When I woke up, my stomach groaned loud with sharp hunger pangs that twisted like a knife in my gut after skipping dinner entirely.
The ache pulsed relentless, reminding me of yesterday’s gruelling chores and denied midnight snack.
I jumped out of bed fast, silk camisole twisted awkward around my waist and shorts riding up my thighs.
Why am I not allowed to eat some midnight snacks?
Barefoot padding echoed soft on the cold marble stairs as I hurried downstairs, drawn by faint sizzling sounds and rich aromas wafting through the mansion like a siren’s call.
The kitchen glowed warm under morning light streaming through tall windows.
Silvia stood at the gleaming gas stove in her crisp white blouse tucked into tailored black slacks, sleeves rolled to elbows revealing toned forearms.
She flipped something in a cast-iron pan with practiced ease, her brown hair swept back sharp and red eyes focused intense.
The food looked utterly mouth-watering up-close—golden-brown omelette edges crisping perfect in bubbling butter, folded thick over creamy scrambled eggs flecked bright green with fresh chives and oozing melted cheddar that stretched gooey strings with every turn.
Crispy bacon strips glistened oily and tempting beside it, piled high on a white porcelain plate next to buttered toast slices toasted dark amber with crisp corners, steam rising lazy in fragrant curls.
Scents hit intoxicating and brutal—salty bacon fat mingling thick with buttery eggs, sharp chive bite cutting through creamy richness, fresh coffee brewing dark and nutty in a glass French press on the counter, its bold roast notes promising warmth.
My mouth watered instant, saliva pooling heavy; I walked toward the stove unconscious, hand half-reaching, until her red-eyed glare stopped me dead cold like a slap.
“Honey, can I have some?
Please—it smells absolutely amazing,” I asked soft and hopeful, stomach rumbling audible like thunder in the quiet kitchen.
“No.” She glared harder, spatula pausing mid-air with a chunk of omelette dangling.
“You should cook for yourself like a proper wife.
This plate is mine—back off.”
“I don’t know how to cook anything beyond instant noodles from a cup,” I admitted weak, eyes locked desperate on the bacon’s glossy crisp edges, juices pooling shiny on the plate.
She scoffed sharp and dismissive, plating her breakfast with a deliberate clink of porcelain against marble counter.
“Then how exactly is that my problem?
Go rummage through the pantry for dry cereal or fruit.
And take a bath first—you reek of yesterday’s cleaning sweat mixed with that cheap floral bodywash.
It’s offensive.”
Why does this woman make me want to strangle her right here?
I’d kick her smug head into next week if I ever got half a chance, I thought furious, fists clenching tight at my sides until nails bit palms.
“Host, be a virtuous wife—don’t snap back now,” CVWRS buzzed urgent in my skull, holographic form flickering warning by the fridge.
Fuck her and fuck you too, cat!
I’m starving!
I lowered my head quick, forcing wide doe eyes innocent and pleading, trying my best not to glare daggers right back at her sharp jawline.
just a small bite?
The eggs look so creamy.”
“What’s that got to do with me at all?
Go away and don’t disturb my breakfast peace,” she snapped cold, spearing a thick bacon strip with her fork.
Juices dripped shiny down her chin as she bit in, crunch echoing loud.
🎯 Mission 3: Submissive Shoulder Rub
💆♀️ Ease her stress with “virtuous touches” – knead gentle, purr soft.
✅ Reward: 200 points + Breakfast Share | ❌ Fail: Hunger Lock (No Food 24hrs) 🍳
“Host, use this mission smart—offer shoulder rub, snag food as reward.
Play it perfect,” CVWRS coached sly, tail flicking eager.
My sapphire eyes sparkled desperate at the steaming plate, cheddar still bubbling faint.
“Honey, can I earn some food if I give you a shoulder rub first?
You look so tense from yesterday’s work—let me help relax those knots.”
She snarled low and feral, alpha pheromones spiking sharplu that choked the air thick around us.
“What are you plotting now, Lyra?
Some sneaky omega scheme to worm your way in?”
“Nothing at all—just want to help you relax,” I said quick, hands up innocent and palms open wide.
“I hate your touch completely.
Don’t come anywhere near me,” she said flat and final, shovelling a forkful of chive-flecked eggs with a glare that pinned me back.
Why is she acting like a shy maiden in a bad romance?
I’m the omega here—I should be the scared one under her dominance.
“Why though?
It’s just a simple massage—nothing more.”
“What if you touch me inappropriately?
Your hands always wander too much, testing limits.” Her smooth cheeks flushed faint pink under the kitchen lights, jaw clenching tight.
“I will not have a slimy omega like you hover over me.”
“I won’t—promise on my virtue as your wife.”
“I don’t trust a single word from you, Lyra.
You should back off right now.”
“Please, honey…
You deserve it.”
She shrugged my approaching hand off rough like lint on her pristine blouse, fork scraping plate loud.
“No.
Eat dirt or starve for all I care—your problem.”
“Please?” I tried once more, voice dropping small and pleading, hands clasped doe-like.
She ignored me completely after that, turning back to her coffee with a slow sip.
Steam curled hot around her sharp jawline and full lips, nutty aroma mocking my empty stomach.
With a small hidden glare flashing quick, I turned and walked away slow, bare feet silent and cold on the marble floor.
Before I could touch the first stair riser, her voice cut sharp behind me like a whip.
“From now on, don’t ever make coffee for me again—your poison brew nearly killed me yesterday.
And keep this entire house spotless daily, or face real consequences.”
My face twisted ugly in raw rage, lips curling back as fingers gripped the polished mahogany railing white-knuckled, wood creaking under pressure.
“Host!
Control yourself—breathe deep!” CVWRS hissed pure panic, circling my head frantic.
I am NOT her maid, damn it!
This is slavery!
“No, you aren’t—but you will have to complete other missions.
Hold it together.”
I forced a shaky deep breath through gritted teeth, storming upstairs fast without another word.
Hunger clawed vicious now, stomach cramping empty.
🎯 Mission 3: Submissive Shoulder Rub – FAILED
💆♀️ Refused touch, no stress relief provided.
❌ Penalty: Hunger Lock – No Food 24hrs 🍳🚫
[Trust: -2% | Points: 0]
“Damn it!” I hissed under breath, slamming my bedroom door hard enough to rattle the vanity mirror.
Hunger doubled instant—phantom lock sealing my throat like invisible chains, any thought of raiding the pantry turning to nausea.
“Sorry, Host…”
“Fuck your missions,” I snarled, collapsing onto the bed face-down, silk sheets cool against flushed cheeks.