Page 56 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “Nothing personal? Your sign literally specifies ‘proper omegas,’ Eric. That’s about as personal as it gets.”

Eric straightens his tie—a nervous habit I once found endearing but now recognize as the prelude to bullshit. “Not every omega wants to be a... free spirit, Leah.”

The way he says “free spirit” makes it sound like “feral animal.” My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I become aware that I’m still covered in wallpaper glue, my hair is a disaster, and I probably look exactly like the unprofessional mess he thinks I am.

I step closer, fury overriding my usual caution around confrontation. “What you’re offering is mediocrity dressed up as superiority. And you’re only doing it to spite me because I didn’t fit into your narrow definition of what an omega should be.”

Zoe’s hand lands on my arm, a gentle restraint. “He’s not worth it, Leah,” she murmurs.

But I’m too far gone, years of suppressed anger finally finding an outlet. “You couldn’t handle that I had ambitions beyond being your supportive little mate,” I continue, my voice rising. “So now you’re trying to sabotage the thing I’ve worked hardest for.”

Eric’s expression darkens. “You’re being dramatic. This is business, not a vendetta.”

“Is that why your sign specifically targets ‘proper omegas’?” I demand. “Is that why you’ve set up shop directly across from me? Is that why you’re opening exactly two weeks before my grand opening?”

A small crowd has gathered, attracted by our raised voices. I’m dimly aware that I’m making a scene, but I can’t seem to stop the words pouring out.

“You told me I’d never succeed,” I remind him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “That I’m not ‘pack material’. That omegas don’t have the temperament for business ownership. You said my baking was ‘adequate at best.’ And now you’re opening a competing bakery? Are you that threatened by me?”

Eric’s nostrils flare, his alpha pheromones spiking with anger. “I’m not threatened by you,” he growls. “I’m providing an alternative to your chaotic little... whatever it is you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing,” I say, my voice dangerously quiet, “is creating something authentic. Something that matters. Something that isn’t defined by outdated stereotypes about what omegas should want or be.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Eric gestures to my glue-stained appearance. “Playing business owner while frantically DIY-ing everything because you can’t afford professionals? Real success story there, Leah.”

It’s a direct hit, targeting my deepest insecurities about the bakery’s financial situation. I flinch, and Eric’s expression shifts to one of satisfaction.

“At least I’m doing it myself,” I counter. “Not hiding behind hired help because I don’t actually have any skills of my own.”

Eric’s jaw tightens. “I have plenty of skills.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Zoe interjects, her voice sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re so pathetically hung up on your ex that you’re literally building a business to spite her. Do you have nothing better to do with your life?”

Eric’s scent sours with embarrassment. “This isn’t about Leah,” he insists, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

“Really?” Zoe presses. “So it’s just a coincidence that after she rejects you and starts her own bakery, you suddenly discover a passion for pastry? Please. This is sad even by alpha standards.”

A ripple of amusement runs through the gathered crowd, and Eric’s expression darkens further.

“Careful,” he warns Zoe. “You’re making assumptions about things you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Zoe says sweetly. “You’re a textbook example of alpha entitlement. Can’t handle rejection, can’t stand seeing an omega succeed without you, so you throw money at the problem and try to crush her.”

Mrs. Finley nods vigorously. “Shameful behavior. In my day, alphas had dignity.”

The bell above Alpha Bites’ door jingles, and Eric’s new omega emerges. She assesses the situation, jaw tightening as her gaze lands on me.

“Is there a problem?” she asks.

“No problem,” Eric says quickly. “Just catching up with old friends.”

The omega’s eyes flick to me, taking in my disheveled appearance and the fury I’m sure is radiating from me. “I see,” she says, clearly not buying it. “Well, the interior designer needs your input on the display case arrangement.”

Eric nods, visibly relieved at the excuse to escape. “We’ll have to continue this another time, Leah,” he says, his confidence returning now that he has an exit strategy. “Good luck with your... project. You’re going to need it.”

With that parting shot, he turns and retreats into Alpha Bites, his omega woman following close behind.

“What a complete ass,” Zoe mutters once he’s out of earshot.

“Language, dear,” Mrs. Finley chides, then immediately adds, “though I can’t say I disagree with the sentiment.”

I stare at the Alpha Bites storefront, my mind racing. The pristine black and white color scheme, the sleek modern furniture visible through the windows, the professional staff already bustling inside—it’s everything Sweet Omega isn’t. Polished. Corporate. Backed by actual money.

