Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 158

Chapter 158: Chapter 158

Elara’s POV

"That’ll be thirty-two gold and forty-seven copper, ma’am."

The woman’s face twisted like I’d personally insulted her bloodline. She slammed her coin purse onto the wooden counter hard enough to rattle the divider rod.

"Thirty-two gold? For this?"

She gestured at her groceries like they’d betrayed her. A few basic provisions. Nothing extravagant.

"I’ve been shopping here longer than you’ve been alive, girl." Her voice carried. Heads turned in the queue behind her. "I remember when you could feed a whole family on ten silver coins. This is robbery."

I kept my expression neutral. Pleasant, even. The smile sat on my face like a mask I’d been issued at the start of every shift.

"I understand, ma’am. Prices have gone up recently."

"Don’t patronize me."

"I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Would you like me to remove any items?"

She snatched her coin purse back and began counting out payment with aggressive precision, slapping each gold coin onto the counter like she was punishing it. I stood there. Waiting. Hands folded. Smile fixed.

This was my life now.

Eight hours a day. Six days a week. Standing behind a register in a glow-stone-lit grocery store that smelled like alchemical floor polish and overripe bananas, scanning items and absorbing the frustrations of strangers who treated me like I was the reason everything cost too much.

The pay barely covered rent. Whatever was left went to noodles.

The woman finally finished counting. She shoved the coins across the counter without looking at me, gathered her bags, and marched off. No thank you. No goodbye.

I exhaled.

"Wow. She was a delight."

The voice bounced over from register two like a rubber ball. I turned to find Mia leaning across her counter, chin propped on both fists, cotton-candy pink hair spilling over her shoulders in messy waves. She was grinning. Mia was always grinning.

"You should’ve told her the cheese was haunted," Mia said. "That’s what I do when they get mean. I just say something so weird they forget to be angry."

"I don’t think that works on everyone."

"It works on most people. Hey—" She pointed at the next customer approaching her register. A man. Tall. Exhausted-looking. He had a toddler balanced on one hip, a slightly older child clinging to his coat, and a third one trailing behind with a box of cereal clutched to her chest like a shield. "Watch this."

"Sir! Welcome." Mia beamed at him like he was the best thing that had happened to her all day. "Great haul. Love the selection. But I have to warn you—" She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes darting to the box of rainbow marshmallow cereal the smallest child was holding. "Aisle seven’s marshmallow cereal? Amazing flavor. But it turns your poop weird colors. Just so you’re prepared."

The man blinked. Then he laughed. Actually laughed, for the first time in what looked like a very long while. The toddler on his hip giggled without understanding why, and the older child tugged his coat and whispered, "Is that true?"

"One hundred percent true," Mia said solemnly. "I speak from personal experience."

I turned back to my register before anyone caught me almost smiling.

The line crawled. Customer after customer. Scan, bag, total, smile. Repeat. My feet ached inside the thin-soled shoes I’d bought secondhand. The glow-stones hummed above me with a faint, persistent whine that had wormed its way into the center of my skull sometime around noon and refused to leave.

My pocket buzzed.

I slipped my hand in during a gap between customers. A transmission scroll, glowing faintly. I unrolled it.

Your carriage warranty is expiring! Contact Harmon & Sons today for an exclusive—

I crushed it in my fist and dropped it in the waste bin beneath the counter.

"Was that a message?" Mia materialized beside me like she’d been launched from a catapult. She was supposed to be at register two. "Was it a guy?"

"It was junk."

"Ugh. Tragic." She hopped up to sit on the edge of my counter, legs swinging. "You know what you need, Ela? A guy who actually sends you a transmission on purpose."

"I don’t need a guy."

"Everyone needs a guy. Or a girl. Or a somebody. You’re too pretty to be this sad all the time."

"I’m not sad."

Mia tilted her head. The pink hair slid across her shoulder. Her eyes—sharp and bright under all that bubbly energy—studied me with more perception than I was comfortable with.

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