Page 2 of Accidentally Forever

I lean in, taking the phone and squinting at the picture. It’s a hairline scuff at best, something a little polish would fix in five seconds flat. “That’s it? You came all the way here for this?”

The woman’s lips part, but before she can say another word, the door bursts open again, and a kid—maybe sixteen—rushes in, panting and red-faced. “Mom, stop!” he shouts, skidding to a halt next to her. “You do this all the time! There’s nothing wrong with it, okay? It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

The woman’s face flushes crimson, and she splutters, but the kid grabs her arm and starts tugging her toward the door. “Sorry,” he mutters to me and Sofie, his eyes full of embarrassment. “She’s... yeah. Sorry.”

I watch them leave, my hands still clenched, my chest heaving with restrained frustration. When the door finally swings shut behind them, I turn back to Sofie. She’s in the chair a few inches behind me, her entire body trembling, my poor Omega curled in on herself as she tries to fight her emotions.

“Baby, fuck. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I crouch down in front of her seat, taking her hands in mine and rub my thumbs over the back until she meets my gaze. Her hazel eyes are wide and glossy, my heart breaking just a little more today. “She came in here screaming but she was in the wrong.”

Sofie gives me a small nod. “I know. It’s just… everything is always so loud and different. I just wanted to give her whatever she wanted so that she would go away.” Her body relaxes the longer I hold her hands until that sweet melon scent is back. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t remember how many times she’s said that in the last few weeks as if all of this is her fault. “Just breathe with me, baby.” She takes a short breath, chokes on it, and then sputters. There’s a strained giggle in there somewhere as Sofie tries to compose herself which brings a smile to my face. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow.”

She nods but doesn’t quite follow, her breaths hitching. Her scent’s already changing—sweet, heady, and too damn close to tipping into something I’m not ready to handle in the middle of this godforsaken gallery.

I dig into my pocket and pull out the little bottle of lotion I carry everywhere now, just in case. The label’s worn off, but I don’t need to read it to know what it does. A quick twist of the cap and I smear a dollop under her nose, swiping it gently across her upper lip.

“Better?” I ask, watching her expression change from mild panic to relief. “This’ll help. Just focus on breathing, okay?”

Her lips part slightly as she inhales a shaky breath. The tension in her shoulders starts to ease, the wild panic in her eyes dulling just enough for her to focus on me.

“Better?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

She nods, leaning forward to rest her forehead against my shoulder. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “My head’s all over the place, and my body—it’s getting hot again. I think—”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to. I know what’s happening. She’s close. Having presented so late, we had no idea when her first heat would hit. Stress like this only pushes her closer to the edge and I’m kicking myself for not stopping that woman sooner.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close. She feels so small like this, fragile in a way that breaks my heart. “I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

I press a soft kiss to her temple, my lips lingering for just a second. Her scent’s still thick in the air, even with the lotion, and it stirs something primal in me, something I shove down hard.

The sound of heavy boots on tile pulls me back and I glance up to see our boss emerging from the back office. His scowl is as permanent as the cheap cologne he bathes in, his beady eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene at the desk.

“Cut the PDA,” he sneers, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a daycare. Violet, I need you back in the stockroom. Now.”

My jaw tightens, but I nod, squeezing Sofie’s hand one last time before standing. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I whisper to her. She nods again, her gaze dropping to her lap, and it takes everything in me not to snap at him for being such a prick. As I follow him, I glance over my shoulder, catching Sofie’s eyes one more time. “It’s okay,” I mouth to her. And I mean it. Because I’ll make damn sure it is.

Chapter two

VIOLET

The back rooms of the gallery always smell the same—old wood, varnish, the lingering scent of something expensive but neglected, like forgotten wealth gathering dust. It feels like too many secrets are tucked back here between canvas and frame, the lights casting a sickly glow over everything, which just makes the space feel colder than it should. Rows of paintings lean against the walls, some half-covered with protective cloths, others left bare, their edges worn from being handled too many times.

I’ve never understood why some paintings are handled with more care than others since it doesn’t correlate with how much they’re sold for. There’s another system in place, one I don’t understand and one that doesn’t actually matter to me. So long as I get paid and Sofie is safe, I keep my head down, mouth shut, and do whatever Xavier asks of me. Well, almost. I told him off the other day when he asked me to repaint one of the back rooms. That shit is in nobody’s job description and unless he wanted it looking like shitandhe was paying over time, I wasn’t touching it.

I stifle a chuckle as Xavier walks ahead of me, the click of his boots echoing off the polished floors. His shoulders are stiff, his posture impatient, like he’s already decided the conversation we’re about to have is a waste of his time. I know that look. I know exactly what it means. I’m not gonna like whatever bullshit he’s about to dump on me.

He stops near a row of portraits, each one draped in loose sheeting, and turns to face me, his expression mirroring the agitation I feel. “These need to be hung up immediately,” he says, his voice clipped with annoyance. “Event’s tomorrow.”

My gaze flicks to the covered pieces, unease curling deep in my gut. I’m already in the middle of hanging shit he gave me earlier, everything perfectly curated to a certain artistic vibe. They’ll clash.Something’s off.I cross my arms. “And the guys you usually hire for this? Did they all suddenly disappear?” As cheap as Xavier is, he’s usually proud of his stock and threatens me enough times not to mess with the money makers. And now he’s asking me to be in charge of them? I’m good at a lot of things, hanging up art… not so much. Case in point, the fact that I scratched the wall earlier.

I’m also tired and cranky and if he makes me pull down all the work I just did, someone’s getting punched.

Xavier scoffs, dragging a hand over his jaw. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you don’t ask enough,” I shoot back, the irritation slipping into my voice before I can smooth it out. “Like, how the hell am I supposed to do this alone before the end of my shift?” One of those frames is nearly as wide as I am tall.

His expression barely shifts, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes—condescension, barely concealed irritation, the usual cocktail of bullshit he serves up whenever I push back. “Then Sofie should do it.”

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