He’s been scenting me. Tracking the changes in my biochemistry. The violation of privacy makes me want to slam the door in his face.
Instead, I reach for the packet with steady fingers. “Thank you for your observation, Mr. Harrington. I appreciate the assistance.”
He nods once, then adds quietly, “I have more if needed. My company invests heavily in designation comfort technology. We test samples regularly.”
Of course they do. Titan Global wouldn’t miss an opportunity to profit from designation biology.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say neutrally.
He turns to go, then pauses. “They see you as a prize, you know. Cole and Rios. An asset to be acquired or controlled.”
My spine stiffens. “And how do you see me, Mr. Harrington?”
His eyes—cool blue-gray like the storm outside—meet mine directly. “As a formidable opponent who happens to be facing a tactical disadvantage.”
With that cryptic statement, he walks away, leaving me holding the silver packet and a new set of questions. Why help me if I’m an opponent? What game is he playing? And most troublingly,if Miles noticed my fading blockers so quickly, how long before Adrian and Caleb catch on too?
I close the door and lean against it, heart racing. Outside, the storm rages on, matching the tumult in my chest.
Three Alphas. One villa. And me, an Omega with dwindling defenses against not just my biology, but theirs.
One thing is certain—Adrian’s precious “code of conduct” won’t survive first contact with reality. Not when the reality includes an unblocked Omega and three Alphas with competing agendas. Business rivals by day who suddenly find themselves sharing living space with a prize none of them knew they wanted until they scented it.
Until they scented me.
I crush the silver packet in my palm, feeling the foil give way to the contents inside. Miles is right—this is a tactical disadvantage. But I didn’t climb to the top of NovaDyne’s corporate ladder by surrendering at the first sign of trouble.
I’ll adapt. Survive. And if these three Alphas think an Omega in mild blocker withdrawal will be easy prey or a simple conquest, they’re about to learn exactly how wrong they are.
six
. . .
Miles
I wake before my alarm,a habit ingrained by years of vigilance. The storm still hammers against the villa windows, nature’s percussion accompanying the steady rhythm of my heartbeat as I perform my morning security check.
Each door, each lock, each potential entry point—all catalogued and verified secure. It’s a ritual that centers me, especially now, trapped in this luxury prison with two corporate rivals and one Omega whose fading blockers have kept me awake half the night, my brain calculating variables I have no business considering.
The living room is empty, dawn barely breaking through the storm clouds. Outside, palm trees bend nearly horizontal, their resilience impressive.
Reminds me of Elle Park—slender, seemingly delicate, but with a core of steel that refuses to break no matter how hard the winds blow.
That thought is unwelcome, unnecessary. I push it aside.
The kitchen gleams with understated wealth—Viking range, marble countertops, copper-bottomed pans hanging like modern art. I open cabinets methodically until I find what I’m looking for: coffee beans, grinder, pour-over setup. Quality stuff. I measure beans precisely, the ritual familiar and grounding.
As I wait for water to boil, my mind catalogs what I know about my temporary housemates.
Adrian Cole: perfectionist, territorial, dangerously intelligent.
Caleb Rios: impulsive, manipulative, deceptively perceptive beneath his playboy act.
And Elle Park: competent, controlled, carrying secrets that pulse beneath her professional veneer like a heartbeat.
The most dangerous secret being her fading blockers. I noticed it on the plane first—a subtle shift in her scent signature, the chemical harshness of industrial blockers failing to completely mask the natural notes beneath.
Vanilla. Coconut. Something citrus. Complex. Appealing in a way I refuse to examine too closely.
