Callum: Heard Jess is staying with you guys. Take care of her until I get there. She's confused.
The words turn my blood to ice. Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Until I get there.
She's confused.
Like Jessica is a lost dog that wandered off and needs to be returned to its owner.
Another message appears before I can process the first one.
Callum: You know how omegas can be. Emotional. Irrational. She'll calm down in a few days and realize she made a mistake.
And another:
Callum: Tell her I forgive her. And tell her we're still getting married. I've already rescheduled with the venue.
I stare at the screen, feeling my carefully cultivated control start to crack. Feeling the walls I've built start to crumble.
Rescheduled. Like she's property he temporarily misplaced.
"Sergio?" Jessica's voice cuts through my rage. "Is everything okay?"
I look up. She's watching me, spatula in hand, concern written across her flour-streaked face. Her scent has shifted turning sharp with worry.
I could lie. But I'm done treating her like she's too fragile to handle the truth.
"It's Callum," I say.
Her face goes pale. The spatula clatters against the baking sheet. "What does he want?"
I hand her the phone.
She takes it with shaking hands. Reads the messages. I watch her expression cycle through shock, then anger, then something cold and hard that I've never seen on her face before.
"He rescheduled the venue," she says flatly, handing the phone back to me. "He thinks we're still getting married. He thinks I'm just having a tantrum."
"He's delusional."
"He's Callum." She grips the edge of the counter, knuckles going white. "This is what he does. He decides how things are going to be, and then he makes them be that way. He just takes what he wants."
"He's not taking you." The words come out fierce. Possessive. More alpha than I usually allow myself to be.
Jessica looks at me, and something in her expression shifts. Softens.
"No," she agrees quietly, and there's steel in her voice. "He's not."
She turns back to the cookie sheet and slides it into the preheated oven with more force than necessary. The door slams shut. The timer beeps loudly as she sets it, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.
"Twelve minutes," she announces. "And then I'm going to eat every single one of these cookies, and I'm not going to share with anyone."
"Fair enough."
"And tomorrow, I'm going to figure out how to make Callum understand that no means no. Even if I have to spell it out in skywriting. Or hire a billboard. Or possibly commit minor property damage."
I almost smile. Almost.
"We'll help you."
