Jefferson's POV
I pressed my eyes shut, releasing a deep breath that carried weeks of pent-up frustration.
When I opened them, the untouched plate before me might as well have been garbage. The meal looked ordinary enough, but everything felt like a personal affront these days. The chef stood frozen beside the table, her face twisted with anxiety.
"What do you call this?" Each word came out razor-sharp.
Her hands trembled as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor. "It's your dinner, Alpha. I prepared it as quickly as I could manage."
Heat flared in my chest. "I didn't ask for your excuses. I asked what this pathetic excuse for food is supposed to be. Remove it and find someone competent to cook. You're dismissed permanently."
The color drained from her face completely. "There's nobody else available, Alpha. I'm the last kitchen staff member remaining. You terminated everyone else recently."
I leaned back, my voice dripping with disdain. "Then disappear from my sight."
