Today dawned anew, and while Devon seemed marginally better physically, his demeanor had regressed to its usual rude and angry state. Olivia, having awakened and bathed in her chambers, approached his room cautiously. She knocked, and at his curt invitation, she entered.
The door swung open silently. "Come in," Devon instructed.
Olivia walked slowly toward the bed where Devon lay. He inhaled deeply, catching Olivia's scent—a subtle aroma of roses that surrounded her. It stirred something within him, something he struggled to acknowledge.
"Get me something else to eat," Devon demanded suddenly, his tone clipped. "I want food prepared by you."
Olivia stood frozen, her mouth agape and heart racing. The thought of returning to the kitchen, where the maids often mocked her, filled her with apprehension.
"Why can't you just eat the food prepared by the Omegas?" she managed to gesture, her voice trembling slightly.