Charles' POV
I sighed dramatically and carried the plates to the sink.
Alexander followed behind me, rolling up his sleeves in that slow, deliberate way soldiers do when they're preparing for something tedious but necessary.
"You made the mess," he said, handing me another plate. "You help clean."
"I did not make the mess. You cooked. I merely—"
"—devoured everything on the table like a starving wolf," he finished.
I shot him a glare.
He raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Don't look at me like that. You ate enough for two alphas."
I felt heat creep up my neck.
"I was hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"That's because you stress me," I muttered under my breath.
His hand froze mid-dry.
Then, slowly, he leaned his hip against the counter, arms folded, eyes focused on me in that annoyingly attentive way he had.
"…I stress you?"
The words weren't accusing.
They were soft.
Careful.
Like he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer or was terrified he already knew it.
I gulped.
