No posturing, no territorial display, just quiet assistance offered without expectation.
I take the basket to my bed, pressing one of the cooling packs to the back of my neck. The relief is immediate and profound, a soft moan escaping me before I can stop it.
I freeze, wondering if the sound carried through the walls, if three sets of Alpha ears just perked up at the noise. The thought sends another wave of heat through me, and I press the cooling pack harder against my skin.
Sleep is impossible. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling as rain continues to pelt the windows.
My mind replays dinner on an endless loop—Caleb leaning forward, eyes black with desire; Adrian placing his body between us without hesitation; Miles excusing himself rather than revealing whatever was happening beneath his controlled surface.
Three Alphas. Three completely different reactions to my scent. And three completely different reactions from me to each of them.
Adrian’s protectiveness should annoy me—I’ve spent my entire career proving I don’t need an Alpha’s protection. Instead, something in me responded to it, warmed to it, wanted moreof it. The way he moved without hesitation, putting himself between me and what he perceived as a threat.
It shouldn’t make me feel safe. It shouldn’t make heat pool low in my belly. But it does.
Caleb’s open desire should repel me—I’ve dealt with enough Alpha come-ons to last a lifetime. Instead, the naked want in his eyes stirred something primal in me, something that recognized and responded to his unfiltered reaction.
The way he inhaled my scent, savoring it like fine wine. It shouldn’t make me wonder how that intensity would feel focused entirely on my pleasure. But it does.
And Miles. Enigmatic, controlled Miles who left rather than reveal whatever my scent triggered in him. Who later left cooling packs by my door—practical, thoughtful assistance without invasion.
His absence shouldn’t linger in my mind more persistently than the others’ presence. It shouldn’t make me wonder what lies beneath that careful control, what he might be like if it broke. But it does.
I’ve spent years building walls—professional boundaries, careful rules, scent blockers and suppressants and a thousand tiny daily choices that kept my designation from defining me.
Now those walls are crumbling, brick by brick, hour by hour, as my heat approaches and three very different Alphas orbit around me like planets around a sun.
The cooling pack on my neck grows warm, its effectiveness fading like my resistance. I replace it with a fresh one, gratefulfor Miles’s foresight. It buys me comfort, but not answers. Not solutions.
What happens when these temporary measures fail? When my heat hits fully and I can no longer hide behind professional courtesy or fading neutralizers? When I have to make a choice—or refuse to choose at all?
Outside, the storm rages unabated, mirroring the tempest building inside me. I watch shadows dance across my ceiling and wonder which is more frightening: the possibility that I’ll have to choose one of them to help me through my heat, or the realization that part of me—a growing, insistent part—wants all three.
ten
. . .
Caleb
I wakewith the taste of guilt on my tongue, bitter and unfamiliar. Last night plays on repeat behind my eyelids—Elle’s scent blooming across the dinner table, her eyes wide with panic, Adrian moving between us like a shield.
My own reaction, primal and unfiltered. The game I’ve been playing suddenly doesn’t seem so fucking entertaining anymore. Not when her fear was real. Not when what was supposed to be harmless needling of Adrian came at her expense.
I’ve been an asshole, and the realization sits heavy in my chest, an unfamiliar weight I don’t know how to carry.
The couch isn’t comfortable, but that’s not why I slept like shit. I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling as rain continues its relentless assault on the villa. The storm hasn’t weakened—if anything, it’s intensified overnight. Much like the situation inside these walls.
I’ve always prided myself on being the fun one, the charming Alpha who doesn’t take things too seriously. The anti-Adrian.The guy who knows how to enjoy life while still closing million-dollar deals.
It’s my brand, my persona. People expect it from me.
But Elle’s face when her blockers failed at dinner...Christ.
The naked vulnerability there before she locked it down. The way she fled the room like prey escaping predators.
That wasn’t entertaining. That was fucking terrifying for her.
And I made it worse with my posturing, my deliberate provocations, my shameless scenting of her. What had seemed like harmless flirtation suddenly feels predatory in the harsh light of morning.
