Chapter 163: Earn My Forgiveness

Walter

The quiet hum of the kitchen was broken only by the ticking of the mechanical egg timer resting on the marble counter.

I sat perched on a high barstool beside the island, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. The screen reflected in my eyes as I watched a newly released promotional advertisement featuring my own face. It was a sleek, thirty-second clip for a high-end luxury watch line with crisp editing, perfect lighting, my posture immaculate as I adjusted a diamond cufflink for the camera.

Not bad, I let out a quiet breath as the video looped. The lighting covers the fatigue under my eyes nicely. At least the media still thinks I’m still the picture-perfect Omega. ℯ𝓵.

The penthouse was eerily silent. Oril and Keion had left over an hour ago, heading out to some rowdy downtown pub to celebrate Oril finally landing a job. They had invited me to come along, but I had turned them down. I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Oril had helped me as much as his pride and impatience would allow, helping me mix the dry ingredients and measure out the butter even after finding out we were baking for Lorali, it took him a while to finally have enough and book it out of here. Now, it was just me, waiting for the oven to finish its work.

I leaned my elbows against the cool island surface, staring at the glowing orange light of the oven door.

I hope she can actually like them. A sudden, heavy pang of anxiety struck my chest. Or at least... accept them. Even if she takes one bite and throws the rest directly into my face, it’ll be fine. I can handle her throwing them at me. I deserve far worse than a pan of ruined baked goods thrown at my head after everything this pack has dragged her through.

DING!

The metallic ring of the egg timer sliced through the quiet room.

I snapped out of my thoughts, putting my phone face-down on the marble counter. Pushing myself off the stool, I pulled a pair of heavy, heat-resistant silicone mittens onto my hands and walked over to the oven. I pulled the heavy glass door down, a wave of intense, chocolate-scented heat billowing out into my face.

Reaching inside, I carefully pulled out the rectangular metal baking pan and set it down onto the heat-proof mat on the island.

I pulled off my mittens and leaned in to inspect the final product, my eyebrows slowly drawing together in utter confusion.

"What in the world...?" I muttered under my breath.

They were supposed to be brownies. Simple, square, dark chocolate fudge brownies.

Instead, the pan looked like a bizarre culinary science experiment. The section on the left was a deep, scorched brownish-black. The middle section was a strangely bright, shimmering golden-yellow. And the section on the right, for reasons that defied all laws of chemistry and physics, considering I hadn’t used a single drop of food dye, was a soft, pale pink.

How did pink even happen? I stared at the pan in complete bewilderment. Did the chocolate react with the baking soda? Did Oril mix something wrong while I wasn’t looking?

Shaking my head, I grabbed a small pairing knife and cut a tiny square out of each color zone. I picked up the golden piece first and popped it into my mouth.

It was dense, overly sweet, and slightly dry, but completely edible. I tried the pink square next, it tasted strangely like vanilla and burnt sugar. The brown piece was crisp around the edges, but rich in the middle.

It’s decent, I concluded, letting out a small, relieved sigh. For something I baked with my own hands, the fact that it’s actually edible is a miracle.

People were always shocked whenever they found out I couldn’t cook or bake. After all, I had spent years enrolled at the Omega Institute, where cooking, domestic management, and culinary grace were beaten into our heads daily.

But I had hated that place with every fiber of my being. I hated the institution, I hated the forced docility, and I hated cooking so much that my brain simply refused to absorb the lessons. You can force a person to sit in a kitchen for ten thousand hours, but if their heart isn’t in it, nothing will ever take root.

Suddenly, the quiet click of the front door lock echoed from the foyer.

My spine instantly straightened.

I stepped away from the counter, watching as the front door swung open. Oracle stepped inside first, his tall, broad frame moving silently as he held the heavy door open. Right behind him came Lorali.

My heart did a sudden, chaotic flutter against my ribs.

She’s back already? My eyes widened as I looked at the clock on the microwave. It’s barely nine o’clock. Usually, when she storms out with Oracle, they don’t drag themselves back to the penthouse until three or four in the morning.

Lorali stormed into the main living space, her face set in a tight, unreadable mask. She completely ignored my presence, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she marched directly past the sofa and into the kitchen area.

She opened the double-door stainless-steel refrigerator, completely ignoring me standing just two feet away, and reached into the top shelf. She pulled out a large glass jug filled with a bright, icy pink liquid, strawberry lemonade.

