He Called Me Omega, Then Begged for My Help

The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic filled our tiny, cramped apartment, masking the usual smell of damp drywall and old pipes. It was Vincent’s favorite—roast lamb with root vegetables. I had spent three months’ worth of tips on the ingredients, and even pulled a double shift at the bakery just to buy the wine he liked.

I smoothed the wrinkles out of the tablecloth for the tenth time. My hands were shaking. Tonight was the night. It had to be.

Vincent had passed the bar exam yesterday. The text message had come through in all caps: *I DID IT.* Since then, radio silence. But I knew him. He was probably planning something big. He’d promised me, back when we were eighteen and eating instant noodles on the floor of this very room, that the day he became a lawyer was the day he’d make me his wife.

I looked down at my left hand. My thumb automatically went to twist the ring on my finger, but found only bare skin. A pang of loss hit me in the chest. I had sold my father’s vintage watch—the only thing I had left of him—last week. Vincent’s final semester tuition was due, and we were short. It didn't matter, I told myself. We were a team. His success was our success.

"Just you wait, Riley," I whispered to the empty room. "Tonight changes everything."

The clock on the wall ticked. Seven o'clock. Seven-thirty. Eight.

The lamb was getting cold. The candles were burning low, dripping wax onto the table.

By nine o'clock, the worry started to gnaw at my stomach. Was he hurt? Was there an accident? I grabbed my phone, my fingers fumbling as I opened the safety app we shared. It was a silly thing we installed years ago, but right now, it was my lifeline.

The little blue dot pinged. He wasn't at the law firm. He wasn't at the hospital.

He was at *Le Canard*.

My breath hitched. *Le Canard* was the most exclusive, expensive French restaurant in the city. A place where a single appetizer cost more than my weekly grocery budget. A smile slowly spread across my face. Of course. He didn't come home because he wanted to surprise me. He must be waiting for me there. He probably thought I’d check the app.

I didn't have a fancy dress, but I grabbed my best coat—a wool trench that had seen better days—and ran out the door. The rain was coming down hard, a cold Seattle drizzle that soaked through my shoes instantly, but I didn't care. My heart was pounding with anticipation.

When I arrived, the maître d' looked me up and down with a sneer, his eyes lingering on my wet hair and muddy boots. "Do you have a reservation, miss?"

"I'm meeting my fiancé," I said, breathless. "Vincent Carter."

Before he could stop me, I scanned the dining room. Crystal chandeliers tinkled overhead, and the smell of truffle oil was overwhelming. And