⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
I bit my lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood, the heat on my cheeks feeling like I'd just been slapped with a hot towel.
Another omega. Those words echoed in my mind, mocking me with their quiet finality.
Mr. Fairchild was perfect in his infuriatingly composed way...steady, controlled, the type of guy who probably had his sock drawer alphabetized and planned retirement parties years in advance.
A man like him deserved someone stable, someone who dreamed of white picket fences and picking out paint colors for the nursery, someone who wanted the whole domestic bliss package.
As for me? I wasn't so sure that's what I wanted. I loved the pulsing bass in dark clubs at 2 AM, the burn of cheap tequila sliding down my throat, and the thrill of locking eyes with a stranger across a packed dance floor, both of us knowing exactly where the night might lead.
