Chapter 160: Your Move

Lorali Pov

There it is, I thought, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. The trap I set for myself.

"It was a stunt to get the press off my back," I said sharply, keeping my voice fierce, matching his arrogance step for step. "They were suffocating me, Torin. I gave them a headline so they’d let me walk to my car. You know as well as I do that it was a bold-faced lie."

"Was it?" Torin asked softly, his voice dropping into a intimate, mocking whisper that felt like his lips were right against my ear. "Because it sounded remarkably sincere to the five million people watching at home. ’My pack loves me so much...’ Quite a romantic declaration, Lorali. I almost felt touched."

"You’re delusional," I retorted, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping my throat. "You know I’d rather drink bleach than stand at an altar with you."

"Careful," he warned softly, though the dark amusement in his voice was thick enough to choke on. "You’re playing a dangerous game, sugarplum. You gave the public a narrative, and now they expect a spectacle. What do you think happens if I decide to hold you to your word?"

"You wouldn’t dare," I growled.

"Try me," Torin purred back, his tone smooth as velvet. "I have event planners arriving at my office tomorrow morning. If you want a grand wedding, Lorali... I might just give you one. Just to see that pretty, arrogant face of yours turn pale when you realize you can’t get out of this."

"You touch a single wedding planner, Torin, and I will ruin you on live television," I threatened, the heat rising in my cheeks, a wild mix of fury and intense, electric tension crackling between us through the signal.

"I’d love to see you try," he replied, his voice dripping with sinister charm.

"Go to hell, Torin."

I ended the call with a sharp slap of my thumb against the screen, my breathing ragged and heavy in the quiet hallway. My heart was racing, my skin flushed hot with a mixture of sheer rage and the dark, terrifying thrill that Torin always managed to evoke in me.

He’s bluffing, I told myself, clutching the phone against my chest as I took three deep, steadying breaths. He’s trying to rattle me. He wants me scared, he wants me defensive. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I straightened my jacket, wiped the tense scowl off my face, and pushed back through the double doors, stepping back into the neon-lit roar of the bowling alley.

Astrid was currently mid-throw, her ball wildly veering off toward the left gutter while Erin stood behind her, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I’m back!" I announced, forcing a bright, cheerful tone into my voice as I stepped back up to our lane booth.

"Everything good with the pack?" Erin asked, looking over at me with a perceptive, quiet glance.

"Perfect," I lied, picking up my pink bowling ball and stepping up to the wooden approach lane with a cold, renewed determination in my eyes. "Just taking care of business.

I took three steps forward, swung my arm back, and released the ball with everything I had. It glided straight down the center of the lane, hitting the headpin with a thunderous, satisfying crash that sent all ten pins flying into the dark. I imagened the pins as Torin face and it proved to be a smart thing to do.

A total strike.

Your move, Torin Spade. Your move.

Oril

I stood in front of the island, staring down at a stainless-steel mixing bowl that contained a lumpy, grayish batter that looked closer to wet plaster than anything edible. Beside me, sweating through his shirt and furiously whisking a separate bowl of yellow sludge, was Walter.

I am an absolute idiot, I thought, closing my eyes for a long second to rub my temples, leaving a broad streak of flour across my forehead. How did I let him drag me into this nightmare? Oh, right. Because he hit me with those stupid, pathetic puppy-dog eyes of his, and because I was desperate, so utterly, pathetically desperate, to distract myself from my own ruined life.

A dark, heavy coil of embarrassment tightened in my stomach at the thought of my week. Six job interviews. Six separate suits pressed, six resumes printed on high-grade paper, six formal sit-downs where I smiled until my face hurt. And what did I have to show for it? Six polite, rejections sent straight to my inbox, each offering some bogus excuse.

"We’re looking for someone with a slightly different profile."

"We’ve chosen to go with an internal candidate."

"Your background doesn’t align with our immediate targets."

Bullshit, my mind screamed bitterly, a sharp flare of resentment rising in my throat. Every single one of those HR managers looked at my resume, saw the lack of big-name corporate backing, and threw it in the trash. I sat there broke, struggling, and terrified of my bank account hitting zero, while sitting on the biggest golden ticket in the entire territory.

If I had just written Spade Pack Member on the top of my application, if I had just dropped Torin’s name or used my family ties, I would have been handed a corner office with a five-figure sign-on bonus before my chair even got warm. The Spade name opened doors instantly. It commanded authority. It bought respect.

