I drag myself off the couch, muscles protesting after a night of restless tossing.
Coffee. I need coffee before I can process any more self-recrimination. I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear voices in the hallway—Adrian’s controlled tenor and Elle’s softer response, strained around the edges.
“—appreciate you tracking it down,” she’s saying, relief evident in her voice.
“The resort staff was very accommodating once I explained the situation,” Adrian replies.
I hesitate, not wanting to interrupt what sounds like a private moment. But then I catch the shift in Elle’s tone, the hope draining away.
“They’re not here?” Her voice sounds smaller suddenly. “But customs said?—”
“They flagged them for containing restricted substances,” Adrian explains, frustration bleeding through his usual control. “The local authorities need documentation we don’t have. I’m working on it, but it could take days.”
I move closer to the hallway, curiosity overriding my belated sense of propriety.
Adrian stands at Elle’s door, holding what appears to be her missing suitcase. Elle’s still in her doorway, one hand braced against the frame like she needs the support.
Even from this distance, I can see the flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her fingers as she takes the suitcase from Adrian.
“Thank you for trying,” she says, professional mask firmly in place despite the circumstances. “I appreciate the effort.”
“Elle,” Adrian says, his voice dropping to a register I’ve never heard from him before—something almost gentle. “I’ll make this right. I promise.”
She nods, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
It’s the biggest lie I’ve heard since my last board meeting.
She won’t manage. She can’t. Her heat is accelerating faster than any of us anticipated, her blockers are failing, and now her suppressants are being held by customs.
It’s the perfect storm, literally and figuratively.
I clear my throat, making my presence known. They both turn, Elle stiffening visibly while Adrian’s expression shutters into its usual impassive mask.
“Morning,” I say, deliberately casual. “Coffee’s calling my name. Anyone else?”
“I need to unpack,” Elle says quickly, already retreating into her room with the suitcase. The door closes with a soft click that somehow feels more final than a slam.
Adrian and I are left standing in the hallway, the ghost of Elle’s fading blockers lingering between us. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid with tension.
“Her suppressants?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head once, a sharp, frustrated motion. “Customs. Controlled substances. The resort doctor can’t prescribe without her medical records, which are in her secure NovaDyne file.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, the gravity of the situation hitting me fully. This isn’t just uncomfortable anymore. This is potentially dangerous—for Elle physically, for all of us professionally.
Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Don’t even think about it, Rios.”
“About what?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Using this situation to your advantage,” he clarifies, voice low and dangerous. “With Elle. With the summit. With any of it.”
The accusation stings more than it should. Is that really how he sees me? Is that the impression I’ve given—that I’d exploit an Omega’s biological vulnerability for corporate gain or sexual conquest?
The worst part is, maybe he’s not entirely wrong. Twenty-four hours ago, I might have seen this as an opportunity. A chance to get under Adrian’s skin, to charm Elle, to create leverage I could use later. The realization makes me feel slightly sick.
“I’m not that much of an asshole,” I say quietly.
Adrian studies me, suspicion warring with something like desperate hope in his eyes. “Prove it.”
