AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I take a deep breath, the familiar scents of hair dye and shampoo mingling with the underlying metallic tang of the city beyond the salon doors. “Go ahead,” I reply calmly, picking up a clean towel to pat her hair dry. “But remember, a review goes both ways. I can leave a detailed note on your file here about how difficult you are to work with. Do you think another stylist will want to touch your hair after that?”
I will blacklist her ass so hard, she will never get an appointment in this city again.
She narrows her eyes on me, but I see the moment she realizes she’s not going to win this battle. “Fine,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Great,” I say, not bothering to hide my relief. “Let’s finish up here.”
I blink at her with disdain while I wait for her to come up with another reply. Thankfully, she doesn’t. “Okay.” I grab my creams and begin to work it through her hair while she glares at me in the mirror.
That’s fine by me. She doesn’t have to cross the train tracks to get home. She has a driver. She isn’t risking her life after sunset. I am.
I’m pretending, obviously. A bad review would likely put me on the internet, and I can’t have that either.
“That’s it?” She tries to turn around to glare at me again, but I manhandle her face forward. “You don’t care if I give you a bad review?”
I tried so hard to be nice. I really did.
“I’m going to level with you, Christine?—”
“It’s Destiny,” she corrects.
Right. “Destiny.” Who the hell names their kid Destiny? That’s a stripper name if I ever heard one. “We’re on Newbury Street, Destiny.” I slur her name. The sun has set, so that means my last fuck just rode off into the sunset. “I live over in Hyde Park. I don’t have a car, and I already missed my bus.”
“The thirty-two runs?—”
“Ah!” I point a finger full of hair serum at her. “Female.” I wave said finger around my body.
She snorts. “You’ll be fine.”
“And, Destiny, you can schedule for a treatment.” That is me putting my foot down, because if she continues to argue with me, I might give in and stay. To keep myself from talking any more shit, I turn the blow dryer on and begin her blowout, which she prepaid for, thank my stars.
I love my job, and I’m even luckier that my boss helped me get my license in this state when I broke down right off the expressway. I didn’t want to do it at first, because every time my name hits the papers, it sends a small flare of panic through me, but that’s me being dramatic. Getting my cosmetology license didn’t mean my name went in the paper, but it is in a public database because it has to be.
I would prefer to change my name, but I worked so damn hard to get that license, and it almost didn’t happen. I deserve to see my real name on that little piece of paper.
Dammit, I shouldn’t let my fear get the best of me.
I swear some days, I live in constant fight-or-flight, all thanks to my ex-mistake, but he’s a whole trauma dump I don’t have time to let my mind drift into right now. In fact, I need to think about how I’m getting home.
I could splurge and take an Uber, but logically, I should follow through and just take the late bus. I don’t want to, but I will.
I am not overreacting, not by a long shot.
Everyone thinks I’m a beta. Hell, I’m damn good at playing the part. After all, both of my parents were betas, and I’m an only child. They raised me the way any millennial post-pandemic did. Even after I perfumed, they never treated me differently, though my mom did homeschool me just in case, which is probably why I ended up in the situation I did—thousands of miles across the continent, pretending to be a beta. I’m good at it, and no one suspects otherwise. In here, the scent of chemicals keeps me under the radar.
Out there? Not so much. There is only so much hunter’s wash can do to remove my scent. Every day, when I walk out of my apartment, it’s a risk, and it’s one I have no choice but to take.
A girl has to eat.
I had so much hope that some rich scientist would come up with a magic pill I could pop, and boom, faux beta.
Alas, that’s a no, and nothing will ever hide the fact that I’m an omega. At least nothing legal, and I’m not desperate enough to go the dark web route, so while little miss prissy pants here thinks it’s no big deal, it very much is.
An omega who has been sweating all day riding public transport isn’t a great thing. One whiff, just one, and I’m fucked.
2
ARIA
