Page 5 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

I cracked five eggs into a bowl and watched the yolks pool together.

It had been a month since Maggie moved in. Thirty days of her voice drifting down the hall when she spoke on the phone, the clink of her coffee spoon in the mornings, and the windows being open just enough to let in the city but not the chill.

I’d gotten used to the sound of her key in the lock.

To the soft pad of her feet across the kitchen tile when she thought I was still asleep.

To her leaving little pieces of herself in my space—a scarf draped over the back of the couch; her handwriting on a sticky note by the fridge; the lavender scent of her shampoo in the bathroom after she showered.

She’d become a steady rhythm in my life I hadn’t realized I wanted until it was there. The light teasing over breakfast, and her rolling her eyes at my “rules,” but then sitting with me quietly when the world was too loud, had become our pattern.

I’d grown fond of her. We were still figuring each other out, but I thought of her as a true friend. I didn’t know if I had ever had a true friend. Not since Willow, who had been a grounding force in my life until she wasn’t. I pushed the thought of her from my mind.

Before I started whisking the eggs, I flipped on the speaker and started singing along with Adele. Because Adele made everything better. Who the hell didn’t like Adele?

I was halfway through “Send My Love (To Your New Lover)” when Maggie’s door flew open.

Her hair was sticking out in every direction like she’d been battling the sheets all night. There were dark circles under her eyes and a crease across one cheek from her pillowcase. She looked half-feral and furious. And still hot. Not that I noticed. Not that I should’ve noticed.

She had the kind of realness most people tried to Instagram into existence. Comfortable. Unfiltered. Like someone who knew how to belong somewhere, even when everything was a mess.

“Could you not belt Adele at full volume during the workday? I was on a call.”

I blinked. “You’re working already?”

“It’s nine a.m., Roman. Most people have started their day by now.”

I winced. “Right. Sorry.” I adjusted the flame on the burner and forced a smile. “You hungry? I made omelets.”

She hesitated, arms crossed over her chest, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

I gestured to the cabinet. “Grab a plate. I’ll serve.”

She opened the far-right cabinet and reached straight for the blue one.

No. No no no.

My whole body locked. “Uhh, sorry, but that’s my plate. As noted in the roommate agreement. You can have any of the others. Just… not that one.”

Of course, she didn’t let it go.

“Why do you have to eat off this plate?”

I felt the familiar pressure rising. Tight chest. Crawling skin.

It wasn’t just the question. It was her in my space, asking me to justify something I shouldn’t have to.

The plate was mine. It was the only one that felt right.

The others were too glossy. Too sharp. This one was balanced. It made breakfast taste normal.

I set the spatula down and took a breath through my nose. “Because I just do, Maggie, okay?”

She raised her hands like I’d pulled a weapon. “Damn. Sorry. I won’t use the blue plate.”

She reached for another and stepped aside. I slid her omelet onto the perfectly unremarkable white dish. We stood in silence while we ate, the only sound the occasional scrape of forks and a distant dog barking outside.

Eventually, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more sensitive. I know there are things that matter to you, and I respect that. It catches me off guard sometimes, and I really forgot about the blue plate. But that’s not an excuse.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders eased. I gave her a small smile. “Thanks.”

She glanced around the room as if looking for something to say to fill the silence. “I’ve been here a month, and I still don’t really know what you do. What exactly do you do?”

I cleared my throat and rinsed my plate. I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about my role with the pack, because I liked to live as deeply in denial about it as I could. “Pack business.”

She stared at me, then raised an eyebrow.

I dried my hands on the towel and turned. “My cousin’s the alpha. I serve in an advisory role.”

“Advisory?”

“I do what’s needed. Logistics. Problem-solving. Sometimes conflict resolution. Today, that includes a meeting with two enforcers who apparently can’t decide who outranks who.” I grabbed my keys off the hook. “So. Grown men. Wolf teeth. Lots of fun.”

The look she gave me told me she could see right through me. There was no pity or judgment, though. Just Maggie’s dry and observant manner, with that eyebrow that always seemed half-ready to call me out.

I turned to go but looked back at her standing barefoot in the golden light spilling from her bedroom. It made the tightness in my chest ease.

Maybe I was a freak.

