Foolish.
The word sticks, looping in my head in the loudest way. My fingers grip the edge of the couch and I fix him a glare.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I state.
“I beg to differ.” He pulls back, settling against the couch.
My fingers dig deeper into the cushion. I try to push it down — the anger, the hurt, all of it — but it fights back anyway.
“Do you think everyone gets a rosy life like you?” I ask. “Like we all just wake up and get handed whatever we want because of our last name? Goddess forbid we’re not Alpha Strout’s son, having people worship us and fall over themselves just to be near us.”
My voice cracks slightly.
“I’m an omega,” I continue. “That already decides how people treat me so I don’t get to just ignore it and move on like you do.” I bite down on my
