To ruin an Omega

Chapter 183: Softer, Harder, In-between

CIAN

The kitchen at six in the morning never smelled the way it did during the day. The bread was long gone from the ovens. That warm, soft scent had faded. What took its place was coffee. Sharp. Bitter. It cut through everything and sat heavy at the back of my throat.

I stood in the doorway with the pot in my hands and waited.

The head chef noticed me almost at once. Her gaze dropped straight to what I was holding.

“Alpha Cian,” she said, setting aside the bowl she had been working with. “You finished?”

“I need help plating it.”

That earned a small smile. Nothing exaggerated. Just knowing. “Of course.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the room. Took the pot from me carefully, like it mattered. Like she understood that it did. She lifted the lid and steam rolled up between us. She leaned in without thinking and breathed it in.

“This is unique,” she said after a moment. “I do not recognize it as one of the Grand Luna’s favorites.”

“It’s not for my mother.”

Her brows lifted. She looked at me properly then. Looked back at the pot. I watched understanding settle across her face.

“For your mate.”

“Yes.”

Her smile widened. Genuine. Warm. “I am sure she will be touched.”

I hoped she would be. I had been at this for hours. My hands still smelled like peppers no matter how many times I scrubbed them. My eyes were raw from onions and lack of sleep. None of that mattered if Fia smiled.

“Should we carry it up to her room?” the chef asked.

“I’ll take it.”

She nodded and reached for a tray. White ceramic. Small handles on either side. She ladled the beans into a proper serving bowl, placed the lid on top, and arranged everything neatly. Spoon. Cloth napkin. A small glass of water.

“There,” she said, offering it to me.

The tray felt heavier than it should have. Maybe my arms were tired. Maybe my nerves were worse. Either way, I had it.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck, Alpha.”

I took the stairs slowly. Each step made the beans shift just enough to remind me they were there. The smell followed me up, rich and earthy, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten.

Her door was closed when I reached it. I knocked three times.

“Come in,” she called.

I pushed the door open with my shoulder.

Fia was half propped against the bed, hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a dark blue cotton nightgown. Simple. Soft. She looked at me and smiled, already moving to sit up more.

I crossed the room and set the tray on the dresser. Then I went back to her and rested my hand on her head. Gentle. Careful.

“How are you?”

Her smile widened. “I’m more than great.”

Her eyes drifted past me to the tray. She tilted her head slightly.

“What’s that? You brought food?” She inhaled slowly. “It smells familiar.”

“Because it is.”

“Really?”

I went back for the tray and carried it to the small table by the window. Set it where she could reach without straining. She swung her legs out from under the covers, bare feet touching the floor. She looked at me, then at the covered bowl. Hope crept into her expression like she was afraid to trust it.

I lifted the lid.

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth parted. She looked at the bowl, then up at me, then back again.

“Beans,” she whispered.

“Yeah. I might have threatened your father with a war if he didn’t give me the recipe.”

She laughed softly.

“It might not taste the same,” I started, already bracing myself, “but you should know I have never been—”

She hugged me.

Hard. Sudden. Her arms wrapped around my middle and knocked the words straight out of me. She pressed her face to my chest and her shoulders shook.

She was crying.

“Thank you,” she said, voice muffled. “Thank you so much.”

I held her. Just held her. “This feels nice.”

She laughed again, wet and broken, then pulled back and wiped at her eyes.

I picked up the spoon and offered it to her. “Judge my cooking.”

Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. She dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it to her mouth. I watched her chew. Watched her face.

It was small. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. The way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. The way she swallowed too quickly.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“You like it?”

“I do.”

The bond shifted between us. Not subtly. Not gradually. It just went quiet. She closed it, sealed it off completely, and the absence hit me at once. It felt like a door slamming somewhere deep in my chest, the echo sharp enough to make me inhale.

“Goddess,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. “Shutting the mate bond does not sell your case at all.”

She laughed. A real laugh this time, not the careful kind. “I swear it’s good.”

“Then stop shielding.”

“It’s lazy to seek answers from the bond when you can just believe me.”

I crossed my arms and leaned back against the table. “Be honest. I will not get better.”

