Rafe can deal with it.
"Sure," Cal says finally, pulling out his own phone. It is the latest model, sleek and shiny and everything Mabeline's ancient device is not. "What is your number, MaeMae?"
She rattles off the digits, and I watch Cal save them with a contact name I cannot quite see from this angle. Probably something stupid. Probably something that will annoy me.
Etienne does the same, his movements gentle and deliberate, like he is handling something precious instead of exchanging basic contact information with a roommate.
Pathetic. Both of them. Absolutely pathetic.
Then they both turn to look at me.
Expectant.
Waiting.
I cross my arms tighter over my chest.
"She can exchange numbers with you two," I say, my voice flat. "I do not need her number."
Something flickers across Mabeline's face. Surprise, maybe. Or hurt. It is gone too fast for me to identify, replaced by that mask of careful neutrality she wears like armor.
"Fine." She shrugs, the movement deliberately casual. "I did not particularly want yours anyway."
Liar.
Wait. Why do I care if she is lying? I do not care. I do not want her to want my number. This is exactly the outcome I was aiming for.
So why does her easy acceptance feel like a splinter under my skin?
"Well then." She turns to Miss Phillip, her posture shifting into something more relaxed now that the phone exchange is complete. "I think we will be fine from here. You are probably very busy, and I do not want to take up any more of your time."
Miss Phillip studies her for a moment. Studies all of us, actually, her sharp eyes cataloguing the bruise on my cheek, the split on Cal's lip, the protective way Etienne is still angled toward Mabeline like he expects an attack at any moment.
"Mmhm." The sound is skeptical. Knowing. The sound of someone who has seen enough drama to recognize when more is brewing just beneath the surface. "If you are sure, Miss Rose."
"I am sure."
"Very well." Miss Phillip makes her way toward the door, her heels clicking against the hardwood with efficient precision. She pauses at the threshold, one hand on the frame, and looks back over her shoulder.
That knowing smile is back. The one that makes me feel like she can see directly through my bullshit to the chaos underneath.
"Good luck," she says. And then, with a smirk that could mean absolutely anything, she is gone.
The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence descends.
Four people standing in a living room that suddenly feels way too small. Three Alphas and one Omega. Three childhood bullies and the girl they tormented. One pack and the woman who just upended everything.
Cal clears his throat. "So... should we give her the tour of the kitchen or..."
"I am going to my room." Mabeline is already moving, grabbing her wheel-less suitcase by the handle and dragging ittoward the hallway. "I can figure out the layout myself. You three can do whatever it is you were doing before I interrupted."
She does not look at any of us as she goes. Does not pause. Does not give us the chance to respond.
The door to her room clicks shut a moment later. Quiet. Final. A barrier between her and the three Alphas she has clearly decided she wants nothing to do with.
Good. That is what I wanted. Distance. Boundaries. A clear understanding that we are not going to be friends.
