Alicia's Fate

Choosing Her

The next morning, Clara was a coiled wire of hostility, sharp, and vibrating with barely restrained venom. Her heels clicked like tiny sparks of irritation as she made her way to the Luna suite, fully prepared to begin Phase One of her campaign: break the girl early.

She imagined finding Alicia curled up on the bed, timid, and uncertain. Grateful for guidance. She also imagined tears and obedience, but nothing prepared her for what she found.

The suite was empty, the bed was neatly arranged, as if untouched. Clara stood in the doorway, blinking. Then her expression twisted into something poisonous.

“What the hell...?”

She whirled, fury propelling her down the grand staircase. Halfway down, a warm, enticing aroma drifted upward, sautéed herbs, simmering broth, something sweet baking in the ovens.

The scent hit her like an insult.

Clara followed it past the dining hall and through the swinging doors of the industrial kitchen. Her breath snagged in her throat at what she saw.

Alicia, the fragile, timid little stray Ethan had dragged home was already at the massive stove.

Hair tied up, sleeves rolled, calmly stirring a pot twice her size, beside her, a tray of perfectly shaped cinnamon-honey rolls rested under a towel, ready for the oven. A pan of potato-herb hash crackled on the stove, rosemary releasing its sharp, clean fragrance.

And on the counter, a bowl of silky pancake batter waited, lemon zest perfuming the air. Another tray stacked with perfectly golden, uniform pancakes sat beside the batter. Steam curled upward, tinted with butter and something pleasantly sweet.

Every surface was already prepped, organized, spotless. She had done the work of five wolves before sunrise and hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Clara’s jaw clenched until her teeth ached.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Alicia glanced over her shoulder, blinking once in mild confusion, as if Clara were the unexpected element in the room.

There were no tears. No trembling.

Just quiet purpose born from years of servitude woven deep into her bones.

And Clara hated her for it.

Alicia turned from the stove, offering Clara a gentle polite smile, which was maddeningly calm.

“Good morning, Clara. I hope the council likes maple syrup. I found a fresh batch in the pantry.” For a full heartbeat, Clara simply gaped at her.

“Why are you here?” Clara hissed, stepping forward. "The kitchen staff handles breakfast, not...” She choked back the word she really wanted to say. “...not you.”

Her voice trembled with fury. This was supposed to be her battlefield, the domain where she would drown the girl in exhausting chores, humiliation, and reminders of her place. But Alicia didn't even seem to notice or acted like she didn't see it. She simply refuse to break, trying to ascertain her position so quick. Clara thought with annoyance not a chance!

“Oh, it’s already done,” Alicia replied lightly, stepping past her with quiet confidence that felt like a slap. She moved with a grace born from years of necessity: she was quick, and efficient.

Alicia's calm competence only infuriated Clara more than open defiance ever could. And before Clara could recover enough to lash out again, the outer door swung open. Michael stepped inside, head bent over a clipboard, scanning a list.

“Morning...” he began automatically.

Clara transformed instantly. Her spine straightened, her expression softened, and her voice slid into a syrupy tone so artificial it nearly crystallized midair.

“Michael!” she chirped, sugar coating every syllable. “Good morning. I was just checking on how breakfast preparations were going.”

Alicia, behind her, blinked once in mild bewilderment. Clara’s smile widened, sweet, radiant… and deadly venomous beneath. The real performance had begun.

“Oh, Michael! Isn’t this just lovely?” Clara exclaimed, the sweetness in her voice so artificial it almost crackled. She glided toward Alicia like a serpent in silk. “Our Luna is so thoughtful!”

"It's nice," Michael managed, staring at Alicia in astonishment.

She placed a hand on Alicia’s shoulder, delicate, ladylike, and yet squeezing just hard enough to bruise.

“Right? I was just telling her to rest,” Clara continued with a breathy, faux-concerned laugh. “But she insists on helping out!”

Alicia simply stepped out of reach, subtle as a breeze, refusing both the possessive touch and the implied hierarchy. She reached instead for the steaming coffee pot, her movements calm and unhurried.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was ready,” she said evenly, pouring herself a cup without hesitation. “It didn’t feel right to leave the kitchen unprepared.”

Her tone wasn’t defensive or submissive, just simply… factual. And that fact gnawed at Clara like acid.

Right then, the kitchen doors swung open and the staff finally arrived, four wolves led by their massive head chef, Steve. They froze in unison. Their faces drained of color.

Luna Alicia was in their kitchen, working before dawn. And the food already looked better than anything they’d managed in years.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He wrung his hands, horrified at what this implied. If Ethan walked in, he would think they were deliberately being lazy or worse, that they had forced the fragile new Luna to work. A collective, silent panic rippled through the room.

“L-Luna, please!” Steve burst out, voice cracking like thunder through glass. “You shouldn’t be here. We are sorry, the breakfast got delayed, it wouldn't happen again please.”