Ah, I thought, a tiny realization washing over me. So that’s whose lemonade that was. I saw it in the fridge earlier while I was getting the butter and wondered who made it.

Nervously, my throat feeling dry as bone, I cleared my throat and stepped closer to the island.

"Lorali?" I called out softly.

She paused, holding the heavy glass jug near the counter, and slowly turned her head to glare at me. Her brown eyes were cold, sharp, and completely exhausted.

"What? Walter," she said, her voice dropping into a warning growl. As she grabbed a nearby cup, pouring her drink into a cup.

"I... I baked something for you," I stammered, my usual smooth, charming composure completely failing me. I awkwardly motioned with both hands toward the colorful pan sitting on the heat mat.

Lorali stopped pouring her drink, her gaze drifting over to the pan. She stared at the brown, gold, and pink squares for three long seconds, her top lip curling up in deep disgust.

"What is that?" she asked, her tone dripping with venom. "Is that supposed to be some new, sick way to insult me?"

"No! No, no," I said quickly, waving my hands. "They’re brownies. I made them for you." Lorali looked from the pan back to my face, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "No, they’re not. Those are not brownies, Walter. That is an absolute abomination."

"Well... I’m sorry," I swallowed hard, stepping around the edge of the island, keeping my hands visible. "I know I’m not good at this, but I wanted to bake them for you. I baked them myself."

Lorali shoved the glass jug back into the fridge and slammed the door shut with a sharp clack.

"I don’t want your brownies, Walter," she said coldly, turning her whole body to face me. "You’re only doing this because you feel guilty. You feel sorry for me in some twisted, pathetic way."

"Yes," I admitted immediately, not holding back, my voice completely sincere as I looked into her fierce eyes. "I do feel sorry. And I will do whatever it takes for you to forgive me for what I have done, for what this entire pack has done to you. I will work for it, Lorali. Even if you take this pan right now and throw it straight onto the floor, it is fine. I’ll clean it up, and I’ll bake another one tomorrow."

Lorali stood frozen, staring at me like I had suddenly grown a second head. The anger in her eyes flickered, replaced by a deep intensity.

"You want my forgiveness?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dangerous, deadly quiet whisper. "You really want to know how to fix this?"

"Tell me," I pleaded softly. "Anything."

"Remove the venomous bond on me," she said clearly. My entire world ground to a sudden, violent halt.

Remove the venomous bond...?I can’t do that. A venomous pack bond can’t just be untied like a ribbon! "What?" I choked out loud, my voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, you heard me," Lorali snapped, stepping right into my personal space, her dark eyes flashing with lethal intent. "Remove the venomous bond, and get me into another pack, a pack ten times better than Spade. Then you will have my forgiveness. Heck, I will even love you, or like you, or at least tolerate standing in the same room as you if you do that! That is the only way you will ever earn my forgiveness."

She reached out, her sharp nails effortlessly snapping off a corner piece of the scorched, dark brownie from the pan. "Not with this absolute nonsense you’re doing," she added, holding the dry piece up between two fingers.

She popped the piece into her mouth, chewed twice, and her entire face instantly twisted into a scowl.

"Oh man," she gagged, making a disgusted face as she swallowed it down. "This is absolutely disgusting."

Before I could apologize, she picked up her glass of strawberry lemonade, grabbed the entire rest of the pink square out of the pan with her bare hand, and turned on her heel.

"I’m taking it," she announced loudly as she marched out of the kitchen toward the hallway, "not because it’s nice, but because I desperately need something solid to go with my juice."

She disappeared around the corner, the sound of her bedroom door closing echoing down the hall.

I stood completely alone in the silent, bright kitchen, staring at the empty spot in the pan where the pink square used to be.

She took it, I thought, a small, trembling breath escaping my lips. A tiny, faint smile slowly crept onto my face against my own will.

Okay, I told myself, clutching my hands together over the counter. I’ll take it. That’s progress. It’s something.

I wanted nothing more than to stay by my fated mate’s side. But I also knew the toxic rot eating away at my pack. It was almost impossible for any of us to truly be together after everything that had happened. It wouldn’t be right to force her to stay.

So, if that was what she truly wanted, to be free of the venomous bond, to be placed safely into a pack that would actually protect her, then I would find a way.

I would do it for her.

I will find her the perfect pack and earn her forgiveness.