Icarus is protecting me.
Warmth spreads through me.
Icarus looks like just another grumpy Alphahole.
Looks can be deceiving, however, and haven’t I learned that in the last few years?
I duck my head to hide the smile playing at the corner of my lips, pretending to be contrite.
Aunty Lashonda is my close friend on the staff, the concierge.
Zoe has a lot of aunts and uncles. In fact, the sad thing is that she has dozens ofaunts and uncleson the staff who she sees more of than her biological uncle, Hatton, who hasn’t been allowed to see her yet, or her granddad.
Dad has been banned from even giving Zoe a hug, which I know is killing him.
He treated all three of us kids the same, giving us the same amount of love, not caring which of us he had birthed.
He was an amazing Dad, whether encouraging me in my rampaging Robin Hood days, reading me bedtime stories no matter how tired he was, or patiently listening for hours when I was a teenager and obsessing over the latest Idol album by Immortal.
I had such a crush on the Beta rock star.
I was convinced that Immortal would be my Beta when I turned twenty-one.
Dad never destroyed my dreams.
Instead, he encouraged me to shoot for the stars, even if it meant that I came crashing down to earth and broke every bone in my fucking body.
I still tried.
Plus, no matter how tough Dad’s life was with my stepmom, he shielded us from the reality of it, until we were old enough to work out the truth for ourselves.
I want to free him and Papa from the guilded cage at the top of this hotel, as much as the Omegas beneath it.
I jog to follow after Icarus, as he smartly walks down further concrete corridors and then descends into the staff living quarters.
The corridor that runs between the dorms is narrow. There are no windows down here, only white washed walls and neon lights.
I wrinkle my nose at the sweet scent of breakfasts, wafting from the nearby kitchens. Sadly, only breakfasts for the guests.
My stomach grumbles.
I remember when I dined on fresh fruit, pasties, bacon, eggs, and my favorite, blueberry pancakes soaked in syrup.
The staff only receive toast or porridge. I’ve become used to it.
But should I have to? Should any of us?
Should my daughter?
The corridors bustle with Beta servers, chefs, housekeepers, and Omega HOs.
The Omega Hotel is a world within a world.
As soon as the staff see Icarus, it’s like the parting of the Red Sea.
Deferentially, they draw to the sides of the corridor, bowing and bobbing their heads with respectful murmurs ofMr. Sinner.
Mr. Sinner doesn’t acknowledge anyone, but his expression softens a fraction.
