"What's happening?"
"Just a difference of opinion," Mel says smoothly. "I'm trying to help optimize your diet. She seems resistant to change."
"She called my baking a waste of time. And not good enough for your highnesses."
Ragon's gaze flicks to Mel. "Did you say that?"
She lifts her chin. "I said that emotional baking can be an unimportant way to cope when there are healthier options. If Marie is to be the omega you need her to be—"
"She is not our only omega," Eli cuts in sharply. "And we did not ask you to evaluate her like she's a line item on a report."
Mel's eyes flash. "I didn't realize this house was so fragile. I assumed you'd want what's best for your pack."
"And you assume that means erasing what came before Marie?"
Ragon's attention is on me now. "Breathe."
"I am breathing. I'm breathing in the scent of my kitchen getting taken over by a stranger who thinks she knows what my pack wants better than I do."
My chest is tight. Tears burn, but I refuse to let them fall here, in front of this outsider.
Marie whispers, "I'm so sorry. I thought— I didn't mean—"
"You brought her. You brought someone in to fix what wasn't broken."
"I just wanted to—"
"To make things better. Right. I get it."
"Verena." Ragon's tone sharpens. "We're not doing this like this."
I laugh, the sound brittle. "Like what? Honest? Messy? Unoptimized?"
His jaw works. He steps closer, but he doesn't touch me this time. Maybe he knows if he does, I'll either crumble or bite.
"Your baking is not unimportant. It matters.Youmatter. In this kitchen and everywhere else."
The words help and hurt all at once.
"Then why are we letting her talk like this? Why does she get to decide it's a waste of time? Why does Marie get to fix us?"
"I didn't want to fix you," Marie says, voice breaking. "I just wanted to help. You've been so tired. And the schedule, and work, and I thought—if Mel could makemeals, you could rest. I thought I was taking a burden off you, not—"
"Not telling me I'm replaceable."
Her eyes fill with tears. "You're not."
I look at her, at the genuine panic in her scent. And I believe that she doesn't mean it that way.
But I also see the way she hovers whenever the alphas like something she does. The way she lights up when she feels useful. The way she flinched when she saw me in Ragon's lap. The way her cousin looks at my cookies like I'm a child playing house.
"This is my space. It's the one place in this house that's mine. You have your new nest, your new routines. You get at least one alpha every night when they used to stay with me. This is what I have. It’s mine."
My voice cracks on the last word.
Mel folds her arms. "You're being territorial over an appliance. This is exactly what I meant by unhealthy coping."
Something inside me goes very still.
