Melissa.
My cheek was still throbbing when I stepped into the kitchen.
The heat from the stoves wrapped around me instantly, thick and suffocating, mixing with the scent of spices and simmering broth. Normally, the kitchen was loud in a comforting way, pots clanking, knives chopping, low chatter between omegas.
Tonight, the noise shifted the second I entered.
It didn’t stop.
But it changed.
Conversations lowered into whispers, eyes lifted, and then came the looks.
Disgust.
Judgment.
Curiosity poorly disguised as concern.
I walked further in without saying a word, keeping my chin level. If they noticed the redness on my face or the faint swelling on my lips, they didn’t comment, at least not loudly.
I could hear them anyway.
“She didn’t prepare anything?”
“I heard Amelia asked