One of the younger omegas squeaked, already on the verge of tears. Another whispered a frantic prayer under their breath. The kitchen had transformed into a minefield, and they all knew it.

And in the center of it stood Alicia…calm and composed. Which only made Clara’s smile tighten, the edges sharpening like drawn blades.

“Oh, it’s fine. It was just a few pancakes,” Alicia said softly, lifting a steaming mug to her lips. She had no idea she’d just overturned the entire hierarchy of the kitchen or that every wolf in the room was silently panicking about the Alpha’s wrath.

Clara, however, understood perfectly. She watched the ripple of fear move through the staff and allowed herself a thin, brittle smile.

Good, let them squirm, the more reason they will hate her.

Just then, a familiar, commanding presence filled the doorway and Ethan stepped inside.

His eyes swept the room in a single, assessing pass: the tower of flawless pancakes, the fully prepped breakfast, the chef trembling behind his staff, Clara’s smug little smirk… and Alicia, standing at the stove as if she belonged nowhere else.

He understood instantly.

Alicia’s instinctive servitude had kicked in. The staff was terrified of failing him, and Clara was enjoying every second of it.

Contrary to what they all expected, Ethan did the complete opposite, he simply strode toward Alicia with calm, controlled purpose and without a word, he slipped behind her, placing his large hands on her waist and drawing her back against his chest in a slow, possessive embrace.

Alicia stiffened, startled, and her cheeks instantly went scarlet.

Ethan lowered his head, in the full view of everyone present and took a long drag of Alicia's scent, a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest.

“Hmmm.” His voice was a deep, husky purr. “You smell only like mountain roses.” He brushed his nose against her skin again. “The best scent in this entire fortress.”

Alicia’s breath caught. She looked ready to melt through the floor. Ethan, utterly unfazed, kept one arm locked securely around her waist as he straightened. His embrace wasn’t just affection, it was a declaration.

This woman is mine.

“Micheal,” Ethan called lightly, though the Alpha command thrummed beneath it. “Tell the council breakfast is served.”

He turned his gaze to the trembling chef.

“And Steve… the Luna’s pancakes are excellent.”

Relief swept through the staff so hard that one of them visibly sagged.

“Now,” Ethan added, voice returning to cool authority, “take everything to the dining hall.”

“Y–yes, Alpha! Right away!” He snapped orders at his staff with newfound energy, all of them rushing to pack the trays with exaggerated speed, terrified yet grateful the crisis had somehow turned into praise.

Clara, meanwhile, looked as though someone had slapped her across the face. Her carefully crafted scheme, Alicia humiliated, the staff reprimanded, and Ethan furious, had evaporated the moment Ethan walked in and openly claimed Alicia like a treasure he had no intention of hiding.

Alicia, still held against Ethan’s chest, swallowed hard, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides. She wasn’t used to being touched gently, let alone publicly, and the open affection overwhelmed her, sending heat rushing up her neck.

“E–Ethan,” she whispered, mortified by all the watching eyes.

He only hummed, brushing his cheek against her temple. “You cooked,” he murmured, not accusing, not upset, just quietly amused, as if he had expected nothing less from a girl who didn’t know how to rest even when she was safe. “Next time, tell me. I’ll keep you company.”

Alicia’s breath caught. Keep her company? In the kitchen? At dawn? As if it were a privilege?

Clara stepped forward, forcing a brittle laugh. “Alpha, surely you don’t mean to...to reward this? She shouldn’t be tiring herself or... or behaving like staff. She is supposed to be resting for the ceremony. We all know she’s… delicate.”

Ethan’s expression didn’t shift, but the room temperature dropped several degrees.

Alicia stiffened in his arms, her face flushing in embarrassment, shame instinctively knotting in her stomach. Clara’s words hit directly at the insecurities she’d spent her whole life trying to hide.

Without releasing her, Ethan looked at Clara.

“Clara.”

The single word carried the weight of a warning.

Clara’s spine snapped straight, her smile faltering.

Ethan continued, voice calm but edged with unmistakable steel. “If Alicia chooses to cook, she may cook. If she chooses to rest, she may rest. She isn’t staff. She isn’t fragile. She isn’t a problem for you to manage.” His eyes sharpened. “Do you understand?”

Clara’s cheeks twitched. The humiliation burned deep. “Of... of course, Alpha,” she choked, bowing her head.

Alicia looked up, startled, unused to someone defending her so quickly, so publicly, without hesitation.

Ethan finally loosened his hold, turning her gently to face him. His hands remained on her waist, steady and warm.

“Are you hungry?” he asked softly, ignoring everyone else.

Alicia blinked. “A bit.”

“Good.” His voice dropped. “Eat with me.”

That simple invitation, quiet, intimate, stated as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sent shockwaves through the room.

But Clara felt something cold and ugly coil behind her ribs. Because Ethan wasn’t just protecting Alicia.

He was choosing her.

Again. And again.