The Bullied Omega's Return

Chapter Four

The kitchen of the pack house was a chaotic symphony of clanging pots, sizzling pans, and increasingly creative profanity as the council dinner approached. I'd arrived in the hated gray uniform—Victoria had left it on my bed with a note that somehow managed to convey disdain using only twelve words and a period—and been immediately pressed into vegetable-chopping duty by Geoff, the pack's head chef.

"They're just carrots, not your enemies," he grumbled, eyeing my aggressive dicing technique. "Try not to murder them quite so enthusiastically."

"Sorry," I muttered, easing up on my knife work. "Just channeling some feelings."

"Channel them into the potatoes next," he said, sliding a mound of spuds my way. "They can take the abuse better."

The kitchen staff—mostly omegas, with a few betas thrown in for tasks requiring more authority than "stir this" or "chop that"—worked with the choreographed precision of people who knew their literal place in the food chain. Maria had been assigned dessert plating, a coveted position that kept her far from council members' critical eyes but still visible enough to be appreciated.

I, on the other hand, had been assigned the most visible task possible: wine service.

"Victoria's idea," Melanie, the head server, informed me with a grimace that could have curdled milk. "She specifically requested you handle the council members' drinks."

"Of course she did," I sighed, imagining the calculated humiliation of forcing me to lean between council members, my birthmark on full display as I poured their precious imported wines. "Any other requests? Perhaps I should do a little dance while I serve, or wear a sign that says 'Look at the cursed omega'?"

"Actually," Melanie lowered her voice, glancing around with the paranoia of someone discussing government conspiracies, "Luna Catherine reassigned you after Victoria left. You're on bread basket duty now."

I nearly dropped the potato I was peeling. "Seriously? Why would she do that?"

Melanie shrugged. "No idea. But Luna Catherine doesn't usually interfere with Victoria's... arrangements."

Interesting. Was this connected to Damien's bizarre request that I stay out of sight? Had he actually gone to his mother to ensure I was less visible during the dinner? The thought was as unsettling as finding out your arch-nemesis had secretly paid off your student loans—confusingly nice, but why?

"When did she make this change?" I asked, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around "desperately curious."

"About an hour ago. Right after her son stopped by her office." Melanie gave me a look that practically screamed "connect these extremely obvious dots." "Seemed pretty insistent about something, from what I overheard."

Before I could process this disturbing information, the kitchen doors swung open with dramatic timing worthy of a telenovela villain entrance. Victoria materialized like a demonic apparition summoned by the mere thought of her name. She wore a sleek black dress that screamed exclusive Italian designer, her blonde hair swept into an elegant updo that made her cheekbones look sharp enough to qualify as concealed weapons.

Her icy gaze zeroed in on me like a heat-seeking missile programmed to find and destroy any traces of my dignity.

"There you are," she said, voice dripping with that special blend of condescension and disappointment she'd perfected to an art form. "I thought I made it clear you were on wine service tonight."

"Luna Catherine reassigned me," I replied, unable to keep the small note of satisfaction from my voice. "Bread baskets."

Victoria's perfectly painted lips thinned to a line so tight it could have doubled as a garrote. "Did she now? How... interesting."

The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop several degrees, like someone had opened a portal directly to the Arctic Circle. Everyone suddenly became fascinated with their various tasks, the volume of activity decreasing as omegas instinctively tried to avoid drawing Victoria's attention.

"Well, we can't have that," she continued, voice silky with danger. "The council members specifically requested our best servers for wine duty."

This was a blatant lie. Council members didn't give two shits who poured their wine as long as it landed in their glasses and not on their laps. They probably wouldn't notice if we trained raccoons for the job, as long as said raccoons were properly deferential.

"I believe Laura is handling wine now," I said, nodding toward the tall beta who'd been grateful for the promotion from bread duty.

"Laura will manage the appetizers," Victoria declared, her tone making it clear this was non-negotiable. "You'll do wine service as planned. I've already informed Melanie of the change."

Melanie, to her credit, looked distinctly uncomfortable. "But Luna Catherine said—"

"Luna Catherine has more important concerns tonight than server assignments," Victoria cut in with the smooth authority of someone who'd spent years perfecting the art of polite intimidation. "I'm sure she won't mind this small adjustment."

Translation: Victoria was pulling rank, gambling that Luna Catherine wouldn't notice or care enough to make an issue of it. It was a ballsy move, countermanding the actual Luna's orders, but Victoria had spent years perfecting the art of appearing more important than she actually was. It was like watching a chihuahua convince everyone it was actually a rottweiler through sheer force of attitude.

"Fine," I conceded, knowing this was a battle I couldn't win without nuclear options I didn't possess. "Wine service it is."

Victoria's smile was sharp enough to qualify as a lethal weapon in most states. "Excellent. And do try to keep that... thing on your face turned away from the council members. We wouldn't want to distract from Alpha Richard's important announcement."

