The room felt like a restrained battlefield.
Serious faces.
Rigid postures.
Carefully calculated silences…
Everything spoke of a truce held together by the thinnest threads of protocol.
No one wanted to throw the first blow—
But all the weapons were already laid on the table.
And the sharpest ones wore fitted dresses and high heels.
Nicole moved first.
She tossed her hair with theatrical flair, tilted her head toward me, and offered a smile laced with venom.
“You know,” she said sweetly, like someone pouring honey before the acid,
“I still remember your microwave hitting the floor. It was quite the liberating show.
Do you still need one? Because, if so, I can gift you one of the ones the omegas use to heat their meals.”
Alfa Lucian and Tara let out low, suppressed laughs—
But