But maybe this new kind of normal wasn’t entirely doomed.

The pack lands were unnaturally quiet, which was a rare break from the constant hum of San Francisco—the foghorns, the streetcars, and the low rumble of traffic on the bridge. Out here, just beyond the city’s edge, it felt like the world had been muted.

Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, bathing the path in shifting gold.

The dirt road curved and split past the training fields, the healer’s den, the greenhouse Lucien insisted was for “spiritual cultivation” but mostly housed exotic herbs and vanity projects.

Everything was manicured, precise, and curated like a lifestyle brand.

And then there was the mansion.

The Velasquez estate sat at the highest point of the territory.

From the front balcony, you could see the faint shimmer of the Bay on a clear day, the distant sprawl of San Francisco’s skyline cutting sharp against the horizon.

The facade was all white stone and wrought-iron balconies, complete with antique wolf statues that looked suspiciously like Lucien’s side profile.

Strategically trained ivy climbed the eastern wall, and lavender bushes and hawthorn trees—magically fortified, of course—lined the driveway.

The front door gleamed like it had been polished that morning. It probably had.

I parked in my usual spot and grabbed the tablet, the folder, and the two lattes I’d picked up.

I didn’t stop to smell the air or listen for birds.

I already felt the pull of Lucien’s domain in my chest, like walking into a theater where you had to know your lines before the curtain even rose.

It wasn’t even necessarily him who caused the pressure I felt deep in my chest. I really didn’t know what the cause was, only that it was unpleasant.

Inside, the mansion was as ridiculous as ever. Velvet. Marble. Mood lighting in the freaking hallways. And music—classical, with the volume cranked just high enough to make the whole place feel over the top.

Lucien’s office was at the end of the south wing, past a set of gold-trimmed double doors etched with the family crest.

Bracing myself, I walked in without knocking.

Lucien was reclining on his favorite emerald velvet chaise, wearing a lavender silk robe that looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy.

A single gold chain glinted against his collarbone.

He was holding a leather-bound folder full of event menus and fanning himself with a swatch of sample napkin fabric.

“You wanted to go over this week’s schedule?” I asked, already tired.

He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

I glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. It was exactly ten a.m.. “I’m not.”

“My aura was wilting,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand.

I crossed the room and set his oat milk latte on the side table. “I was up at five responding to your emails. Which you dictated. Through voice notes. While in the bath.”

He gave a contented sigh. “Self-care is part of leadership, Romanus.”

I didn’t respond as I put the second latte down and flipped open the folder.

The schedule was, predictably, insane.

“Okay,” I began, tapping through the tablet as I read aloud the notes I had taken from his emails. “First, finalize the seating chart for the brunch. Second, screen vendor contracts for the autumn ceremony. Third, deliver the enchanted gift basket to Alpha Martel before the full moon. Fourth—”

“Make sure the waiters aren’t wearing that awful fringe this time,” Lucien interrupted, eyes closed. “It distracts from my vision.”

I bit my tongue.

This was the dance. Always the dance.

Most people thought Lucien was just a peacock in silk and body glitter.

They didn’t see what I saw. What he truly was.

The dramatics were smoke and mirrors, camouflage for the political monster underneath.

He smiled with teeth, charmed his enemies, and bent the entire social structure of the pack to his will with enough flair to keep them distracted. He was brilliant, really.

And I wasn’t merely his assistant. I was his fixer. His handler. His emotional support wolf. His contingency plan. I was whatever he wanted me to be in any given moment.

And lately, it felt like I was being groomed for something I never asked for.

I loved my cousin. I loved this pack. But deep inside, restlessness clawed at my ribs. There had to be more than brunches and power plays and perfectly timed smirks.

Lucien’s voice broke into my spiral. “There are… changes coming.”

I looked up. He sat upright and adjusted his robe, his expression suddenly, jarringly serious.

“In the structure. In leadership. In legacy. And I need people I trust at my side.”

My stomach twisted. “You mean me?”

He sipped his latte slowly and deliberately. “The version of you that stops running from responsibility and starts embracing it.” He tilted his head. “And also, the one that makes my brunches look flawless. But mostly the first thing.”

“Is there something specific coming?”