The dinner felt like a feast laid out under a fragile peace, the kind that only existed when an Alpha chose to tolerate everyone at his table. Naomi's hunger wasn't just for food—it was for influence, for standing, for anything that would let her climb closer to Elliot's position in the hierarchy. I could feel it in the air, sharp and restless, like a wolf circling too close to a stronger pack's boundary.
"Mommy, I want some shrimp," Jared said, pointing at the dish with innocent impatience.
I washed my hands quickly, the instinct to care for him grounding me more than anything else in that room. I peeled the shrimp carefully, one after another, the rhythm steady against the tension I could feel watching me.
