Chapter 5: I’ll take it then

“I didn’t forget,” Amelia said with a soft smile. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all.”

August wasn’t convinced, but let it slide. “Your mother’s already booked the venue and the hotel. We’re keeping it small. The Windsor family isn’t what it used to be—we don’t want to show off too much. You good with that?”

Amelia reached over and grabbed a bite of cake from the tea table, tossing it into her mouth. “Mm. That’s fine. Same taste as always. Still perfect.”

August chuckled and handed her another piece. “Did you take your team back to the front line this time?”

She fed him a bite in return and stuffed two more into her own mouth.

“I know you don’t want military talk at home, so I won’t get into it.”

Just then, she suddenly remembered something else. “Wait—Grandpa, where’s Maverick?”

“Him? He and Jacob went out to grab something.”

“He didn’t tell me…” Amelia muttered.

Across the room, Tyson was still doting on Charles. It wasn’t long before August stood up and stretched, preparing to return to his room for a short rest before lunch.

“I’ll lie down for a bit,” he said. “Keep an eye on Liam while I’m gone. He may need help settling in.”

“I will,” Amelia said, rising to help him.

Just then, Jacob and Maverick returned through the front door. Jacob stepped in quickly and offered his arm. “I’ve got this.”

Amelia stepped back and nodded. “Rest well, Grandpa. Liam will be fine—the doctor’s still here.”

With August gone, only the younger crowd remained in the living room.

Charles sank into the sofa, his gaze locked on the young man still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. His skin was tanned, his head shaved short, and he wore a faded black jacket over worn-out jeans.

That look… it was too familiar.

Charles didn’t blink. His eyes stayed fixed on Maverick.

“Ahem…” Tyson cleared his throat next to him, trying to pull his attention back.

When that didn’t work, he coughed again—louder this time.

Still nothing.

Tyson gave up and followed Charles’ line of sight. “Charles? Do you know him?”

Charles leaned further back, one hand draped lazily over the stuffed toy he somehow had on his hip. His posture screamed arrogance—shoulders relaxed, legs stretched out, expression unreadable. But his chin tilted slightly, eyes sharp with interest as they stayed glued to Maverick, who looked visibly uncomfortable.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” Charles asked.

Maverick didn’t respond. He didn’t look at him.

Charles repeated, more insistently this time, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Still nothing. Just a small shake of the head.

But that non-answer was all the confirmation Charles needed. The way Maverick shrank slightly, the way his shoulders tightened… That wasn’t how someone responded to a stranger.

Charles dropped his legs off the coffee table, ready to stand, but Tyson grabbed his wrist.

“Charles, seriously?” Tyson said. “We’ve been together the whole past six months. Never saw this guy before. Don’t fuck with him.”

Before Charles could argue, Amelia strolled over, stopping by Maverick’s side. “Maverick, what did you do to piss off our movie star?” she asked teasingly.

Maverick finally lifted his eyes, meeting hers. “Captain,” he said calmly, “I don’t know him.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows and turned back to Charles. “You heard him. He says he doesn’t know you.”

“I’m right here,” Charles said, teeth gritted. He shook Tyson’s hand off and got to his feet, walking toward Maverick with slow, deliberate steps.

Two men stood face to face—one fair-skinned, polished, reeking of fame and indulgence. The other, darker-toned from field training, silent and alert, his stance almost too controlled.

“Are you an omega?” Charles asked, voice casual but eyes piercing.

Maverick nodded.

“But why…” Charles tilted his head. “Why do you feel like an alpha?”

That struck a nerve.

Maverick’s eyes snapped up to meet his—and just like that. The look in those eyes hadn’t changed. Still cunning.

Gotcha, he thought.

Tyson stepped in then, slipping an arm around Charles’ waist and pulling him back. His posture was protective, maybe even possessive, eyes cold as he glanced Maverick over. The two were nearly the same height, but Tyson stood like someone ready to defend something.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said to Charles. “Everyone in Amelia’s unit is an omega. He can’t be anything else.”

Charles didn’t move. “Is that so…” He folded his arms, eyes never leaving Maverick’s face.

And Maverick—except for that one flicker of reaction—was composed. Too composed.

Amelia, who had been quietly watching, narrowed her eyes.

Now that she thought about it, Maverick *had* been acting strangely for a while—always holding back, always stopping himself from saying something. Something important.

She stepped slightly behind him, her gaze shifting to the back of his neck.

Mostly covered by his collar. But the outline of an inhibitor was unmistakable.

“Maverick,” Amelia called.

He turned his head quickly.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to show off your cooking skills? I’ve been waiting.”

“Oh—okay, I’ll go now.” He spun around and rushed off in the completely wrong direction like a chicken with its head cut off.

