CHAPTER 22: LITTLE FEUD

Rhea lifted the wide, bowl-like plate with both hands and tipped it back. The broth slid down her throat in a noisy slurp that echoed across the silent kitchen. When she lowered it, not a drop remained.

Every eye in the room clung to her in disbelieve. Marta’s stare burned the hottest of all, her jaw tight, her fingers gripping the counter as though she was imaging it to be Rhea. Was this really the same girl who used to bow her head and let anyone trample over her? It had to be some act, some temporary burst of nerve. Once the Alpha got hold of her, this façade would crumble.

Let me see her act all high and mighty when the Alpha is through with her, Marta thought darkly, her lips curling in contempt.

Rhea let the plate slip from her fingers onto the table with a sharp clatter, then pressed a hand to her stomach and burped loudly. The sound was raw, unapologetic, and she chuckled at her own audacity. "That went down well," she said, her voice rich with satisfaction.

Straightening, she marched toward the sink. The kitchen staff scrambled out of her path, shoulders knocking into one another. Reaching the basin, she rinsed the plate briskly, set it aside to dry, then wiped her wet hands across the thighs of her oversized jeans. The denim darkened with damp streaks, but she seemed unbothered.

Turning on her heel, Rhea was already halfway to the door when Jonas burst back inside, panting slightly. Behind him swept Seraphine and her two daughters, their eyes sharp as knives.

Rhea paused, her brows lifting in mild surprise. She leaned her weight onto one leg, gaze flicking over them with deliberate slowness, one eyebrow arched as if to say, These are the ones you brought to handle me?

Seraphine stiffened, her lips thinning, while her daughters shifted nervously at her sides. They had not yet shed the shiver left behind by the whip incident, their eyes darting to avoid Rhea’s bold stare.

They wished they could be anywhere but here. They had been following Rhea as instructed, waiting outside when she entered the kitchen — only to hear the commotion moments later and see Jonas rush out. They stopped him and decided to handle the situation themselves, unwilling to let anyone discover the Alphas’ current condition.

Marta’s face soured at the sight. Of all people, it had to be Seraphine. What she wanted was the Alpha himself, or better still, Sir Eberhard. Not this overgrown ostrich who strutted about the pack grounds on the wings of Lady Nikki’s favoritism. Marta’s fingers clenched into her apron, heat rising in her chest.

Around them, the kitchen hands dipped their heads, their motions jerky with unease. If there was anyone in the entire pack who despised Rhea as much as they did, it was Seraphine. The woman’s every waking hour was spent polishing Lady Nikki’s shoes in hopes of shining brighter in her father’s eyes.

"Why is she here and not the Alpha, or Sir Eberhard?" Marta snapped, glaring at Jonas.

Jonas’s throat bobbed, his mouth opening, words stammering half-formed. "I... I... they—"

"Because they’re cut up at the moment," Seraphine cut in smoothly, her tone carrying the easy arrogance of someone who thought herself above explanations.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Marta shot back, her brows knitting.

"It means it is nothing you should concern yourself with," Seraphine replied, her voice clipped, her eyes sliding past Marta and fixing suspiciously on Rhea. "Now, why don’t you tell me what is going on here?"

Marta swallowed hard. With no other choice, she straightened and gestured toward Rhea. "She barged into my kitchen, kicked me, and helped herself to food straight from my pot, daring to eat before the Alpha." Her voice rose, indignant, careful to lace every word with outrage. What she did not mention, however, was the sting of her ladle against Rhea’s head or the insults that had sparked the fire in the first place.

Lyra leaned closer to her sister and whispered sharply, "She seems to cause havoc wherever she goes now."

Rhea chuckled under her breath, turning her gaze lazily to Marta. "Aren’t you forgetting something?" she asked, her tone edged with mischief.

Marta stiffened, eyes narrowing. "What’s that supposed to mean?" she snapped, before spinning to Seraphine as if grasping for backup. "See what I’m talking about? Insolent bitch. She has no manners at all." Marta’s lip curled as she continued, voice dripping with venom. "Perhaps you’ve been neglecting your duties, Seraphine, in putting this disgusting Omega in her rightful place."

"Mind your words, Marta," Seraphine cut in, her voice low but firm, eyes flashing.

"Am I wrong?" Marta shot back without hesitation. "If you were doing your eye service duty properly, would she be parading around in clearly stolen clothes?" Her gaze swept over Rhea’s oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans, disdain curling each syllable. "Look at her. Dressed like some shameless thief."

Amused, Rhea tilted her head, lips twitching. They hate each other. How entertaining. I wonder what the story behind this little feud is.

Seraphine’s face tightened as she rounded on Marta. "How dare a mere Omega speak to me like that? Have you forgotten your place?"

Marta faltered. The fury she had unleashed moments ago now twisted into unease. Her jaw clenched, her eyes darting briefly to the kitchen hands who were still watching. She had let her anger at Rhea’s brazen insolence and her loathing for that insufferable Seraphine drive her tongue too far. If Seraphine chose to report this... the consequences could be disastrous.

She opened her mouth, desperate to salvage the situation, when Rhea’s voice cut clean through.

"That’s enough," Rhea said, lifting a hand lazily. "I’ve had more than my fill of your bickering. What I need now is to rest after such a wonderful meal." She smirked, tilting her head toward Marta. "Honestly, I’m shocked. A mouth as rotten as yours, yet you managed to cook something that good? Surprising."