With that parting shot, she swept out of the kitchen, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and soul-crushing defeat.

"Well, that was predictable," I muttered, returning to my potato abuse with renewed vigor. "Victoria: one, Arianna's dignity: zero. The usual scoreboard."

"You okay?" Maria asked, appearing at my side with a concerned frown.

"Peachy. Just looking forward to being showcased like the pack freak while pouring overpriced wine for a bunch of judgy old werewolves who probably still think omegas should be kept in separate quarters and only allowed out to serve food or have babies."

"About that," Maria whispered, leaning closer with the conspiratorial air of someone planning a bank heist. "The other omegas and I have a plan. For after dinner."

I raised an eyebrow. "A plan that won't get us all assigned to latrine duty for the next decade?"

"Maybe." Her eyes glinted with uncharacteristic mischief. "How do you feel about a little eavesdropping on the council's private discussion?"

Despite my foul mood, curiosity flickered to life like a pilot light in my chest. The council's closed sessions were legendary for their secrecy, with only the highest-ranked pack members allowed to attend. Whatever announcement Alpha Richard was making tonight, the real meat of the discussion would happen after dinner, behind closed doors.

"I'm listening," I said, feeling like I'd just agreed to the supernatural equivalent of Ocean's Eleven but with significantly worse odds and no George Clooney.

Maria glanced around to ensure we weren't being overheard. "There's an air vent in the small dining room that connects to the council chamber. If we time it right, we can slip in during dessert service and hear everything."

"Sounds like a great way to get caught and punished spectacularly," I noted. "I'm in."

Maria's smile was equal parts relieved and conspiratorial. "Meet me by the linen closet after you finish wine service. And Arianna?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to piss off any council members before then, okay? We need this to go smoothly."

I placed a hand over my heart in mock offense. "Me? Piss people off? I'm a delight. A goddamn sunshine factory. Ask literally nobody."

Maria rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "Just remember the plan."

As she returned to her dessert station, I couldn't help the small thrill that ran through me. Rebellions, even tiny ones like eavesdropping on a council meeting, were rare among omegas. The risk of punishment was usually too great to justify the temporary satisfaction.

But with my eighteenth birthday looming just three days away, with Victoria's calculated humiliation of wine service hanging over my head, with Damien's bizarre behavior adding to the growing sense that something significant was about to happen... well, what did I really have to lose?

Besides, I'd always wanted to know what the council said about omegas when they thought none of us were listening. Probably nothing worse than what they said to our faces, but still—knowledge was power, even if all it powered was my growing catalog of resentments.

Maybe tonight I'd finally find out if there was a method to this madness, or if the universe really was just one big cosmic joke with me as the punchline.

---

Wine service was every bit the nightmare Victoria had promised, minus the spontaneous combustion I'd secretly been hoping for.

The council chamber—a grand dining room reserved for official pack business—was dominated by a massive oak table that screamed "compensating for something" surrounded by twelve high-backed chairs that looked like they'd been stolen from a medieval torture museum. Alpha Richard sat at the head, commanding and stern in his tailored suit, with Luna Catherine at his right hand, elegant in midnight blue. Damien occupied the place to his father's left, the position of heir apparent, looking uncomfortably formal in a charcoal suit that made his golden eyes seem even more striking against his olive skin.

The remaining seats held an assortment of pack elders, territory representatives, and high-ranking allies from neighboring packs. All alphas and betas, of course. Omegas didn't get a vote in pack governance, just the privilege of serving those who did. Democracy, werewolf style—"of the Alphas, by the Alphas, for the Alphas."

My entrance with the wine cart drew immediate attention—exactly as Victoria had intended. I could feel the weight of their stares as I moved around the table, filling glasses with practiced efficiency despite my trembling hands.

"Is that the Reyes girl?" one elder whispered not-quite-quietly-enough to his neighbor. "The marked one?"

"Alfred's other daughter," came the reply. "Shame about that face. Would have been pretty otherwise."

I kept my expression carefully neutral, focusing on pouring exactly the right amount of red wine into Council Member Harrison's glass without visualizing dumping the entire bottle over his balding head. Three more to go. I could do this without committing a felony. Probably.

Then I reached Damien.

His eyes locked onto mine as I leaned forward to fill his glass, a muscle ticking in his jaw like a time bomb with an unspecified detonation time. Up close, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the tight grip he maintained on his silverware like he was considering stabbing someone with his salad fork.

"I told you to stay out of sight," he hissed, voice low enough that only my enhanced omega hearing could catch it.

"Wasn't my call," I whispered back, carefully tilting the wine bottle. "Victoria insisted."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—not anger, as I'd expected, but something closer to alarm. My birthmark responded with a sympathetic tingle, like they were communicating in some secret language the rest of me wasn't privy to.

