Page 2

Chapter two

VIOLET

The back rooms of the gallery always smell the same—old wood, varnish, the lingering scent of something expensive but neglected, like forgotten wealth gathering dust. It feels like too many secrets are tucked back here between canvas and frame, the lights casting a sickly glow over everything, which just makes the space feel colder than it should. Rows of paintings lean against the walls, some half-covered with protective cloths, others left bare, their edges worn from being handled too many times.

I’ve never understood why some paintings are handled with more care than others since it doesn’t correlate with how much they’re sold for. There’s another system in place, one I don’t understand and one that doesn’t actually matter to me. So long as I get paid and Sofie is safe, I keep my head down, mouth shut, and do whatever Xavier asks of me. Well, almost. I told him off the other day when he asked me to repaint one of the back rooms. That shit is in nobody’s job description and unless he wanted it looking like shit and he was paying over time, I wasn’t touching it.

I stifle a chuckle as Xavier walks ahead of me, the click of his boots echoing off the polished floors. His shoulders are stiff, his posture impatient, like he’s already decided the conversation we’re about to have is a waste of his time. I know that look. I know exactly what it means. I’m not gonna like whatever bullshit he’s about to dump on me.

He stops near a row of portraits, each one draped in loose sheeting, and turns to face me, his expression mirroring the agitation I feel. “These need to be hung up immediately,” he says, his voice clipped with annoyance. “Event’s tomorrow.”

My gaze flicks to the covered pieces, unease curling deep in my gut. I’m already in the middle of hanging shit he gave me earlier, everything perfectly curated to a certain artistic vibe. They’ll clash. Something’s off. I cross my arms. “And the guys you usually hire for this? Did they all suddenly disappear?” As cheap as Xavier is, he’s usually proud of his stock and threatens me enough times not to mess with the money makers. And now he’s asking me to be in charge of them? I’m good at a lot of things, hanging up art… not so much. Case in point, the fact that I scratched the wall earlier.

I’m also tired and cranky and if he makes me pull down all the work I just did, someone’s getting punched.

Xavier scoffs, dragging a hand over his jaw. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you don’t ask enough,” I shoot back, the irritation slipping into my voice before I can smooth it out. “Like, how the hell am I supposed to do this alone before the end of my shift?” One of those frames is nearly as wide as I am tall.

His expression barely shifts, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes—condescension, barely concealed irritation, the usual cocktail of bullshit he serves up whenever I push back. “Then Sofie should do it.”

I blink, thrown for a second before my stomach tightens, anger sparking in my chest. “Sofie?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I don’t care. “You want Sofie to handle this? She barely weighs more than one of these frames, and you want her climbing ladders and moving shit worth more than my rent?” Whenever it comes to Sofie, I’m irrational—whether it’s protecting her, making sure she’s safe, or standing up for her when she can’t. My best friend, Camila, has laughed at me a time or two, mentioning that my connection with Sofie mirrors the way her Alphas are possessive over the Omega in that pack.

Xavier exhales through his nose, taking several seconds before he says anything. “You’re lucky to have a job, Violet. I brought you in here when you needed help, even after what happened at the last one. I’d start acting a little more grateful.”

“That wasn’t my fucking fault,” I mutter, Xavier throwing me another hard look. A few months ago, Camila’s ex had stormed into the art gallery we used to work at and damaged property. He ended up paying for it but we lost our jobs in the process because that boss had been a dick. Xavier is also a dick but instead of firing me, he just pushes the right buttons to piss me off.

He’s been doing it since the day I started working here, testing boundaries, seeing how far he can go before I break. And fuck, I want to break. I want to tear into him, tell him exactly what kind of reckless, arrogant piece of shit he is for even suggesting Sofie handle this, for pretending this whole place isn’t built on backroom deals and whispered transactions. But I can’t, not if I want to ensure that Sofie has a place to lay her head every night.

So, instead, I force my hands into my pockets, fingers curling into fists, my nails pressing hard enough against my palms that I wonder if I’ll leave marks. “Fine,” I grind out, keeping my voice even, keeping my temper just below the surface. “But I’m not pulling anything down I’ve already hung and if something happens to these paintings, that’s on you.”

Xavier smirks, already turning away. “It won’t.”