She bit her lip and looked down at the bowl. The steam had thinned now, drifting upward in lazy curls. When she looked back at me, there was apology written plainly in her eyes.

“It’s not bad,” she said, choosing her words. “But it’s not the best either.” She hesitated, then added, “It seems like a great first attempt though.”

I let out a slow breath. That was something.

“The problem is the beans aren’t that soft.” She scooped up another spoonful and held it out toward me. “Here. Try.”

I leaned forward and let her feed me. The beans hit my tongue and I understood immediately. Too firm. Too much bite. They should have melted more, turned creamy instead of holding their shape so stubbornly.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I agree.”

She pulled the spoon back, narrowing her eyes. “You didn’t even taste it.”

“I didn’t want to be the first to.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling. “You know what? This can be fixed. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

We went together. Down the stairs, the bowl cradled carefully between us like it was something fragile. She carried it with both hands, steady and reverent. When we pushed into the kitchen, every Omega inside turned at once. Surprise flashed across their faces before they masked it.

“Alpha. Luna,” the head chef said, bowing. “Is something wrong?”

“The beans need more cooking,” I said. “We’re here to fix them.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the others. “We can clear out.”

“No,” Fia said quickly. “Please keep working. We won’t be in the way.”

They hesitated, then returned to what they were doing, though I caught more than a few curious glances thrown our way. I couldn’t blame them. It probably wasn’t every day they saw their Alpha hovering uselessly in the kitchen while his mate took charge.

Fia found a pot and poured the beans in, adding a bit of water before turning on the heat. Her movements were easy, practiced. She stirred without thinking, tested the beans between her fingers, nodded to herself. This wasn’t new to her. This was memory. Muscle and instinct and something deeper.

I stood behind her and watched. The way she moved, the way she hummed softly under her breath without realizing it. Her shoulders had relaxed. She looked… happy.

That was when I noticed the tears.

They gathered quietly at the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away right away. Just let them fall into the steam.

“Are you alright?”

She startled, bringing her hand up to her face and wiping quickly. “Yeah.” Her voice was thick. “This just reminded me of my mom.”

Guilt twisted sharp in my chest. “I wanted this to be a good memory.”

She laughed softly, watery and fragile. “But it is.” She turned to me then, eyes red but bright. “This was very kind. I’ll never forget it, Cian.”

The way she said my name did something to me. Soft. Careful. Like she was holding it gently in her mouth. My chest tightened.

I stepped closer until I was right behind her, close enough to feel her warmth. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

“I hope so.” She stirred again. “She loved cooking. Said it was how she showed love. Through food. Through feeding people.” She paused. “I think she would have liked that you tried to do this for me.”

“Even though I failed?”

“You didn’t fail.” She leaned back against me, just enough to let me feel the weight of her. “You tried. That matters.”

The beans were softening now. I could see it. They broke apart more easily under the spoon, the sauce thickening, clinging better.

“There,” she said finally. “That’s better.”

She turned off the heat and looked up at me. We were closer than I’d realized. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes, the tears still caught in her lashes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You already said that.”

“I know.” She placed her hand on my chest, right over my heart. “But I mean it. This meant everything.”

I covered her hand with mine and held it there. “You mean everything.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, before I could second guess myself. I didn’t try to take them back. They were already true.

Her breath caught. She searched my face, then smiled. The kind of smile that reached her eyes and made something warm unfurl in my chest.

“We should eat while it’s hot,” she said.

“Lead the way.”

We took the beans back upstairs. Back to her room. She sat on the bed while I pulled the table closer. We shared the bowl, trading the spoon back and forth. She was right. They were better now. Softer. Deeper in flavor.

“My mom would’ve added more pepper,” she said between bites. “She liked it spicy.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“For next time?” She raised her brows.

“You think this is my last attempt at cooking?”

She laughed. “I think the kitchen might need a warning.”

“I only set off one smoke alarm.”

“You what?”

“I’m kidding.” Mostly.

She shook her head and took another bite. “This really is good though. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.”

“Never.”

We finished the bowl together as the morning light crept in through the window, turning everything gold and warm. When it was empty, she set the spoon aside and looked at me like she was seeing something new.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How lucky I am.”

I reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, my hand lingering against her cheek. “I’m the lucky one.”

I meant it. Every word.