AllFreeNovel
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I should leave.
I know I should leave. I don’t even want to be here…
My feet stay rooted to the floor. In fact, they may even press into the sticky linoleum a bit more. Like my body is staging a sit-in to protest my brain.
You caused this, asshole. Now you get to sit here and watch.
It’s been a week since Remi moved into the pack house, and my life has turned into a living hell.
A living hell with homemade muffins, lemon-scented candles, and fresh flowers on every table.
So, really, it’s heaven.
But hell, nonetheless, because our omega hates me.
And I don’t blame her. Especially after the other night.
While I remain paralyzed, the line at Proper Coffee slogs forward, bringing new customers up to the register. I should at least pretend to be doing something, but I can’t.
The fact is, I’ve fucked this whole thing to hell and back. Treating an employee like a servant. Scaring an innocent omega. Barking her out of her home. Putting her in our guest room. Rutting her mouth like an animal.
The worst part may be: I don’t regret making her leave that mold-infested hovel any more than I regret making her suite perfect before I let her see it.
She deserves a perfect room and a beautiful nest. Especially since she has to put up with the likes of me in order to live in our house.
The same house that Remi’s whipped into shape. Doing what I couldn’t accomplish over two years in a matter of days.
It started with the kitchen, of course.
I’ve continued my irregular working hours, doing my best to avoid run-ins with her. Not wanting to scare her or be a looming presence she can’t avoid. Not wanting to smell her perfect perfume and end up rutting her into a wall the way I almost rutted her into my bedroom floor.
One day, after leaving well before anyone was awake and coming home after ten, I walked in the back door and found the cabinets painted a light, powdery blue. They looked fantastic. I was so impressed that I opened one to see if she had the insides done as well.
Only to find food.
In our kitchen.
Not Cocoa Puffs, either. But actual ingredients.
The next night, I discovered that weren’t just for show. Sometime after eight, I slipped in the back door, intending to go up to the desk in my room to keep working. But a cheerful yellow note on the island stopped me cold.
Alpha,
Your dinner is in the oven. Please turn off the warm setting when you retrieve it.
-Remi
I stared at that fucking dash for way longer than I’d like to admit, feeling nauseous about it. Wondering what she’d use to sign a note to Cassian or Damon. If their three scents—twined and soaked into the couch, the kitchen, the upstairs bedrooms—were any indication, I bet they’d at least get a smiley face.
Yet, no matter how much our omega clearly loathes me, I find a plate of food in the oven every single night. All of it has been delicious, nutritionally balanced, and heaped with extra protein. As if she took a special class on cooking for alphas.
Hell. Maybe she did. That wouldn’t even surprise me.
And the one night my meal was clearly something the three of them had ordered in? She left me an apology, explaining that Damon requested Chinese food and promising she would go back to her meal plan the following night.
Which, she did.
While I did everything I could to avoid going home, I also did everything I could to avoid setting foot in Proper Coffee. For one, I hadn’t replaced her when I forced her out of her old life and into ours. That meant I had no idea what sort of chaos would confront me when I walked in.
