ZARA:
The clinic was finally quiet, though the scent of blood and herbs still clung to the air. My hands ached from scrubbing, but no matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t scrub away his voice.
Slut.
The word kept slicing through me like claws. I pressed the rag harder against the floor, my arms trembling. I told myself it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care what he thought of me. But I did. More than I should.
If I worked harder, if I proved myself useful, maybe then he would look at me differently. Maybe then he’d see I was more than just a desperate little omega.
But wasn’t that pathetic? Still chasing scraps of affection from a man who hated me?
I sat back on my heels, biting my lip until I tasted blood. What if I stopped? What if I let go of him, of the bond, of the dream of being
