CARRISA'S POV

The day starts like any other. The relentless pace of the restaurant keeps me busy enough to forget how sore my feet are or how tired my body feels. I've learned to push through the exhaustion long ago, since I don't have the luxury of taking it easy. 

Being an Omega means I'm already fighting against enough odds, and I can't afford to lose this job. The restaurant's small basement is the only place I have to sleep, and I'm not exactly swimming in other opportunities.

But today? Today is testing every last bit of my patience.

I'm taking the orders of two men at a corner table—loud, obnoxious, and clearly well aware of their place in the pack hierarchy. I can sense the arrogance in their scent even before they open their mouths. The moment I approach the table, they look me up and down, their eyes filled with judgement. They don't even try to hide it.

"Look at that, an Omega waitress," one of them sneers, nudging the other. "Can you smell it? So weak."

His friend laughs "Yeah, I thought something stank in here."

I feel my wolf stir inside me. I can feel the anger spreading through my veins but I keep myself in check. I keep my expression neutral. I've learned to deal with this kind of treatment. Omegas like me are easy targets, and getting angry won't help. I just need to get through the shift.

"Can I take your order?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

One of the men leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips. He's tall, muscular, and exuding an aura of dominance that makes it clear he's at least a pack warrior, maybe even something more. His gaze roams over me like I'm nothing more than an object to be used. "Sure, sweetheart. But first, why don't you tell me when your shift ends?"

I blink, caught off guard by the question. It's not unusual for customers to flirt, but something about his tone makes my skin crawl. I don't want to be rude, though—I need this job. 

"My shift ends at midnight," I answer, forcing a polite smile. "Now, can I get your orders?"

The man chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "Midnight, huh? How about I swing by and pick you up? We can head to my hotel room. Have a little fun."

My stomach twists. I open my mouth, ready to tell him to back off, but I catch myself. I can't afford to lose control, not now. I swallow my discomfort and keep my voice calm, measured. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. Can I get your orders now?"

The man's eyes narrow, but the smirk never leaves his face. "Feisty. I like that. You sure you don't want to reconsider?"

"No," I say firmly, trying not to let my unease show. "I'm sure."

His friend snickers, clearly enjoying the show. I quickly jot down their orders and turn to leave, wanting nothing more than to get away from their leering gazes. But just as I take a step, I feel a sharp sting on my backside—a hand slapping my ass.

For a moment, everything goes red. The heat of humiliation and anger flares up so quickly that I don't even think. Before I know it, I've grabbed the bottle of hot sauce from their table, turned around, and emptied it all over the laughing man's head.

He freezes, his laughter choking off as the sauce drips down his face. His eyes darken with rage, and he shoots up from his chair so fast it makes the table shake. I feel the air shift around him. His dominant aura bits me instantly, making me gasp and whimper slightly. For a split second, I think he's going to hit me, and I tense, ready to defend myself even though I know it would end badly.

But before he can make a move, another waiter steps between us. A tall, broad-shouldered man named Javier, who has been working here longer than anyone, blocks the angry man's path.

"Back off," Javier says. His voice is calm but firm and his eyes lock onto the man. "You touch her, and you'll have a lot more than hot sauce to deal with."

The man glares at Javier, his chest heaving, but after a long, tense moment, he backs down. With one last glare in my direction, he wipes his face with a napkin and sits back down, muttering under his breath.

I exhale, realizing I've been holding my breath the entire time. My hands are shaking, but I quickly turn and hurry away before anything else can happen.

Later, as the rush of the evening dies down, I'm called into the back office. My boss, a tall, balding man named Mr. Thompson, sits behind his cluttered desk, rubbing his temples as if my presence alone gives him a headache.

"You know why you're here, Carissa," he says, not looking up from the papers in front of him.

I nod, standing stiffly by the door. I can feel my heart sinking. "I had no choice—he slapped me—"

"I don't care," he interrupts, finally looking up at me "You engaged with a customer. You even poured hot sauce on him. That's against regulation."

I swallow the lump in my throat, fighting back the urge to argue. It doesn't matter that I was defending myself; it doesn't matter that I was humiliated. All that matters is that I broke the rules. And in Mr. Thompson's eyes, an Omega breaking the rules is worse than anything a customer could do.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly "But I can't lose this job. I have nowhere else to go."

Mr. Thompson sighs, leaning back in his chair. "You've already had a few warnings, Carissa. This is your last chance. You'll be joining the crew serving at the castle tonight for the twin Alphas' return. It's a big deal, and if you screw this up—if you so much as breathe wrong—you're done. Understand?"

I nod "I understand."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Good. Now get out of here."

I leave his office. The pressure from his words press down on me like a boulder. 

The castle? I've never even been near the castle, let alone served there. 

The twin Alphas are legendary, known for their power and ruthlessness. I heard about the grand ball that'll be holding there to celebrate their return. If I mess up in front of them, I won't just lose my job. I could lose much more.

I sigh. I just have to behave myself and avoid getting into trouble. 

I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Right? 

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