4

The first month of marriage unfolded like a hymn, steady and unchanging.

Noah rose each morning to the sound of adrian’s voice in prayer. His words filled their home like incense—deep, measured, unyielding. He knelt beside him, repeating the responses he had been trained to know since childhood. Together, their voices blended into a harmony that pleased the elders, who often said that a marriage grounded in ritual would never falter.

After prayer came order. Noah prepared their meals with care, laying everything on the table with precision: bread set to the left, cup to the right, cloth folded neatly in thirds. Adrian always noticed.

“You are careful,” he told him one morning as he lifted his cup. “A Omega who honours the order of the Lord honors his husband as well. This pleases me.”

The praise warmed him more than the morning sun through the window. He lowered his head, whispering, “It is my duty.”

And it was.

His life became a rhythm, and rhythm was safety. He woke, prayed, served, listened. He walked beside Adrian when he visited the temple, always two steps behind, eyes lowered. He smiled when his parents visited, beaming with pride to see their son so dutiful, so blessed.

“This is happiness,” his mother said one afternoon, taking Noah’s hand as she admired the order of Adrian's household. “Do you see how fortunate you are? Some Omegas pray their whole lives for an Alpha so pious, so steady. You must thank the Lord daily.”

Noah did. He thanked Him each night before lying beside Adrian, who never failed to remind him that their bond was sacred.

“An Alpha and Omega joined in righteousness,” he would say, voice low and reverent, “are stronger than temptation, stronger than sin.”

His touch was firm but controlled, never reckless. He claimed him as though performing a ritual, with purpose and restraint. Noah closed his eyes and reminded himself that this was how it should be—no indulgence, no wildness, only order. Desire was dangerous. Duty was holy.

And so the days slid into one another like beads on a string, each one nearly identical to the last. There was comfort in it, Noah told himself. No surprises, no storms. Adrian was never cruel, never indulgent. He corrected him when he erred—his voice too loud, his answers too hesitant—but he did so calmly, like a teacher guiding a child.

“Hesitation shows doubt,” he said once when he paused too long before answering a question. “An Omega should be quick to trust his Alpha.”

“Yes, my lord,” he answered, bowing his head. He tried harder after that.

The corrections stung, but Noah learned to take them as blessings. Adrian wanted him to be perfect, and was that not proof of his devotion? Other wives whispered of husbands who struck in anger, who raged or drank or strayed. Adrian did none of these. Adrian was righteous. Adrian was steady.

And Noah was grateful.

His neighbors admired him, the elders of the temple praised him, and his parents could not stop reminding him how blessed he was.

“You have become a jewel in your husband’s crown,” his father told him proudly. “There is no greater honor for an Omega.”

Noah bowed his head, feeling a swell of pride at the words. He told himself his father was right. This was honor. This was happiness.

If, at times, he felt something hollow stir inside him, he pushed it aside. Such thoughts were dangerous. A good Omega did not question, did not hunger for what he had not been given.

And so, little by little, the restlessness faded.

The memory of the strange name he had once whispered as a child—half curiosity, half forbidden—was gone. Buried. Forgotten.

In its place was silence, and in silence there was peace.

He no longer thought of anything beyond his duties, beyond Adrian's steady presence. He no longer wondered about hidden books or unspoken stories. He no longer asked questions.

Noah, the omega who had once lingered on dangerous words, ceased to exist.

In his place stood Noah, the obedient wife.

And for a time, it was enough.

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