_ Mysterious Benefactor

I bit a corner of my lips in calculation. No, focus, María José. The money. It was enough to pay for the butcher's meat. But could I really take it? Was this some kind of trick?

I glanced down the alley where the man had run. He was long gone, but maybe I could catch him if I hurried. 

"For all I know, this could be a trick from some mischievous no-gooders who want to get me in trouble. Maybe accuse me of stealing or something." I contemplated, a finger under my chin.

Well, time to find out. 

Clutching the money, I sprinted in the direction he'd disappeared, my shoes slapping against the pavement.

"Hey!" I shouted again, turning corners and scanning every shadowy nook and cranny. "Who are you? Come back!"

But there was no response, just the echo of my voice and noises from the surrounding bouncing off the walls. After a few minutes, I stopped, panting and clutching my knees—tired to the nines. 

"Well…" I heaved. "I tried. Guess I'll just take it now and repay the owner later… if they ever show up." 

As I stood there catching my breath, a sudden blur or movement darted past me. My hand instinctively tightened around the money, but it was too late.

"Hey!" I screamed as the pickpocket yanked the bills from my grasp and took off.

"Are you kidding me?!" I yelled, immediately chasing after him. My legs burned as I sprinted after the thief, but he was faster—much faster. He rounded a corner and disappeared into the crowded marketplace before I could catch up.

I stopped, gasping for air and clutching a stitch in my side.

Of course. Of course, this would happen. Why not? Just pile it all on, universe.

"Seriously?!" I threw my hands up in frustration. 

But this time, I didn't cry. I could feel all the disgusted stares on me. People batting their eyelashes in utter disgust. 

Selfish bastards. Bet they were sitting down thinking: being an omega is finally catching up to her. The Moon Goddess must have cursed her with madness. 

I gulped down, knowing there could be someone watching. I hated when others saw my tears. As it was, they'd already seen more than enough. 

Hence, I straightened up, brushing the sweat from my brow. That ridiculous note flashed in my mind: You look ugly when you cry.

"Fine," I muttered, squaring my shoulders. "I'll be smart about this."

There was no point in chasing after the thief. He was long gone, and the marketplace was a maze I had no hope of navigating quickly enough. Instead, I turned on my heel and headed to the butcher's stall.

Finally.

If I couldn't pay for the meat with money, maybe I could strike a deal. Or beg. Or barter. Hell, maybe I'd just work there for an hour slicing sausages. Whatever it took, I wasn't going home empty-handed.

 I wiped the last remnants of tears from my face and marched forward. If life was going to keep throwing lemons at me, I'd make the sourest damn lemonade this pack had ever tasted.

"You've got this, María Jośe."

.

.

The trek to the butcher's shop was an odyssey I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. If someone had told me a month ago that I, once the pampered daughter of a well-to-do family, would be slogging through the dusty streets of a bustling Spanish pueblo in clothes stained with tomato juice, I'd have laughed them out of the room. 

Yet, there I was, clutching the strap of my tote bag and trying to look like I belonged. Spoiler: I didn't.

The streets buzzed with life. Women hung out of open windows, their shouts to their children reverberating. Men in flat caps leaned against doorways, puffing on cigars and watching the world go by. 

It would've been a beautiful evening considering how I didn't used to go out often—if I didn't look like a tomato sauce explosion.

I tried to hold my head high as I walked the maze-like streets, but it was impossible to ignore the stares. A group of elderly men sitting under the shade of an olive tree paused their game of dominoes to gawk.

"Madre mía," one of them muttered, squinting at me. "Isn't that Don Diego's daughter? Are Omegas now seasoned in tomato juice to be cooked?"

The others burst into laughter. I quickened my pace, gripping my bag tighter. 

Inside, muscular men wielded cleavers hacking away at chunks of flesh with efficiency.

I hesitated at the doorway, scanning for someone who looked at least, approachable. Instead, I found a group of workers lounging by a chopping block, their conversation halting as their eyes landed on me.

"¡Guau!, what do we have here?" one of them whistled, his grin stretching wide.

Yeah, yeah… every wolf in the pack already knew that Don Diego's daughter was an Omega. Anything else? It took great strength to not roll my eyes. 

"Looks like she's auditioning for the tomato festival," another quipped, nudging his companion.

"Señorita, did you fall into a pot of salsa, or is this a new fashion trend?"

The laughter that followed was loud enough to drown out all the thunk of knives against wood. I could feel my cheeks burning as I clutched the bag in my hand.

"I'm here to see the butcher."

"Oh, you mean el jefe. His dick can't fit in your little pussy, Omega!" A rather disgusting one among them blurted out and my bag fell off my shoulder.

Was I even safe here?

The group erupted into another round of laughter, and I was about to snap something scathing when a booming voice came from behind. 

"What's going on here?"

The laughter stopped so abruptly it was as though someone had flipped a switch. The workers scrambled back to their stations, suddenly focused and industrious once again.

I turned, and my jaw dropped.

How could Father even send me here? He must have known… that this wasn't a place for a noble young lady like myself.