She stops short when she sees all three of us, clearly not expecting an audience. “Good morning,” she says, voice admirably steady. “I didn’t realize everyone was up already.”
“Just discussing the weather,” I lie smoothly, falling back on charm out of habit. “The resort manager thinks the storm might break tomorrow.”
“That’s good news,” she says, moving toward the kitchen with careful, measured steps. “I was just going to make coffee.”
“I’ll do it,” Miles offers, already standing. “You should sit down.”
It’s the closest any of us has come to acknowledging her condition directly, and Elle stiffens slightly before nodding. “Thank you.”
Adrian moves to the dining table, pulling out a chair for her. She hesitates, then accepts the courtesy, sinking into the seat with a grace that can’t quite hide her relief to be off her feet.
Up close, I can see the shadows beneath her eyes, the strain around her mouth. She didn’t sleep well. None of us did.
“Your suitcase arrived,” Adrian says unnecessarily, since he delivered it himself earlier. “I’ve spoken to the resort manager about expediting the customs clearance for your medication.”
Elle’s smile is tight. “I appreciate that.”
“They’re working on it,” he continues, and I can hear how much it costs him to admit there’s a problem he can’t immediately solve. “But in the meantime...”
“In the meantime, I’ll manage,” she finishes for him, the same line she used earlier. Just as unconvincing now as it was then.
Miles returns with coffee for all of us, Elle’s prepared exactly how she likes it. The small gesture of consideration doesn’t go unnoticed—she looks up at him with genuine gratitude as she accepts the mug.
“Thank you for the cooling packs,” she says quietly. “They helped.”
“I have more,” he replies simply. “And other things that might make you more comfortable, if you need them.”
She nods, something passing between them that I can’t quite interpret. Not desire, exactly. More like understanding. Miles sees her discomfort and offers practical solutions rather than platitudes. It’s oddly intimate, despite—or perhaps because of—its clinical nature.
Adrian watches this exchange with something like jealousy flashing briefly across his features before he locks it down. “I’ll keep working on the suppressants,” he promises. “There must be a solution.”
“And if there isn’t?” Elle asks, the question hanging in the air like a live wire.
None of us answers immediately. We can’t. Because the only honest answer is that if there isn’t a solution, she’s going to go into full heat in a villa with three unmated Alphas during a tropical storm that prevents escape.
It’s a scenario straight out of an Omega’s nightmare—or fantasy, depending on the Omega.
I can’t tell which it is for Elle, and that realization makes me back off mentally. I’ve been making assumptions about her, about what she wants, about how she sees us. Acting like this is a game, when for her, it’s deadly serious.
“If there isn’t,” I say finally, “then we follow your lead. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Whatever you don’t want. Your call, Elle. Completely.”
She looks at me, really looks at me, maybe for the first time since we met. Not at the corporate rival or the charming flirt or the deliberate antagonist, but at me. Her dark eyes search mine, looking for sincerity, for hidden agendas, for the joke or the angle or the play.
I hold her gaze, letting her see whatever she needs to see. No mask, no performance, no calculated charm. Just me, offering help without expectation.
“Thank you,” she says after a long moment, the words simple but weighted.
She sips her coffee, and the four of us sit in silence that’s not exactly comfortable but is no longer crackling with the territorial energy of yesterday. Something has shifted between us all—an unspoken agreement, a temporary truce in service of Elle’s wellbeing.
Adrian will continue trying to solve the problem through official channels. Miles will provide practical comforts and discreet support. And I...
I need to be better than I have been. To use my charm not to disarm or manipulate, but to ease tension. To make her smile when appropriate, to back off when necessary, to be whatever she needs me to be in this impossible situation.
After breakfast, I find an opportunity to approach Elle alone as she stands by the windows, watching the rain. Adrian and Miles have retreated to make calls, trying different angles to solve the suppressant problem. She tenses slightly as I approach, and the small reaction is another stab of guilt in my chest.
“Hey,” I say softly, keeping a respectful distance. “I wanted to apologize for last night. For making things harder than they needed to be.”
She turns, surprise evident in her expression. “That’s unexpected.”
