Chapter 3
Addison
“Yes!” I squeal, jumping to my feet. “Fuck yes. Die, motherfucker, die!”
I watch as the car I just bombed burns, earning me yet another win. It wasn’t an easy kill. I almost died three times, but thankfully, I had enough health pills saved up in my inventory to keep me going. I gave it everything I had, but I won, leveling me up, yet again.
It’s crazy how fast I’ve climbed the ranks in this game after doing this for only a week.
The Streampunk chat starts flooding with comments. Most of them tell me how sick of a kill it was, the rest telling me to show them my tits.
I ignore them. For the most part, they’re harmless comments. I recruited a few moderators to man my chats, and they’ve been great about it. If anyone gets to be too much, they’re kicked out.
I’ve lost a few subscribers this way, but honestly, it’s worth losing some rather than having people harass me.
Sitting back down, I smile up at the camera. “Thanks for joining me tonight, everyone. I have a crazy busy day tomorrow, so I’m going to call it a night. But I’ll be back Sunday night, though! So don’t miss me too hard.” I wink at the camera before turning it off.
I’m about to log off when I see that someone left me a tip. Not just a tip, but a whole fucking paycheck.
“What the hell?” I whisper in shock as I read the name.
RoyalGod78 left a $2000 dollar tip.
“Two fucking grand?” I choke out. “Why the fuck would they do that?”
I click on the profile name. It says his account was only made a week ago. And I’m the only person he seems to be subscribed to.
Do I have myself some kind of super fan or something?
Woah.
What should I do? Act like I didn’t see it? Normally, I don’t reach out or accept messages from anyone, but this is a lot of money. I should thank them, right?
Chewing my lower lip, I debate it. “Fuck it,” I mutter and click the message icon.
PastelPrincess: I just wanted to thank you so much for the tip. Your support means a lot. Thank you for watching.
I hit send. Nothing too personal. Nothing that would cause them to engage, right?
Only, they do. Almost immediately, they message back.
RoyalGod78: No need to thank me. I enjoy supporting streamers who have talent. Keep up the content PastelPrincess. I’ll be watching.
I’m not sure how I should feel about that. He’ll be watching? Of course he will be, I’m streaming for fuck’s sake. Still.
I log off and decide not to think about it. Shutting down my computer, I place my headset on its stand and sigh.
I want to log onto Twisted Valley and see if the guys are online. But if I do that, and they are, I know I’ll spend the next few hours playing. It’s already two in the morning.
If I’m not up and ready to go to brunch on time with this pack my mother picked out, she’ll lose her shit. The Bancroft pack.
I might have done a bit of internet snooping on them, and they’re exactly what I thought they would be.
Their parents are big, powerful people, a lawyer and a doctor for celebrities. Three sons, Benedict, Clifford, and Elton.
From the photos I’ve seen, they don’t seem like bad-looking men. They just seem too prim and proper for me.
I’m dreading going. I already know I’ll have to force myself back into the box my mother loves to put me in.
She even went out and bought me a dress to wear. It’s brunch. Why the hell would I need a damn cocktail dress?
What happened to a cute summer dress? It’s still nice enough and more my style. She turned me down so fast.
Whatever. I’ll go, please her for now, and keep streaming on the side.
At this rate, I’ll be able to make enough money to move out, start over, and have enough for the first three months of rent, within the next month.
I could make this a full-time career if things keep going well.
The guys are excited for me, telling me how proud they are. I love it. I love their praise, their approval.
Which is not good. So not good. God, I’m such a mess.
After taking a shower, I crawl into bed and try to sleep.
It’s not until four in the morning that I manage to finally drift off. It doesn't last long, though.
By nine, Mom is bursting into my room. “What the hell?” I groan as she throws open the drapes. The morning sun smacks me in the face, blinding me.
“Time to get up, Addison. You have an exciting day ahead! I have makeup artists and hairstylists here to start working on you. We need enough time to bleach and style your hair.”
“Excuse me?” I gape at her in horror. “No fucking way. I agreed to the dress. I get that my style isn’t for everyone, but I'm not changing my hair.”
She purses her lips. “You look like bubble gum threw up all over you.” She looks around and sighs. “And this whole room. I’m going to give my interior decorator a call.”
“You will not.” I glare at her. “This is my room. My safe place. My things. I don’t want to change it.”
“It’s time to grow up, Addison. This is a room for a teenager, not a young Omega.”