“He’s going to destroy me,” I whisper, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “He’s got resources and connections and an actual business background. I’m just... me.”

“And ‘just you’ is going to kick his perfectly moisturized ass,” Zoe declares, linking her arm through mine. “Come on. We’re not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you worry.”

Mrs. Finley pats my arm. “She’s right, dear. That young man may have money, but he lacks something far more important.”

“A soul?” Zoe suggests.

“Taste,” Mrs. Finley corrects. “Both in baking and in women.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Thanks, Mrs. Finley.”

She nods, satisfied. “Now, about that wallpaper...”

As Zoe and Mrs. Finley take care of my wallpaper disaster, the world turns grey. I can only stare out my shop window, watching the people moving about over at Alpha Bites.

I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.

I’m still absorbing the fact that Eric is more of a cunt than I first thought when the bell jingles. It’s a delivery person with a large arrangement of sunflowers.

“Delivery for Leah Carter,” the beta announces, setting the vase on my counter.

I open the small card tucked among the blooms.

For the omega who makes her own success. We’re just lucky to witness it. - C, J, L, M

“It’s from those handsome hunks, isn’t it?” Mrs. Finley grins, peering over my shoulder at the card.

I ignore her, my throat suddenly tight. The flowers are beautiful—bright and bold and perfectly imperfect, just like me.

I’m staring at them when Zoe comes close. “They’re good for you,” she says quietly, watching my expression. “You know that, right?”

Before I can respond, the bell jingles again. This time, it’s Jude, his arms loaded with paint cans.

“Leah!” he calls cheerfully. “Liam calculated the exact shade of yellow that would optimize the lighting, so I bought—” He stops short, noticing the tension in the room. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like someone died? Was it Mrs. Finley? She’s right there, so that can’t be it.”

“Young man!” Mrs. Finley exclaims, but there’s no real anger in it.

“Eric opened a competing bakery across the street,” Zoe explains, gesturing toward the window.

Jude sets down the paint cans with care, his usual exuberance vanishing as he processes this information. “The ex? The one who?—”

“Yes,” I cut him off. “That Eric.”

Jude’s expression darkens in a way I’ve rarely seen. His typically playful scent turns sharp, protective alpha pheromones filling the small space.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he says, his voice deceptively light. “For him.”

Something about his tone makes me nervous. “Jude, don’t?—”

“I’m not going to do anything,” he assures me, already pulling out his phone. “I’m just texting the pack. For... informational purposes.”

“Jude,” I warn.

“What?” He looks up, all innocence. “They’re on their way to help with the display cases anyway. They should know about potential... obstacles.”

I groan, already imagining Caleb’s reaction. The head alpha’s protective instincts are intense under normal circumstances. Add in a direct threat from an ex, and I might as well start planning Eric’s funeral.

“I can handle this myself,” I insist. “I don’t need pack intervention.”

Jude studies me for a moment, his expression unusually serious. “Has it occurred to you that maybe we need to help? That seeing you threatened makes us feel like shit if we can’t do something about it?”

That brings me up short. I’ve been so focused on maintaining my independence that I haven’t considered how my situation affects them.

“Oh,” I say softly.

“Yeah, ’oh,‘” Jude confirms. “Look, none of us thinks you need saving. We know you’re badass and competent and scary good at butter lamination. But we’re your pack, bonded or not. Let us have your back without making it a referendum on your independence.”

Mrs. Finley nods approvingly. “The boy makes sense, Leah.”

“I hate when you’re the voice of reason,” I tell Jude, which makes him grin.

“Makes one of us,” he quips, his phone buzzing with incoming messages. He glances at the screen. “And here we go. ETA ten minutes for the cavalry.”

I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Just... tell them not to do anything stupid. Or illegal. Or legally questionable.”

“That eliminates approximately ninety percent of Caleb’s initial suggestions,” Jude says cheerfully. “But I’ll convey the message.”

True to Jude’s prediction, the rest of the pack arrives in under ten minutes. Mason is first. He takes one look at my face, then at Alpha Bites across the street, and his expression shifts from confusion to understanding.

“Ah,” he says simply.

Before I can respond, Liam enters, carrying what appears to be architectural plans for my bakery. His gaze follows Mason’s to the competing storefront, and his eyes narrow.