Page 157 of Pack Plus One

“I’m not doing everything myself,” I point out, gesturing to the four of them scattered around my bakery. “I’m very clearly allowing you all to help.”

“‘Allowing,’” Jude repeats with air quotes. “Like we need permission to help our omega?”

The possessive phrasing makes me blush.

“Fine,” I concede.

“That’s our girl,” Jude grins. “Feminist as fuck while letting us handle the heavy lifting.”

Mason eyes Caleb’s work with barely concealed skepticism. “The angle of that bracket is concerning.”

Caleb grunts, adjusting the piece without argument. For an alpha who growls at most suggestions, he takes Mason’s practical input with surprising grace.

“Has anyone checked on the competition today?” Liam asks, changing the subject with his usual diplomatic timing.

Four pairs of eyes turn toward the front windows, where Alpha Bites is visible across the street. The sleek black and white exterior looks irritatingly professional, with workers inside arranging furniture.

“Eric’s been parading around in there all morning,” Jude reports. “Wearing a suit like he’s opening a bank instead of a bakery. Very ‘I have a trust fund and I’m not afraid to use it’ energy.”

“Has he hired more staff?” I ask, trying to sound casual rather than desperately curious.

“Four betas,” Mason answers promptly. “All female, all conventionally attractive, all wearing identical uniforms that would not be out of place in a 1950s diner.”

I blink at him. “How do you know all that?”

“Reconnaissance,” he shrugs. “I walked by and observed while picking up the receipt paper.”

“Spy beta,” Jude stage-whispers with obvious delight. “Very 007.”

“Practical information gathering,” Mason corrects. “Know thy enemy.”

I turn back to the window, squinting across the street. Sure enough, I can make out several betas in matching outfits arranging pastries in display cases. Something uncomfortable twists in my stomach.

“He’s really going all-in on the traditional bakery concept,” I mutter. “Complete with uniforms and... are those pearl necklaces?”

“Collars would be too obvious,” Jude remarks, earning himself a sharp look from Caleb.

“It’s a marketing strategy,” Liam says calmly, always the voice of reason. “He’s positioning himself as the conservative alternative to your more progressive approach.”

“Well,” I say, straightening my spine, “let’s make sure my progressive approach kicks his traditional ass, shall we?”

Jude whoops, punching the air. “That’s the spirit! Viva la revolución!”

“I’m opening a bakery, not leading an uprising,” I remind him.

“Why not both?” he grins, already typing on his phone. “Sweet Omega: Pastries and Revolution. I’m feeling it.”

By evening, the bakery is ready. The display cases gleam beneath strategic lighting. The seating area looks inviting with its vintage tables and comfortable chairs. The kitchen is organized for maximum efficiency.

It’s beautiful. It’s mine. And I’m absolutely terrified.

“What if no one comes?” I whisper, the fear finally breaking through as we stand in the center of the space, surveying our day’s work.

The pack exchanges a look I can’t quite interpret.

“People will come,” Liam says with quiet certainty.

“But what if they don’t? What if they all go to Alpha Bites instead? What if?—”

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