“Mother,” I grind out. “If you keep pushing me before I’ve even had coffee, I will say fuck it and become homeless. I’ll walk out of here right now and take up camp on the street. I wonder how the press would like that.”
She glares at me. I swear, I think she hates me sometimes. “Fine,” she huffs. “You can keep this.” She waves her hand towards the room. “And your hair.” She rolls her eyes. “But you will let my team style it. And do your makeup.”
“Fine.” I glare right back at her.
“Fine,” she huffs, turning her nose up at me. She spins around and leaves my room.
“Ugh.” I throw myself back onto the pillows. I can’t believe her right now. Did she really think she could just tell me to change my room? My hair? I love my hair.
I throw the blankets off and drag myself into the bathroom to take an extra-long hot shower and procrastinate as long as possible.
I’m able to get a quick bite to eat before a flurry of people whisk me away to the sitting room.
For the next hour, I have people messing with my face and fussing with my hair. I don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s just brunch, not the damn Golden Globes.
When they're done, it’s nearly eleven.
My mother rushes into the room. “You’re not ready yet,” she huffs. “Addison, go get into your dress now. The car is ready to take you. You’re going to be late.”
“I’d be ready if you didn’t insist on a full hair and makeup team.” I roll my eyes and head to my room to put the dress on.
It’s skin tight, and while it looks hot, I hate it. It’s not me. I look like Poison Ivy, but with pink hair instead of red. Again, hot, but too much for a simple brunch.
I’m on my way back down the stairs, the heels nearly taking me out in the process, when Damien grabs my arms, steadying me before I can faceplant.
His touch sends a spark of desire through me that I clamp the fuck down, because hell no to that.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
He says nothing as his eyes roam over me. “Why are you dressed like you’re going to a gala?”
“Don’t ask me, ask my crazy mother. It’s brunch for fuck’s sake. This is so stupid, so over the top. I wear crazy clothes daily, I’m aware of that. But this?” I wave my hands down my body. “Is too much for me. It’s going to draw attention, and for the first time, I don’t like the idea of that.”
I’ve just word vomited to my annoying stepbrother. Lovely.
He stares at me, annoying me even more. “Whatever.” I start to head toward the door.
“If it’s worth anything, you look good.” His gruff voice has me pausing.
“It’s a good thing it isn’t,” I reply, not turning my head to look at him as I continue out the door.
The thing is, it does mean something. More than it should. He thinks I look good. Damien, my godly, good-looking, hockey-playing stepbrother, thinks I look good. Teenage Addie is slicking her panties right now.
And maybe current Addie has the urge, too.
“Get it together” I scold myself as I lower into the back seat of the town car. The last thing I need is to meet three Alphas smelling aroused. They would give the wrong idea.
The restaurant is nice. The food is good. The company, however, is not.
I’m not surprised. It’s going exactly how I thought it would.
Don’t get me wrong, they’ve been gentlemen. Polite and kind. They greeted me nicely and pulled my chair out for me.
That's when things began to go downhill.
When it was time to order, they did it for me. They didn’t even give me the chance to look at the menu. I like salad, I do. However, that's not what I wanted when they ordered for me. The least they could have done was let me add chicken to it!
When I asked for a soda, they gave me a disapproving look and said it’s not good for me, then told the server I’d have sparkling lemon water instead.
Now they’re droning on and on about work.
Themselves. They’ve made this all about themselves and haven’t given me a chance to speak. Not that I really want to. I have a feeling they would disapprove of anything I had to say.
They make sure to let me know how successful they are, how much money they have, and that their future Omega will want for nothing. Their future children will be well taken care of.
I’ve pretty much tuned out now, poking at my food and giving them the occasional nod or sound to show them I’m listening.
“It was lovely meeting you, Addison,” Clifford says, pulling me out of my daydream. “We should do this again sometime.”
Wait, it’s time to go? The date is over? Oh, thank god.
I plaster on my best smile. “Thank you so much for lunch, boys. It was...” I look down at my barely touched salad. “Fresh.”
“It was our pleasure.” Benedict nods. “Let’s make plans for another date. What does your weekend look like?”
No. No, dear god, no. No more dates.
I want to turn them down and tell them I’m not interested, but my mother would be on my case, and I don’t want to deal with her crap right now.
“Ah, how about I get back to you?” I smile. “You have my number, right? I’ll text you. Thank you again so much! Bye.”
I’m out of my seat and through the door before they can say another word.