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That I’m their good girl.
Their perfect Omega.
They both worship me, whispering words of devotion until I fall asleep, tucked between them.
* * *
I wakeand they’re gone.
I have no idea how long I’ve slept, but I’m more rested than I’ve been in months.
My body is no longer on fire, and I’m only mildly sore between my legs. My gland throbs, sensitive from Killian’s abuse, but the desperation and need have disappeared.
I’m back to myself.
Mostly.
I’m still naked, but my skin smells of sweet soap and the blankets have been replaced with new, clean ones.
They spoil me.
And the frustrating part is, I’m starting to like it.
Being away from the chaos of the world and hiding inside of Brock’s house brings me peace I haven’t had in weeks.
But, I’m not used to being taken care of.
I’ve never wanted that—I’ve wanted to emulate my parents and be successful without relying on an Alpha to help me.
I was a surprise—my parents never expected to raise an Omega daughter, and they treated me like any other child.
They taught me I didn’t need anyone else in order for me to succeed in life.
I could be who I wanted, whether or not I had a mate.
And like Brock, I threw myself into my work, desperate to be the best at my job.
Or I used to.
But with enough idle time, anxiety gnaws at my gut.
Is this what I’m reduced to? A spoiled Omega, aroused out of her mind while lounging in thousand-dollar fashion?
Living with a celebrity chef, a tech mogul, and their crazed roommate?
How am I any different from the Omegas atEden?
The guilt comes crawling back to me as I open the laptop, catching up with the world news.
But almost every article focuses onEden.
Paparazzi snapped pictures of a famous actor, a smirk on his plastic face as he entered the glorified brothel.
The day before, protestors were shot with tear gas and rubber bullets as they tried to break past the barricades of the remodeled luxury hotel.
It takes one video link to find out why this particular protest turned violent.
An Omega jumped from the roof ofEden.
