My skin prickles, suddenly hypersensitive, and sweat beads at my hairline. The neutralizers that have been barely holding the line shatter like glass, and my scent blooms in the room—vanilla, coconut, citrus—no longer a whisper but a declaration.
The shift is instantaneous. All three men freeze mid-motion—Adrian with his knife poised above his plate, Caleb with his wine glass halfway to his lips, Miles with his eyes suddenly fixed on me with laserlike focus.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel my body betraying me in the most fundamental way possible.
The heat pulses outward from my core in relentless waves, each one carrying my scent further into the room, each one making the three Alphas more aware of exactly what’s happening.
Caleb reacts first. His pupils dilate visibly, dark amber turning nearly black as he inhales deeply, obviously and without pretense. The wine glass lowers to the table with a soft clink as he leans forward, his entire body oriented toward me like a compass finding north.
“Elle,” he says, my name like honey in his mouth, rich and thick with promise. Not a question, not a statement—an acknowledgment of something primal and undeniable.
Before I can respond—before I can even think of a response—Adrian moves. One moment he’s seated at the head of the table, the next he’s on his feet, physically positioning himself between Caleb and me. The movement isn’t subtle or disguised as something else. It’s pure Alpha protection, instinctive and absolute.
“Back off,” Adrian says, voice dropped to a register I’ve never heard from him before—something dark and commanding that makes my insides clench with unwanted heat.
Caleb doesn’t retreat, but he doesn’t advance either. His eyes—still black with desire—fix on Adrian with a mixture of challenge and amusement. “Interesting reaction, Cole. Very primal.”
“Don’t,” Adrian warns, the single word vibrating with Alpha authority.
My heart hammers against my ribs, my body caught in a storm of contradictory impulses.
Part of me—the professional, rational part—is mortified by this display, by the fact that my biology has reduced three brilliant executives to territorial animals.
Another part—the Omega part I’ve spent my life suppressing—thrills at their reaction, at being the center of such focused Alpha attention.
“Stop it,” I manage, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “Both of you. This is ridiculous.”
Miles stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with jarring loudness. “I need to make a call,” he announces, voice carefully neutral despite the tension visible in his jaw. “Excuse me.”
He leaves without waiting for a response, his departure somehow more unsettling than if he’d joined the territorial display. The space he leaves feels significant, a vacuum that makes the air between the three of us remaining even more charged.
“Miles has the right idea,” I say, seizing control of the situation with desperate determination. “This dinner is over. I’m going to my room.”
I stand, ignoring the way my legs tremble slightly. Adrian immediately steps back to give me space, though his body remains angled between Caleb and me—a living barrier of Alpha protectiveness.
“Elle,” Caleb starts, something almost apologetic in his tone now. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off, not trusting myself to hear whatever he might say next. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”
I walk from the dining room with measured steps, maintaining dignity through sheer force of will.
Once in the hallway, my pace quickens, and by the time I reach my bedroom door, I’m nearly running. I lock the door behind me, leaning against it as my knees finally give way.
“Fuck,” I whisper, the word harsh in the quiet room.
My skin burns, sensitive everywhere, the fabric of my blouse suddenly unbearable against my overheated flesh. I strip it off, then my skirt, standing in my underwear as I try to cool down, to regain control of my rebellious body.
The wave that hit me at dinner ebbs slightly, receding like a tide that will inevitably return stronger. This isn’t full heat yet—just a warning shot, a preview of what’s coming. My treacherous mind replays the moment when Caleb’s eyes darkened, when Adrian moved to shield me, when Miles fled rather than reveal whatever was happening behind his carefully controlled expression.
I take a cold shower, standing under the spray until my teeth chatter and my skin pebbles with goosebumps. The chill provides temporary relief, pushing back the heat for a precious few minutes.
I dry off, apply a fresh layer of neutralizers from the dwindling supply Miles provided, and pull on the softest, loosest clothes I packed—cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Professional Elle Park is nowhere to be found tonight.
When I open my bathroom door, I notice something on the floor near my bedroom entrance—something that wasn’t there when I came in. I approach cautiously, finding a small basket containing several cooling gel packs, a bottle of electrolyte water, and a note written in precise, angular handwriting:
*For fever reduction. Apply to pulse points. Will help temporarily.*
No signature, but it doesn’t need one. Miles. The most enigmatic of my three Alpha problems, leaving practical solutions at my door while maintaining his distance. The gesture is unexpected, touching in its straightforward utility.