I watch him disappear down the hall, my jaw pulled tight as I swallow a frustrated growl. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating as my attention drags back to the covered portraits, that knot in my stomach twisting tighter. Sofie shouldn’t be anywhere near this. And for the first time, I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t be either.

“This is bullshit,” I whisper to myself, gently dragging off one of the sheets and frowning at what’s unearthed. I don’t understand what I’m staring at—mostly because I know fuck all about art but also because I’m 99% sure I’ve seen this one before. Xavier made it a point to drill into my head that he deals in one of a kind paintings so having a duplicate doesn’t make any sense.

However, I’m not paid to care. I’m paid to obey. Glancing around, I look for a cart to wheel these out into the main lobby, hoping and praying I don’t damage a wall or knock something off a table in the process. Then again, one of the patrons might just think it’s part of the display.

The cart’s wheels squeak with every push, the uneven sound grating against the quiet as I stack the covered portraits, taking care even though my patience is already stretched thin. The frames are heavier than they need to be, overdesigned and bulky, the kind of gaudy shit rich people throw money at so they can call it culture. I used to want to study art but soon realized that I’m not cut out for this world. Everything that people think is beautiful and gorgeous… I just get confused.

Sofie finds beauty in everything and I love the way her little face lights up when she sees something she likes. But if I had the choice, my walls would remain bare. A frustrated huff leaves me as I struggle with the next painting, the fabric draped over it kicking up a cloud of dust that sends me into a coughing fit. I swear Xavier gives me certain jobs to punish me because there’s no reason for me to be doing this.

I was hired as customer service.

The only thing that is going to serve me in this moment is my stubbornness as I push the cart into the hall, silently cursing as one of the wheels sticks. I’m not even two steps into the lobby when there’s a quiet, familiar hum of disapproval.

"Those are heavier than the other ones. You’re not gonna be able to lift those by yourself," Sofie muses, leaning against the wall a few inches away, arms crossed, her weight shifted onto one hip.

I glance up at her, chuckling at how adorable her defiant expression is. “Baby, I don’t really have a choice. Xavier wants these up before the showing and he decided not to hire the usual guys.” I manage a shrug, pushing the cart forward a few more steps. My mind works through several different scenarios and how I’ll have to maneuver different ladders and stools in order to balance this shit correctly.

A sigh leaves her, soft and full of something that feels too much like concern. Her presence shifts closer, even though she doesn’t reach for me. Even with her scent muted by blockers, something about having her near eases a little of the tension curling at the base of my spine. But I hate that she’s worried.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just go back to the front desk, okay?”

The sharp edge to her scent has me sighing, knowing that my beautiful Omega is not going to let me do this alone. “No. I’m not going to sit over there and watch you struggle.” It’s times like this that I still catch the fierce woman she used to be as a Beta, when life wasn’t as confusing, when her biology wasn’t constantly muting her inhibitions.

“Fine, just be careful okay?” I pull the sheet back just enough to get a better grip on the first painting, fingers pressing against the edge of the canvas. The texture is off—something not quite right beneath my fingertips. I frown, shifting my hold, and when I move my hand away, the color smudges.

Shit. I jerk my hand back, expecting nothing, expecting maybe a bit of dust or old varnish coming loose. But—the paint smears . I freeze, watching as the colors blend in a way they shouldn’t . The surface is still damp, too fresh, too wrong for something that should’ve been dry long before it ever ended up in my hands.

"Is that supposed to do that?" Sofie asks, peering over my shoulder.

I wipe my fingers against my pants, shaking my head. "Not usually." My stomach tightens, a slow, uneasy curl of dread settling in the pit of my belly. I think there’s a reason Xavier didn’t hire the usual crew but I’m not going to dwell on it. "I don’t know enough about all this shit to make a fuss, though. Xavier already doesn’t like me much as it is, baby."

Sofie doesn’t respond right away. She’s still looking at the painting, brows pinched together, lips pressed into a thin line, like she’s trying to piece together something she doesn’t like. Whatever this is, whatever’s wrong with these paintings, it’s not something I can solve now.

"Let’s just get these hung up in thw empty spaces left," I say, brushing dust off her sleeve before nudging her gently with my hip, forcing a bit of lightness into my voice. "And after? I’ll make sure we swing by that ice cream shop you love so much."

