“Adrian,” Elle says, something between exasperation and fondness in her voice. “It’s the middle of the night. We don’t need to revise the schedule right now.”
“Proper planning prevents?—”
“Poor performance,” Caleb and Elle finish in unison, sharing a look that makes Adrian blink in surprise.
“You say it a lot,” Elle explains, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “It’s practically your catchphrase.”
Something about this moment—Elle in the throes of pre-heat, surrounded by three Alphas who should be competitors but are instead collaborating on her care—strikes me as surreal. Adrian with his methodical arrangements of supplies. Caleb with his gentle humor and careful touches. Me, watching from the doorway, cataloging every detail, every shift in her scent, every small reaction from my unexpected allies.
“How bad is it?” I ask quietly, the question directed at Elle but my eyes taking in all three of them.
She meets my gaze directly, something I’ve noticed she does more with me than with the others. “Bad enough to wake me up. Not as bad as it will get.”
Her honesty is bracing. No pretense, no professional deflection. Just truth, delivered with the same precision she brings to business negotiations.
“The cooling packs will help,” I tell her. “Apply them to pulse points—wrists, neck, behind knees. It won’t stop the progression, but it can make the symptoms more manageable.”
She nods, accepting the first pack from Adrian and pressing it to the back of her neck. The relief is immediate and visible—her eyes closing briefly, a small sigh escaping her lips. The sound does something to the atmosphere in the room, charging it with awareness that none of us acknowledges.
“Better?” Adrian asks, his voice rougher than usual.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”
Caleb sits beside her on the bed, careful to maintain a respectful distance while still offering proximity. “Want me to tell you about the time I accidentally insulted the crown prince of Norway? It involves salmon, unexpected linguistic cognates, and me being escorted from the building.”
A laugh bubbles from Elle’s throat, unexpected and genuine. “Is every story in your repertoire about you embarrassing yourself internationally?”
“Only the good ones,” he confirms with a grin.
I watch them from my position in the doorway, noting the way Elle’s body language shifts—more relaxed with Caleb’s humor, more composed with Adrian’s practical assistance. They offerdifferent things, these two. Different types of comfort. Different approaches to care.
And what do I offer? Distance. Observation. Security from the perimeter.
The realization hits me with unexpected clarity: this isn’t a competition anymore. Not for dominance, not for professional advantage, not even for Elle’s attention.
Somewhere between yesterday’s color-coded care schedule and tonight’s middle-of-the-night vigil, our rivalry has transformed into something else entirely. We’re competing now only to provide comfort, each in our own way.
Elle accepts another cooling pack from Adrian, this one for her wrists. As she applies it, her tank top shifts, revealing a sliver of skin along her side.
All three of us notice. None of us comment. But I catch the slight flare of Adrian’s nostrils, the momentary pause in Caleb’s story.
“You should try to sleep more,” I say, practical as always. “Your body needs rest for what’s coming.”
Elle looks up at me, something vulnerable and questioning in her dark eyes. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I could stay,” Caleb offers immediately. “Tell you boring financial stories until you pass out from sheer tedium.”
“Or I could prepare a tea that might help,” Adrian suggests. “The resort kitchen has chamomile and valerian root.”
I say nothing, but I don’t look away from her either. Letting her see that I’m here, steady and constant, whether in the room or at its threshold.
“I think...” Elle begins, then stops, uncertainty clouding her features. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on her before—Elle Park, always composed, always certain, suddenly adrift in unfamiliar waters. “I think I’d like to try sleeping again. But maybe...”
She trails off, not finishing the thought. But her eyes move between the three of us, something unspoken in their depths.
“We’ll be close,” I tell her, understanding what she can’t quite bring herself to ask. “If you need anything. Any of us.”
Relief washes over her face. “Thank you.”
