Alpha Oliver's POV
I watched her through the corner of my eye as she worked. The way she handled the knife was precise, almost aggressive, as if she were taking out her frustrations on the carrots. Every few seconds, I felt her gaze flicker toward my wrists—looking for something she would never find.
I suppressed a smirk. Yesterday, I had gone to great lengths to acquire a specialized waterproof concealer, a high-grade formula used by undercover operatives. My tattoo was buried under layers of flesh-toned pigment that wouldn't budge unless I used the specific chemical neutralizer.