But no, I thought, glaring at the lumpy batter with vicious self-loathing. Curse my stupid, stubborn ego. I wanted to do it on my own. I wanted to prove I wasn’t just a parasite living off Torin’s wealth, and now I’m standing in a flour-covered kitchen helping Walter ruin a cake while my bank account bleeds to death.

"Oril, look at this!" Walter gasped, interrupting my internal rage-spiral. He thrust his phone screen into my face, his fingers slick with egg yolk. "Look at the video! Look at how their egg whites are forming those fluffy, cloud-like peaks when they whip them! Ours look like yellow snot!"

I leaned back to avoid getting yolk on my nose, staring at the screen. "You’re whipping them by hand with a tiny whisk, Walter. They used an industrial electric mixer."

"Well, the eggs just aren’t egging like the ones in the video!" Walter argued, his voice carrying a frantic, high-pitched strain. "Why aren’t they egging?!"

From the other side of the island, a loud, sudden burst of laughter rang out.

Kei was leaning back against the island, a glass of iced water in his hand, his shoulders shaking as he watched the two of us struggle. He looked entirely too relaxed, his eyes glinting with pure amusement at our collective failure.

"You guys look like two toddlers trying to make mud pies," Kei wheezed, shaking his head. "Walter, you’ve got flour in your hair. Oril looks like he’s about to cry into the batter."

"Shut up, Kei!" I snapped, wiping my cheek with my shoulder, only to smear more white powder over my skin. "If you’re not going to help, get your sarcastic face out of the kitchen!"

"Hey, I’m just enjoying the show," Kei chuckled, taking a slow sip of his water. "It’s not every day I get to see the Oril Spade get defeated by a box of baking powder."

Before I could throw a dirty wooden spoon at his head Oracle strolled in from the hallway. It was late afternoon, but he was wearing an oversized hoodie, his hair messy and unstyled. He walked past us without saying a word, pulled a porcelain bowl out of the cabinet, and poured himself a mountain of sugary cereal, followed by a heavy splash of milk. He dragged out a stool at the far end of the island, sat down, and began eating in slowly.

Look at him, I thought, my jaw tightening as I watched my brother chew. It’s a miracle he’s even in the same room as us, let alone eating in our presence. Ever since Lorali pulled that stunt and he decided to play her knight in shining armor, he’s barely spoken two words to the rest of the pack. He pledged his grand allegiance to the brown-eyed bitch, and now he looks at us like we’re strangers.

Still, despite the sharp edge of bitterness in my chest, a small, quiet part of me felt a faint wave of relief just seeing him sit there. He was my brother. We used to be close before this whole two-omega nightmare tore our house to pieces. Seeing him eat cereal in the kitchen felt almost normal, a tiny, fragile shadow of the past.

Oracle swallowed his food, resting his chin on his palm as his dark eyes drifted over the mess on the counter.

"Why is Walter baking a cake?" Oracle asked, his voice low, gravelly, and completely devoid of emotion.

Walter stopped whisking. He straightened his back, smoothed down his flour-dusted apron with calm hands, and offered a smooth, polite smile. "I’m baking it for Lorali," Walter replied calmly.

The entire kitchen went dead silent.

Kei stopped laughing, his glass pausing halfway to his mouth. My jaw literally dropped open, my hands freezing mid-air over the mixing bowl.

"What?" I blurted out, my voice cracking slightly.

Walter turned his head, looking at me with absolute composure, entirely unbothered by our reaction. "I’m baking a cake for Lorali," he repeated smoothly.

Is he out of his mind?! I’ve been standing here for an hour, sweating, ruining my clothes, and breaking my back helping him bake a cake, and it’s for THAT bitch?! No way. No damn way!

"Walter, are you insane?!" I yelled, slamming my palm down onto the island, sending a cloud of flour puffing into the air. "Why on earth would you do such a thing?! After everything she’s done?"

Walter didn’t even flinch. He just looked at me with those cool, calm eyes. "Does a man need a grand reason to give his fated mate a gift, Oril?"

"Come on, Walter, fated mates?!" I scoffed, throwing my hands in the air. "She hates your guts! She treats you like scum under her shoe!"

Oracle let out a low, dry snort from the end of the counter. He set his spoon down against his porcelain bowl with a sharp clink.

"She really doesn’t see you, or me, or even Kei as her fated mate, Walter," Oracle said, his voice flat and cuttingly realistic. "If you give her that cake, she’s not going to smile and thank you. She’ll shove it right back in your face, take a picture of it, and mock you with her friends later."

For once, Oracle is actually making sense, I thought, nodding aggressively in agreement. Lorali doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body when it comes to us. She feeds on our misery.