"Very well," Ragon says smoothly. "We're lucky."
He steers everyone into the dining area. Chairs scrape. Bottles clink. Voices rise.
I take my plate to the bar.
My bar.
My high little island.
Alex pauses halfway to the table, frown forming. "You're sitting over there?"
"Yes. This is my spot."
Marie glances at me, then at the empty chair where I used to sit. Her fingers touch the back of it, then fall.
Finn's brows shoot up. "Why? There's space."
Malcolm’s gaze sharpens.
Ragon doesn't miss a beat. "Vee is under discipline."
Humiliation hits so hard I feel faint. My mashed potatoes blur on the plate.
"Discipline," Alex repeats, voice cooling. "For what, exactly?"
Ragon sets his plate down. "She didn't take well to accommodating our new omega while Marie adjusted. It escalated. I'm teaching her a lesson."
Marie goes very still.
Drake's fork hangs.
The space tightens.
"Your lesson is public exclusion?" Alex asks, tone like he's testing a fence for weak spots.
"It's temporary. And effective. She's doing much better. More respectful. More accepting of the fact that she's not the only omega here."
Heat burns up my neck. I clamp my fingers around my fork so hard the prongs dig into my palm.
"Happier, long-term," Ragon adds. "If she accepts that she won't be the only one, she'll be a happier omega."
I want to laugh or scream but I do neither because it's not allowed.
Alex glances at me over his glass—trying to reconcile "happier omega" with the way I'm perched on a bar stool, back rigid, barely touched my meal.
"And does she agree?" he asks.
Ragon's eyes harden. "It's not really about agreement. It's about stability. She's had difficulties before. This is working."
"Is it?"
"Look at her. Calm. Compliant. Doing as she's told. Before, she was fighting everything. This is better."
I feel Jasper's attention like cold fingers on the back of my neck.
Finn's jaw flexes.
Marie looks like she wants to melt into her chair.
