Page 15

Despite my reservations, I lay out absolutely everything. All the ways they ignore me, the things they’ve said, the way they treat me like a doll to dress up and fuck and pat on the head. I wish I could say I feel better when I’m done, but the icy hand of dread makes that impossible. It’s the feeling you get when you know you’ve walked directly into a trap but have no fucking clue where it is or how to get out.

“Daphne, darling,” Mother coos. “I hate to tell you, but this is marriage. It’s not some fairytale like in the novels. It’s hard. I’m sorry that you’ve felt neglected and that you wish for more fulfillment, but this is how things go in the real world.”

“They’ve walked out of my heat, Mother. More than once.” The phantom aches in my stomach come back with a vengeance and I curl up tighter on the bed.

“They’re busy men,” she counters. “Besides, it’s a little ridiculous to keep them for that long. Needy, don’t you think?”

Is it? Jacob does say I’m greedy with their time, but heat isn’t something I can control without suppressants, which they won’t allow in case it messes with my fertility. “What about the way they’ve treated me?”

“I’ll be honest, it doesn’t sound that bad. They haven’t hit you, have they?”

“No,” I say reluctantly.

“So, are they actually abusing you or are they just hurting your feelings? Omegas are sensitive, you know.”

Of course, I do. I am one.

“They called me fat.” I’m almost whining, desperate for her to validate what I’m saying. Acknowledge that I could be right.

Mother clicks her tongue. “Did they actually say that, or is that what you heard?”

Fuck, is that what this is? Am I reading between the lines and seeing something that isn’t there? Maybe I’m just too tender-hearted about things. Too busy tallying up the ways I think they’ve wronged me, that I’ve stopped noticing what’s actually going on.

Biting my lip, I say, “I guess.”

“Darling, I’m sorry that you’re struggling, but there’s nothing I can do. These things take time. Stick it out. It’ll get better if you want it to. Just try harder.”

How much harder is there to try, though? “They haven’t bonded me, Mother. It’s beenfour years,and they haven’t bonded me. The doctors said?—”

“That’s your fault,” she interrupts, the softness leeching out of her tone with every word. “Maybe they aren’t interested in bonding a woman who cries over everything. I can’t imagine they want an omega who can’t stand on her own two feet. I mean, seriously, Daphne. Calling your Mother to whine about your husbands is ridiculous.”

“But I didn’t call you!”

“Yet here we are.”

How do wealwaysend with me as the problem and why is it so fucking easy to believe her? Every time Mother calls, she chips away at what little self-esteem I have until I’m nothing but bone dust on the floor, yet I can’t stop answering. Can’t push her out of my life. She’s mymom.That’s supposed to mean something, right?

My heart hurts and I curl up tighter, wishing I could pull it out of my chest. “What if I want to leave?”

The words are so quiet, yet so dangerous. An atom bomb lobbed into the space between us.

“Then you’ll do it alone. Your father and I won’t pay to have you ruin those men’s lives because you’re weak. You walk away from Pack Parker, you better be ready to walk away from us, too.”

My head spins as Mother berates me until I’m in tears. It takes a faked headache and a promise to do better to end the call and by then I’m too exhausted to do much else but drag a scratchy blanket over me.

Nothing truly prepares you for the reality that your family won’t take your side. That they won’t help you be happy because they don’t think you deserve it.

Who knows, maybe I don’t.

When I finally haul myself downstairs to grab a pre-approved protein bar from the kitchen, it’s dark and I’ve had enough wallowing. Flipping the lock in my sewing room is the only thing that helps. If my alphas come back, they can entertain themselves for the night. My soul’s too sore to do it for them and my body is out of service.

A storm of something pushes me to the cabinets and I dig through the fasteners until I find the laptop I bought months ago. Before I can overthink it, I pull up the website I’ve spent weeks teaching myself to build and hitpublish.

I’ve never been self-sufficient, but it’s time I learn. The call with Mother was a warning. Nymph may not make a lot, but every dollar will count if I need to plan for a future that doesn’t involve my parents or my pack’s support.

As I look at my brand-new company, I can’t help but wonder if one day it’ll be my salvation.

THE GREAT PRETENDERS