The corners of her mouth twitch, like she wants to argue, like she knows I’m trying to distract her but also really wants that ice cream.

"I’m getting two scoops," she mutters, finally stepping back.

A slow grin pulls at my lips. "Baby, I’ll get you three if it gets you to stop worrying about me."

Sofie lets out a delighted little squeal, the sound cutting through the quiet, stale air of the lobby. “ Four scoops,” she whispers and before I can react, she presses a quick, happy kiss to my cheek and immediately sets to work beside me. Her excitement is contagious and I love that the small things make her so fucking happy.

“Didn’t know hanging overpriced shit could make you this happy,” I tease, sliding my hands under the next portrait and carefully hoisting it onto the cart.

Sofie giggles, her fingers brushing mine as she helps position it. “It’s not that,” she says, sucking her lip between her teeth. “And it’s not just the ice cream, Vi. I don’t know how to explain it but just… you. Everything about you. I don’t even like when you disappear into the backrooms.” Her expression darkens a little bit before it’s like it never happened.

I’ve noticed the changes in her emotions and the way her entire existence revolves around me because it’s the same for me. I don’t claim to understand it but knowing that I’m not enough for the woman who has my heart just makes it worse.

We keep working, a quiet rhythm forming between us. We’re down to the last one when Sofie suddenly stops, fingers hesitating on the corner of the cloth. She doesn’t look at me right away, her gaze flickering between the canvas and the floor, like she’s debating something.

“Vi,” she starts softly, almost unsure. “Do you…” Her voice trails off and she exhales sharply before trying again. “Do you like me like this?”

I blink, the question catching me off guard. “Like what?”

Sofie shifts her weight, her eyes flicking up to meet mine . “Like this. Being an Omega.” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Does it make me… more desirable? Or less? I always feel needy and irritable and I snap a lot or get scared. You always have to step in. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Every once and a while, Sofie asks but there’s never been tears glazing over her eyes as she asks. It’s always just a soft check in, a bit of curiosity. Today, it feels like the wrong words will tear her entire world down. I don’t know why she thinks it even matters but then I remember just how lost she is in this new designation and the constant reassurance she seeks.

I set down the last painting, leaning one hip against the cart as I really look at her—dark brown hair a little messy from work, those big, expressive eyes searching mine, fingers twitching like she’s afraid of the answer.

“Baby,” I murmur, stepping closer. I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger at the side of her face. “My feelings for you haven’t changed. Not once.” I hold her gaze, making sure she hears every word. “I’ve always loved you in some part, even when we were just stupid kids sneaking out past curfew. Even when we were Betas together and you were trying to teach me how to braid hair and I was fucking terrible at it.”

Sofie lets out a small, watery laugh, her lips twitching.

I keep going, my thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle against her cheek. “But now? Now, it’s just stronger. Deeper. Not because of what you are, but because you’re you. You could be anything, baby, and I’d still be here. Being your Beta? It’s the best thing in the entire world.”

Sofie’s smile blooms, her scent thickening in the air—warm and sweet and hers. It wraps around me, fills my lungs, makes my stomach twist in that way it always does when she’s close. For a second, I almost pull her closer, almost let my hands slip lower, let my mouth find hers. But the staunch smell of fresh paint tears me from the fantasy.

I clear my throat and tap the tip of her nose, forcing myself to step back. “Go on, baby,” I murmur, nodding toward the front. “Back behind the desk with you.”

She pouts dramatically, but there’s still that radiant smile beneath it. “You’re no fun.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Shift’s over in an hour, sweetheart. Then we’re outta here.”

Sofie sighs, but she listens, trailing toward the front of the gallery with a satisfied hum. My shoulders sag the moment she turns around and my gaze drops to the smudged paint on my fingers. I might not be well versed in art theory but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be that fresh. Turning to face the picture in question, I hate that it’s such a magnificent piece. Something that I might even stare at a little bit longer than the others, admiring a vision that I don’t understand.

Don’t worry about it, I tell myself, even as I move toward the little kiosk to find the display cards that go with each of these new paintings. I’ll focus on memorizing the artist, a little of their history, and what the art represents. Past that, I’ll feign innocence and everything will be just fine.

Except, I don’t have a good poker face.