Brie's POV
The omegas’ pity is almost worse than their envy.
They stand in a tight circle near the scullery door, whispering behind wet dishrags and greasy aprons.
Mabel drops a wooden spoon and it hits the stone floor with a sharp crack.
“She has to wear the white wool,” Mabel mutters, her voice barely a breath. “The old one with the frayed hem. They want her to look small.”
“I am right here,” I say.
My voice sounds flat, like cold dishwater. Mabel flinches and looks away. None of them want to catch my eye today.
Being chosen by the Alpha is a death sentence wrapped in velvet, and everyone knows it.
Three. Four. Five. I count the ceiling beams to keep my breathing steady. In, out. Do not panic, panic wastes oxygen and invites mistakes I cannot afford.
The brass bell rings from th
