The Omegas Cry

Chapter 6: The Secret

Eloise’s POV

The morning sun cast a soft glow through the tall windows of Tyrone's manor, glinting off the polished marble floors as I carefully dusted the intricate wooden paneling.

The manor was vast, with rooms that echoed a history too rich and old to be completely understood by a mere maid like me. Am I even a maid? I don’t know. Honestly, I am not even aware of my stand here.

All I am told was that… Tyrone needs to leave and I shall do whatever I want. But what do I know? Except cleaning and polishing everything that I see.

I kept my head down, my hands steady, lost in the mundane rhythm of cleaning. But peace was a rare gift here, and it wasn’t long before it was interrupted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another maid, her footsteps hesitant as she approached. She was young, with wide eyes that sparkled with a curiosity she couldn’t hide. I felt her gaze pierce me, measuring and evaluating with a scrutiny that was almost unsettling.

“May I help you?” I finally asked, breaking the silence. My voice was calm, but a knot of unease twisted in my stomach. The way she kept glancing at me, as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle, set my nerves on edge.

She didn’t answer right away, only shifted from foot to foot before blurting out, “What is your relationship with the master?”

The question caught me off guard, my hand faltering mid-swipe on the dusty ledge. Her eyes were fixed on me, sharp and unyielding, demanding an answer. I swallowed, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“I’m sorry?” I said, feigning ignorance, though my heart pounded in my chest. I lowered the cleaning cloth to the floor, its weight insignificant compared to the pressure I now felt.

She narrowed her eyes, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t play coy. You’re not just another maid, are you? The master doesn’t take in just anyone. He runs thorough background checks and only assigns the most trusted to positions more significant than dusting furniture.”

“What other job should I have?” I asked, unable to mask the genuine bewilderment in my tone. I knew my place here—simple, unnoticed, lowly—and didn’t understand why she saw it any differently.

“When I was brought here, I had to prove myself,” she said, her voice tight, almost resentful. “We all did. The first week, we were tested—hunting for food, surviving without guidance. And you…” Her eyes trailed over me, her lips curling slightly. “You’re an omega, aren’t you?”

Her last words were spat like an accusation. I flinched, suddenly feeling exposed. “Yes,” I whispered. The word barely left my mouth when she recoiled, eyes wide with shock and disgust.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, stepping back as if I had a disease. “An omega? I can’t believe the master has sunk so low. Do you have any idea how much people like you are hated here?”

My eyes darted around, catching the glances of others who had stopped their work to listen. Their expressions mirrored hers: distrust, disdain, judgment. I felt my knees weaken, I don’t know what to do.

“Why?” I managed, my voice trembling as I forced myself to meet her gaze. “Why are we hated so much?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your kind nearly destroyed the master’s family. When he was just a boy, he was almost killed during an a*******n attempt orchestrated by—” she paused, as if the mere thought disgusted her, “—an omega.”

Before I could defend myself, she rolled her eyes, brushing past me with a dismissive shove of her shoulder. It was clear that whatever trust or respect she might have had for me was long gone. Or maybe… there wasn’t any to begin with.

I stood there, feeling the sting of tears burning at the corners of my eyes. The room buzzed with whispered comments, eyes still locked onto me as if I were an intruder, an uninvited guest in a world where I didn’t belong.

If only things had been different—if only I hadn’t been cast out by the Westwood manor, used and discarded like I was worthless—maybe I wouldn’t be standing here, a subject of scorn and whispers.

But at least here, their judgments were silent, expressed only in their looks and not with fists or harsh words. Maybe this was better. Maybe being ignored was safer than being seen.

I busied myself with cleaning, letting the rhythmic movements steady me. By the time I reached the empty floor above, the silence wrapped around me.

Here, at least, I could pretend that I was alone, free from the prying eyes and the biting words. I moved to the windows, pulling back the heavy curtains and coughing as a cloud of dust filled the air.

The window creaked as I pushed it open, letting the fresh breeze cut through the stale atmosphere. I closed my eyes, taking in the scent of rain and earth, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly. But the moment of peace was shattered by a voice, low and sharp behind me.

“Who the hell are you?”

The voice was like ice, seeping into my skin and freezing me in place. Fear clawed at my chest as I forced myself to turn, every muscle screaming in protest. The man standing there was unlike anyone I had seen before. His eyes were white, ghostly, yet they burned with a sharp awareness. His dark hair framed a face so flawless that it could have been sculpted by the gods. But his presence was anything but divine.

“I asked you a question,” he said, each word wrapped in frost. It wasn’t just a question—it was a demand.

“I—” My voice broke. I clenched the fabric of my apron, trying to find strength in the rough texture. “I am Eloise Uriel Cromwell… a maid. Master Tyrone took me in.”

The man’s expression darkened, his lips twisting in a way that made my blood run cold. “No, you’re not just a maid,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And you’re pregnant. Why are you even working?”

My breath caught in my throat. Pregnant? How did he know? “Excuse me?” I stammered, eyes wide. “How did you—”

“It’s not visible,” he interrupted, his gaze boring into me, “but I can sense it. There is something powerful growing inside you.”

My heart hammered against my chest as I whispered, “What do you mean by that?”

He stepped closer, a smile so unsettling twisting his lips that I felt the air turn colder.

“You’re carrying the alpha’s child.”