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The only thing my omega knows is that they should worship me, love me. They should want to spend every moment of every day with me, and they clearly don’t.
He looks at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to agree to his demand. To his one rule, apparently. I am to be confined to the penthouse at all times.
Well, I’ve got fucking news for him. I refuse to be kept in a fucking cage. Too much of my life has been spent behind closed doors being inactive, watching life pass me by. I won’t do that again.
Never.
“Sadie?”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I circle the island and head toward my room, fully intending to leave him hanging for the rest of the fucking night. I’m not in the mood to talk to him. I won’t be able to have a rational conversation, not while I’m hurting as bad as I am.
The childish cold shoulder I’m giving him right now is proof of that.
“Trouble.” His hand curls around my upper arm, yanking me to a standstill. “I need you to agree to this.”
If he hadn’t just rubbed his sexual relationship with the coat check girl in my face, and told her I was nothing but trouble—the name he just called me—if I hadn’t just spent almost an entire day alone, I might believe that this request comes from a place of caring.
But Sorrel always says when people show you who they are, believe them. And what Maddox Falcone has shown me is an overbearing asshole who doesn’t want an omega and doesn’t care to get to know me now that he has one.
It’s not up to me to change his mind about any of this. I sure as fuck will not make it easy on him by suddenly becoming pliant and docile when I haven’t been like that for fucking years. I spent too long like that in my formative years to go back to it.
So instead of agreeing with the prime alpha of the pack that should want me but clearly doesn’t, I yank away from him. He must not be expecting the move because his fingers slip from me and I stumble forward, catching myself before I faceplant on the wall, and then continuing on to the room he assigned me.
Frustration burbles in my stomach, making my chest tight as he follows. “Answer me, omega,” he growls out. I wince at the term. The possessive edge to it I know is only because he’s an alpha and I’m an omega. It has nothing to do with me as a person.
I cross the threshold and try to close the door, but Maddox is right there, pushing through the door, crowding into the small room, until I’m backed against the wall and he’s towering over me, hands braced on either side of my head as he curls over my shorter body.
“Fucking agree to my rules, Sadie,” he demands again. “No leaving the penthouse without one of us. No going to The Market without one of us. No running errands without one of us.”
I clench my jaw and stare at the buttons of his shirt, biting back the angry words I want to say. If my lips part, I will unload all of my hurt and pain onto this man who doesn’t give a shit about me, so I stay fucking quiet.
“I really don’t like being ignored, trouble.” I flinch at the word, at the reminder of what he thinks of me, how he views me. There’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it disappears in a heartbeat, smothered by smug pride. Pride that he can hurt me so easily.
My anger reaches its breaking point and any hope I had of putting off this conversation until tomorrow vanishes.
“Yeah?” I shout, fists clenching at my sides. “Well, neither the fuck do I!”
“What does that even mean?” He roars back.
Arching a brow, I point at the door and say quieter, “leave me alone, Maddox. I’m serious. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
“The feeling’s fucking mutual, trouble.” I swear he emphasizes the word just to watch me flinch again. He smirks as he spins on his heel and exits the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound is too loud, making me jump, but I swear the audible click of the lock turning from the outside is even fucking louder.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper, lunging toward the door, trying the handle, even knowing what I’ll find. Locked. He fucking locked me in this cell of a room. My fist slams into the wood. “Motherfucker!” I shout louder. “Mother fucking fuck fucker! Let me the fuck out.”
He chuckles on the other side of the door. “I’ll deal with you in the morning, trouble.”
Then he walks away.
I stand there staring at the door, speechless. Numb.
My omega wails. Pounds. Tries to get out. To get me to react at fucking all.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
Scent matches are supposed to need to be together. To want to offer each other comfort. To do anything for each other. I’m not supposed to fight with them, right? I’m not supposed to shout. The omega in a pack acts as an anchor, a ballast. They’re meant to balance out all the strong alpha energy and smooth the pack bonds, and in return the alphas provide for their omega, give them a safe, stable, comfortable space. It’s supposed to be an imperative need to take care of the omega, give them what they need.
Nothing about this is right. Not in the slightest.