"After dinner. Meet me in the library," he murmured, before raising his voice to normal levels. "That's enough."

I straightened, moving to the next council member with as much dignity as I could muster while wearing what amounted to a designer potato sack. From the corner of my eye, I caught Luna Catherine watching our exchange, her expression thoughtful in a way that made my anxiety spike.

Once all glasses were filled, I retreated to the perimeter of the room, taking my place against the wall with the other servers like the world's most depressing lineup. Victoria, who had somehow wrangled an invitation to observe the dinner despite not being on the council, shot me a satisfied smirk from her position near the door.

Alpha Richard rose from his seat, commanding immediate silence. At forty-five, he was imposing rather than traditionally handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair and the same golden eyes he'd passed to his son. The Alpha power that radiated from him made every omega in the room instinctively lower their gaze, like puppets with their strings suddenly yanked.

"Honored council members," he began, voice resonating with authority. "I've called this special session to discuss a matter of great importance to our pack's future."

I risked a glance at Damien, who sat straighter, a barely contained excitement visible in the set of his shoulders. Whatever this announcement was, he was clearly anticipating it eagerly. Great. As previously established, anything that made Damien happy generally made my life exponentially worse.

"For generations, Silver Fang has maintained its position as the strongest pack in the region through careful alliances and strong bloodlines," Richard continued. "Tonight, I'm pleased to announce that tradition will continue through a union that will strengthen us for decades to come."

A union? I exchanged confused glances with Maria, who had positioned herself near the dessert cart.

"Three days from now, on the full moon, my son Damien will celebrate his eighteenth birthday by formalizing his engagement to Sophia Reyes, daughter of our former Alpha."

Damien, Sophia, and I had the same birthday? What were the chances of that?

The room erupted in congratulatory murmurs and approving nods. I, meanwhile, felt like I'd been hit by a cosmic two-by-four to the solar plexus.

Sophia. Engaged to Damien. On our birthday.

Victoria's triumphant smile could have powered a small city as she accepted congratulations from nearby council members. Alpha Richard continued speaking, something about "honoring traditions" and "respecting our past while securing our future," but the words washed over me like I was suddenly underwater, everything distorted and distant.

This was the big announcement? This was what had Damien so excited? An arranged marriage to my twin sister, conveniently timed to coincide with our eighteenth birthday—the day mate bonds were supposed to activate?

I must have swayed visibly, because Maria appeared at my side, steadying me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Fine," I lied, the word tasting like I'd licked a battery. "Just surprised."

But was I really? Sophia had been practically groomed for this since Victoria married my father. The perfect beta daughter, being handed the perfect alpha mate, while I served them wine and tried not to let my cursed face ruin their appetite.

The Moon Goddess really did have a twisted sense of humor. If my life were a Netflix series, viewers would be complaining the writers were laying it on too thick with the symbolic parallels.

My gaze drifted back to Damien, expecting to find him celebrating his good fortune. Instead, I found him staring directly at me, his expression unreadable. When our eyes met, something passed between us—a jolt of... something... that made my birthmark flare hot against my cheek.

He looked away first, returning his attention to his father's speech. But the strange connection lingered, a phantom sensation that refused to dissipate, like an aftertaste you can't quite identify but definitely don't trust.

"Dessert time," Maria whispered, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. "Remember the plan."

Right. The plan. Eavesdropping on the council's private discussion. With everything that had just happened, I'd nearly forgotten our little omega Ocean's Eleven scheme.

As the dinner service concluded and council members moved to the adjoining chamber for their closed session, I helped clear wine glasses with mechanical efficiency, my mind racing.

Sophia and Damien. Engaged. A political match designed to unite the old Alpha bloodline with the new, wrapping tradition and power into one neat package.

Where did that leave me? The defective twin, the omega with the cursed mark, the living reminder of my mother's death and my father's failure?

Three days until my eighteenth birthday. Three days until Sophia's engagement became official. Three days until whatever fate the Moon Goddess had planned for me revealed itself.

And judging by today's developments, it wasn't looking promising. Unless the Goddess had a spectacular plot twist up her celestial sleeve, I was starring in a supernatural tragedy with a predictably bleak third act.

As I slipped away to meet Maria by the linen closet, I couldn't shake the memory of Damien's expression when our eyes had met—not triumph or excitement, but something that looked disturbingly like conflict. Like he was fighting some internal battle I couldn't begin to understand.

Meet me in the library, he'd said.

Fat chance of that happening now. Whatever game he was playing, I wanted no part of it. His game board was set, his queen selected, and I was just a pawn being moved around for everyone else's convenience.

I had a council meeting to spy on and my rapidly disintegrating future to worry about. Damien Blackthorn and his cryptic warning could take a one-way trip to the sun, for all I cared.

At least, that's what I told myself as I followed Maria toward our rebellious rendezvous, ignoring the persistent ache in my chest that felt suspiciously like disappointment.