I understood perfectly fine.
Because, I am even a testimony of her beauty and presence. While she was fawned over, I was scorned.
"Yes, they're by your history book," I replied, pulling on a heavy sweater, preparing for my daily trek to the Gilded Cup.
“And oh…I wanted to ask if you can copy me these notes. My hands are really cramped. Pretty please…”
Aurora asked in a coquettish voice.
“Oh yeah…I can. Just leave it on the table.” I said to her preparing to step out.
She nodded and walked off, a sway in her steps. Aurora didn't press because she never had to.
Things simply came to Aurora: attention, praise, ease. She was the sunlight, and I was the shadow that allowed her brightness to be better appreciated. I loved her fiercely, yet even then, a quiet resentment simmered but not toward her, but toward the hierarchy that defined us.
Sometimes I resented how I came about. Because I couldn't understand why I became a beta and not an omega like her. We were supposed to be twins who were close like two peas in a pod. I've always seen how other twins are. I always wondered why I and Aurora couldn't be the same as others.
That evening, I was sitting three tables away from Scott in the library, correcting a complex statistical error on his practice exam in which he’d left behind and I had secretly retrieved it, naturally. I had perfected the art of observing him without being seen. Because I was a nobody myself.
He was talking to a stunning Omega, a pretty one, judging by the slight shift in the library's atmosphere. Scott’s posture was relaxed, a rare sight. He even offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
A sharp, familiar ache twisted in my chest. It wasn't jealousy of the Omega's beauty; it was jealousy of the light she inspired in Scott. I wanted to be the reason for that light.
I finished correcting the last formula, feeling the cold weight of the textbook in my hands. I stood up, walked quickly to his study carrel, placed the corrected exam down, and immediately pivoted to leave.
This time, however, he lifted his eyes. They were the color of cold, glacial ice and it was the first time I had truly seen them focused on me, the source of his daily sustenance. His eyes were boring into
"Thanks," he muttered, already picking up the exam.
"You're welcome, Scott," I replied, the small acknowledgement sent a jolt of pure triumph through me.
I floated out of the library, the high from that one word erasing all the hours of subservience. My heart swelled, naive and blind.
I mistook tolerance for appreciation, and I mistook my own quiet devotion for the beginning of love.
I didn't know then that I was just paving the road for the next seven years of my own quiet, deliberate destruction.
- Writer
