Guarded by Two Alpha Knights

Chapter 6

Ara’s POV

I'm tidying up the office while Jack is sitting there like a royal on his makeshift throne, legs crossed.

“Want to lend a hand, Your Highness?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I struggle to drag a mountain of old files into some semblance of order.

“Oh, I'm supervising,” Jack replies with a smirk, tilting his head as if appraising a piece of art. “You're doing great by the way. Consider this your performance review.”

“How generous of you,” I retort, rolling my eyes.

After finally bringing some order to the chaos, Jack decides it’s the perfect opportunity for some mischief. With a devilish grin, he gives the full bucket of water a nudge with his foot. It teeters for a breathless second before toppling over with a resounding "clang," unleashing its contents like a mini tsunami.

The cascading water floods the floor, and an unwelcome flood of memories crashes over me with equal force. All of a sudden, I'm back in my childhood home.

I can still see my dad’s friends barging in, rowdy as a band of pirates, turning our modest living room into a frat house. They’d swagger in with their clinking beer bottles, and within minutes, every surface was a candidate for disaster—spills everywhere, furniture rearranged in abstract patterns, stray peanuts crunching underfoot.

It wasn't just the mess that got to me.

It was the relentless cycle of cleaning up only to watch helplessly as it was undone.

I'd spend hours scrubbing the sticky residue from the floors, the smell of stale beer clinging to my clothes like an unwelcome shadow. I'd barely finish stacking the last of the washed dishes when someone would decide it was time for another round. As if my efforts were an invisible routine.

And if I dared to voice my frustration, their laughter would ring in my ears, becoming a harsh reminder of my helplessness. Worse still, my dad would insist I apologize to his friends, playing the gracious host and reminding me to "speak nicely".

Or else I’d face the consequences that came with stepping out of line. Those were the silent threats, the ones that hung in the air, leaving me walking on eggshells, trying to avoid the inevitable blowback.

Tears well up, the salty sting pulling me back to those endless, exhausting nights. I'm overwhelmed not just by the physical fatigue etched in my memory but by the emotional weight. The sense of being the only responsible adult in a sea of overgrown children.

Suddenly, Jack’s voice breaks through my spiral, filled with a frantic urgency that's both disarming and oddly sweet. “Oh no, don’t cry! I’m sorry!” he exclaims, practically tripping over his own words. He waves his arms around frantically, a clumsy attempt at being comforting.

It’s clear he’s never been in this situation before.

“Hey Ara, look at me. I didn’t mean to...” he stumbles on, his eyes wide with worry as if my tears have conjured a puzzle he desperately wants to solve. And despite the heaviness in my chest, I can’t help but feel a warm pull towards him. It is like a mix of amusement and gratitude, for I know he’s trying in his own unique, chaotic way to be there for me.

Jack clumsily moves closer, his face a mix of concern and determination, as if he’s about to defuse a bomb instead of helping clean up. “Here, let me!” he insists, though his way of assistance looks like a toddler’s first wobbly steps.

His earnestness tugs at something inside me, and I can't help but let out a chuckle. Wiping my eyes quickly, I feign strength and composure. "It’s fine. I’ve got it," I assure him, trying to steady my voice and mask the vulnerability in my eyes.

He hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to help and not knowing how. He stands back, watching me as I wander through the waters with a practiced ease.

“Okay, seriously, how are you so good at this?” he asks with surprise.

I pause, considering how to distill my years of boot-camp-level cleaning into a simple explanation. “Let’s just say, if housecleaning were a sport, I’d be buried under gold medals by now. It was my own personal training back home,” I say, trying to wrap my truth in humor, to lighten the weight of my past and make it seem less daunting than it was.

Jack continues watching, a mix of fascination and respect in his eyes, as I tackle the mess with the efficiency of someone who’s been through this a thousand times. Despite the heaviness of the memories, I feel a flicker of pride.

Surviving the chaos didn’t break me; it made me who I am today. Exhausted, maybe, but resilient and strong in ways Jack might never fully understand.

“So, no omega maid in your pack?” Jack wonders aloud, genuinely curious.

"There’s no pack,” I reply with a steady voice. “Dad went bankrupt, so no more omega servants." I force a smile, willing myself to sound nonchalant.

Realizing it's a good moment to clear the air, I continue, “By the way, this is why I didn’t show up the next day. Sorry to keep you waiting back then.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Those years, Dad and I were laying low somewhere in the Midwest, trying to dodge creditors.”

"I'm so sorry," Jack mutters, guilt etched into every feature of his face.

I shrug it off, offering a small smile. "It's fine," I reassure him.

"Um, just let me know if there's anything you need," he suggests kindly.

After a moment's thought, I say, "If you come across any good part-time opportunities, let me know."

Jack immediately nods. "Absolutely."

I pause, then add, “And maybe you should clear up your little situationship with Bianca. If you like her, be with her. If not, make it clear. That way she won’t get paranoid and lash out her anger on me.”

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "I've already made it clear to her, like a thousand times! But Bianca just won't let it go and keeps hounding me. I'm polite to keep the peace for the hockey team and the Brooks family's business partnership."

“Oh,” I respond, unsure of how to solve this tangled web myself.

Just as we're stewing in awkward silence, a bizarre sound suddenly crashes into the room, slicing through the tension like a rubber mallet. Jack's face twists into a spectacle of fear and confusion, his eyebrows leaping up like they're trying to escape his forehead.

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, I head toward the window, ready to get out.

Jack moves swiftly, stepping in front of me with a protective stance, hands outstretched as if to barricade me. “Don’t, Ara.”he says, his tone serious yet oddly comical in its urgency.

“Seriously, don’t you hear that?” I insist, gesturing wildly. “It’s like a ghost with a toothache!”

“Hang on, that's not what you think!” His voice is a mix of urgency and pleading, a note of desperation coloring his attempt to keep me from rushing headlong into whatever awaits.

“Are you deaf?” I ask incredulously, trying to sidestep him. “Someone's in pain!”

"No, I'm not! And no one is in pain……" he says, rolling his eyes even as he reaches for my arm to gently hold me back.

But I've already dodged him. “You tell yourself that. But don’t stop me. I can't be indifferent to others’ suffering,” I declare, vaulting over the window ledge.

“For the Moon’s sake!” Jack groans, right on my heels, diving after me. “Those are moans of pleasure, genius.”

His words slam the brakes on my rescue mission, and the absurdity of the situation knocks the wind out of me.

Our eyes meet, and his expression is an entertaining cocktail of exasperation and amusement.

Panic flutters through me as I feel a warm flush spread across my cheeks, embarrassment painting me in a rosy glow.

Jack is happier than ever. With a playful smirk, he drawls, “Well, it seems tonight is more eventful than I thought. Fancy taking a closer look together?”