Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother

161 Chapter 161

Seraphina’s POV 1

The clock above register three showed 8:47 PM. Thirteen minutes past my normal shift. Thirteen minutes past

when | should have been walking out the door, heading hto my sad dinner of instant noodles and whatever

was left of that questionable bread.

Instead, | was still here. Covering for Mia. Again.

“Next!” | called out, my voice hoarse from eight straight hours of fake cheerfulness.

A teenager shuffled forward with an armload of energy drinks and candy bars. Perfect. Another customer who'd

probably pay with crumpled dollar bills and loose change while | stood here pretending my feet weren't

screaming in pain.

“ID?” | asked automatically when | saw the energy drinks.

He rolled his eyes tically. “Seriously? They're not even the hardcore ones.”

“Store policy.”

He dug through his wallet, muttering under his breath about uptight cashiers and stupid rules. Behind him, three

more customers waited with the patience of hungry wolves.

This was supposed to be Mia’s problem. Mia should be here dealing with teenage attitude and the growing line of

increasingly annoyed

shoppers. But no-Mia was off somewhere with Tuesday Derek, probably laughing and having actual fun while |

covered her ass.

Again.

The energy drink kid finally found his ID and slapped it down on the counter. Eighteen years old. Legal. | scanned

his items and told him

the total.

“Twelve sixty-seven.”

He started counting out singles. Slowly. Like each dollar bill required careful consideration.

“Con, man!” someone shouted from the back of the line. “Sof us got places to be!”

The kid's hands started shaking. “Sorry, sorry. | got it somewhere...”

| felt a stab of sympathy. He was just a kid. Nervous. Probably spent his last bit of money on caffeine to get

through a night shift at some

other dead-end job.

“Take your time,” | said gently.

“Twenty-seven!” A different voice from the line. “Are you counting to twelve or writing a ?”

Heat flushed the kid's cheeks. He fumbled with the bills, dropping two on the floor.

“Hey!” | called out to the line. “Give him a minute, okay? We're all human here.”

That's when I noticed him.

18:28

1/3

A large man near the back of the line, wearing a stained work shirt and emanating the kind of aggressive energy

that made my survival instincts perk up. His face was red with irritation, and he kept checking his phone like

every second was costing him money.

The teenager finally gathered his dropped bills and counted out the exact change. | handed him his receipt with

an encouraging smile.

“Have a good night,” | said.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing his bag and practically running for the exit.

“FINALLY!” The angry man had moved up to third in line. “Jesus Christ, kid. Maybe learn to count before you

leave the house next time!”

| gritted my teeth. “Next!”

The woman in front of him approached with a basket of groceries and an apologetic expression. “Sorry about the

wait,” she said quietly.

“I know everyone's in a hurry.”

“Not your fault,” | assured her, starting to scan her items. Milk, bread, baby formula. A working mom grabbing

necessities after a long

day.

Behind her, Mr. Angry was getting louder.

“This is ridiculous! I've been standing here for twenty minutes! You got one cashier for the whole damn store?”

“Actually,” | called over the customer's head, “we have three registers open. If you'd like to move to-"

“Don’t tellwhere to go!” he snapped. “I was here first! You people need to learn scustomer service!”

*You people.* The phrase made my jaw clench. But | forced my voice to stay level.

“I understand you're frustrated, sir. We're doing our best to-"

“Your best sucks!”

The woman in front oflooked embarrassed. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “He’s been like this the whole

time.”

“Twenty-one forty-eight,” | told her, keeping my voice calm.

She paid quickly and gathered her bags. “Good luck,” she murmured as she left.

Mr. Angry stepped up to my register like he was approaching a battlefield: Up close, he was even more

intimidating-easily six-foot-

three, with massive shoulders and hands that looked like they could crush a beer can without effort.

“About damn time,” he growled, dumping his items on the belt. Beer, cigarettes, lottery tickets, beef jerky. “You

people need to get your

shit together.

“I'll get you taken care of right away, sir,” | said, starting to scan his items.

“Right away?” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I've been waiting twenty-five minutes! You call that right away?”

“I apologize for the delay-"

“Apologies don’t mean shit! | got places to be, people waiting for me. But I'm stuck here because you can’t do

your job properly!”

18:28

213

My hands trembled slightly as | scanned his beer. Six-pack of the cheap stuff.

“Your total is thirty-six eighty-seven,” | said, my voice shaking despite my efforts to stay calm.

He threw his credit card at me. Literally threw it. It hit my chest and clattered onto the counter.

“There! And you better not mess that up too!”

| picked up the card with trembling fingers and slid it through the reader. The machine beeped. *Declined.*

Oh no.

“Um, sir? Your card was declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

His face went purple. “WHAT?”

“The card was declined. Sometimes it's just a-"

“RUN IT AGAIN!"

“Sir, running it again won't-"

“I SAID RUN IT AGAIN!"

| ran it again. Declined.

“This is bullshit!” He grabbed the card reader and shook it violently. “Piece of shit machine!”

“Sir, please don't—"

The card reader flew off the counter and crashed to the floor, pieces of plastic scattering across the tile.

“THERE! How's that for your precious machine!”

word

word

mmMwWLIII0fiflo&1

mmMwWLIII0fiflo&1

mmMwWLIII0fiflo&1

mmMwWLIII0fiflo&1

mmMwWL1i10f1ifl0&1

mmMwWLIiI0fiflO&1