“That’s the guest room. Someone’s sleeping in there.” Amelia raised her voice and pointed toward the kitchen. “That way.”

The three people still in the living room silently watched Maverick’s back as he fled in embarrassment toward the correct room.

Tyson finally spoke, spinning the pinky ring on his finger. “Amelia, I think it might be time for a thorough inspection of your team.”

Amelia’s eyes flicked to his hand and the ring he was playing with. She smiled, her voice velvet-smooth. “My team is fine. And if there was an issue… I’d handle it. But—” she paused just long enough to make it deliberate, “maybe you should be the one worried. Tyson.”

Tyson’s fingers stilled. He looked at her, and the two shared a thin-lipped smile.

“You never back down, do you?”

“When you were arguing with me before, did you back down?”

Tyson raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You win this round.”

Charles looked between the two of them. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“In your honor.”

“In your honor,” they said at the same time, without missing a beat.

Charles rolled his eyes. “Great. I’ll remember this." Neither of them was getting a reaction out of him until dinner.

......

At dinner, Amelia ate quickly, unconsciously falling back into the habits drilled into her at the base. As soon as she cleared her plate, someone placed a new dish in front of her. Then another. And another.

After the fourth round, she finally raised her hand in surrender. “I can’t eat anymore. Seriously. You eat it.”

She froze the moment the words left her mouth.

Why the hell did that sound so… natural? Not something she’d say to someone she barely knew.

“Alright, I’ll take it then.” Liam’s voice was calm and casual. He seemed more refreshed after resting.

Amelia frowned. “Take what?”

“Your plate.”

“What for?”

“You’re full, right? No point wasting food. I’ve still got room.”

That line landed like a bomb. Even though Liam had lowered his voice, it echoed at the table.

Charles choked on his lemonade and spit it everywhere—right across the table and all over Maverick.

Tyson’s knife slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table.

Only August remained calm, nodding approvingly as he looked between Amelia and Liam.

Amelia was frozen in place, mouth slightly open, before she finally stammered out, “I-I can eat it. If I push a little. I’m fine.” Then quickly added, “Thanks.”

Then, like a soldier in combat, she began to shovel the food down stubbornly.

Charles couldn’t hold it anymore. He burst out laughing, half-gasping between chuckles.

Until he met Amelia’s death glare.

“I just remembered something funny,” he said, backpedaling fast, his grin too wide. “Didn’t mean to laugh. Totally unrelated.”

He even threw in some hand gestures to sell it.

“Fake-ass actor,” Amelia shot back, unimpressed.

Charles narrowed his eyes at her.

Amelia didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned and mock-seriously aimed her verbal fire at Tyson. “Did you fund that award?”

Seeing Charles’ face turn beet red, Tyson couldn’t help but laugh. He clapped a hand to his back and said, “You just don’t have the artistic vision, street rat. That was art.”

“That was political propaganda,” Amelia fired back.

None of them were about to let it go.

They’d grown up together, after all. They knew each other’s worst habits, dumbest mistakes, and most ridiculous performances.

As their argument grew more outrageous, Liam sat quietly, his eyes fixed on Amelia—stars practically shining in them. He didn’t say a word, just watched her spar with the others.

At the same time, Maverick hurriedly finished the last bite of food, carefully set his utensils down, and silently ducked his head, covering his ears with both hands.

August, who had long grown used to this kind of scene, got up without a word and left the dining room with Jacob following behind.

The so-called “quarrel” went on. Loud, relentless, and bordering on comedic.

Maverick slowly slid further down his seat, eventually crouching under the table like he was seeking cover in a warzone. He whipped out his phone and opened the team group chat.

Maverick: [When are you guys coming back?]

The first reply came fast.

Knox: [We’ve been gone less than a day and you already miss us?]

Maverick typed back at lightning speed. [It’s not that I miss you… I’m just a little scared.]

James: [You saw Charles, didn’t you?]

Maverick: [(Nodding.jpg)]

And then—silence.

Maverick: [??]

James: [Take care, man.]

Knox: [Take care 1]

Then it snowballed. [Take care 2]

[Take care 3]

[Take care 4]

[Take care 5]

Staring at the screen full of “Take care,” Maverick sighed. Apart from their terrifying competence in battle and training, almost none of them acted normal outside the field.

He was just about to put his phone away when it vibrated again. His heart did a hopeful little flip.

He unlocked it fast—only to see this:

James: [Can we start a stealth video call? Watching the Captain go toe-to-toe with Charles is premium entertainment.]

Maverick muttered, “Waste of my goddamn feelings.”

He shut off the screen and stuffed the phone into his pocket.