“Does it help?” I ask finally. “Having you here? Does it help me? Scientifically speaking.”
He considers the question with his usual thoroughness. “Studies indicate that compatible Alpha pheromones can temporarily alleviate pre-heat symptoms in Omegas. Particularly anxiety and restlessness.”
“Compatible,” I repeat, focusing on the word. “How do you know if we’re compatible?”
His eyes meet mine, something flickering in their cool depths. “Your pupils dilate when I enter a room. Heart rate increases—visible in the carotid pulse. Respiration changes. Small physiological responses you can’t control.”
“You’ve been watching me that closely?” I ask, not sure whether to be flattered or unnerved.
“I notice things,” he says simply, the same explanation he gave for knowing how I take my coffee. “It’s what I do.”
Another wave of heat pulses through me, stronger than before, making me gasp and clutch the teacup so hard I’m afraid itmight shatter. Miles is on his feet immediately, taking the cup from my trembling hands and setting it aside.
“Breathe,” he instructs, voice calm and steady. “Like Caleb showed you.”
I try, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, on isolating scents one by one. But the heat is too intense, washing away technique and leaving only raw need in its wake.
“I can’t,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s getting worse.”
“I know,” Miles says, and the simple acknowledgment is more comforting than false reassurances would be. “It will continue to worsen for approximately eight more hours before reaching peak intensity.”
“Eight hours,” I repeat, the words barely audible. “I can’t—I don’t think I can?—”
“You can,” he says with quiet certainty. “You’re stronger than you realize, Elle.”
I open my eyes to find him watching me with that intense focus that somehow never feels invasive. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been paying attention,” he says simply.
He sits on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain distance while still close enough that his steady presence surrounds me. It should be awkward, this silent vigil, but somehow it’s not. Miles doesn’t feel the need to fill silence with empty words or performative comfort. He’s just here, solid and reliable, a fixed point in my increasingly chaotic world.
The room blurs around me as another wave of heat washes through my system. I lose track of time, drifting in and out ofawareness. Sometimes Caleb is there, his voice low and soothing as he guides me through breathing exercises. Sometimes Adrian, with cool cloths and careful hands brushing hair from my face. Sometimes Miles, silent and watchful, his presence an anchor when nothing else makes sense.
They move around me in careful shifts, never all present at once, never leaving me completely alone. The routine they’ve established—Adrian’s meticulous schedule, adapted to my deteriorating condition—provides structure in the chaos, something to hold onto as my body betrays me more completely with each passing hour.
In the hazy moments of clarity between heat waves, I find myself watching them, really seeing them, perhaps for the first time. Not as Alphas, not as business rivals or professional connections, but as men. As people.
Caleb, whose practiced charm masks genuine intelligence and unexpected kindness. Who reads medical journals and knows breathing techniques for anxiety management. Whose flirtation, I’m beginning to suspect, is as much a shield as my professional detachment is mine.
Adrian, with his need for control that stems not from arrogance but from a deep-seated desire to make things better, to fix problems, to create order from chaos. Whose gentle hands in my hair revealed a capacity for tenderness I never suspected existed beneath his rigid exterior.
And Miles, observant and steady, who notices everything but judges nothing. Who offers help without expectation, who provides exactly what’s needed without being asked. Whose quiet strength is somehow more reassuring than dramatic declarations or promises could ever be.
Three Alphas, so different in their approaches but united in their care. For me. The realization is both humbling and terrifying.
Another wave crashes through me, stronger than before, leaving me gasping and trembling in its wake. When I surface, Miles is there, a cool cloth in his hand.
“Almost there,” he says quietly. “The worst is coming. But you won’t face it alone.”
I look up at him, vision blurring with either tears or fever, I’m not sure which. “I don’t know what I want,” I confess, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
His expression doesn’t change, but something softens in his eyes. “You don’t have to know yet.”
But that’s just it—I do know, and the knowledge terrifies me. Because what I want isn’t simple. It isn’t one Alpha to help me through my heat in a clinical, biological exchange that we can pretend never happened when it’s over.
What I want is Caleb’s unexpected gentleness, the way his charm falls away to reveal something real and vulnerable beneath. I want Adrian’s careful hands and meticulous care, the way he creates order from chaos because he can’t bear to see suffering he can’t fix. I want Miles’s quiet strength and steady presence, the way he sees everything—including the parts of myself I try to hide—and accepts it all without judgment.
I want all of them. Not just their Alpha biology to ease my heat symptoms, but them. The people they are beneath designation and professional rivalries and corporate personas.
