Ethan was the linchpin. He worked from the cabin most days, his attention split between his tablet and me. But there were times, rare, precious times, when his research consumed him completely. When he found a problem interesting enough, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
I needed to find that problem.
The hardest part wasn't the planning, it was the pretending. They could smell anxiety. Fear. Distress. Every negative emotion left a trail in my scent that they could read like a book. So I buried it. Pushed it down so deep that I almost forgot it was there. Almost.
I leaned into Mason's touch instead of pulling away. Let him hold me, kiss me, murmur promises against my skin that made my chest ache with something I refused to name. I purred for Caleb, let him press close, accepted his carvings with soft smiles that felt like lies. I bantered with Leo, let his sharp tongue draw genuine laughs from my throat, pretended I didn't see the way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn't looking.
With Ethan, I asked questions. Drew him out about his research, his theories, his endless quest to understand how Omega biology worked. I watched his eyes light up when he explained something complex, watched the tension leave his shoulders when he thought I was finally, truly interested.
It was manipulation. Pure and simple. I was using their love against them, and the guilt of it sat in my stomach like poison.
But I didn't stop.
"You seem better," Mason said one evening, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip as we sat together on the couch. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm shadows across the room. Leo was reading in the corner, and Caleb was carving something small, a bird, maybe, or a flower.
"I am better," I said, letting my head rest against his shoulder, my voice soft and steady even as my heart raced beneath my ribs. It wasn't entirely a lie. The constant vigilance had given me something I'd been missing: purpose. A goal. Something to focus on besides the endless war between what I wanted and what I was supposed to want.
Mason pressed a kiss to my temple, breathing me in. "Good. That's good," he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with relief, with love, with that desperate hope he tried so hard to hide. His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer. "We just want you to be happy, Ava. That's all we've ever wanted." The guilt twisted deeper.
"I know," I whispered, turning my face into his neck, breathing in his scent like it was something precious, because pretending was easier than facing the alternative.
Two weeks in, I found my opening.
Ethan had been tracking some research on Omega bonding hormones, a new study that contradicted several of his theories. I watched his frustration build over several days, watched him retreat further and further into his data, barely surfacing for meals.
"You should take a break," I told him one afternoon, perching on the arm of his chair, close enough that my scent would wrap around him. "You've been staring at that screen for hours."
"The methodology is flawed," he muttered, not looking up. "They didn't control for pre-existing bond strength. The entire conclusion is compromised."
"So write a rebuttal," I suggested, trailing my fingers through his hair, watching the tension slowly drain from his shoulders. "Publish something that corrects the record."
"That would require access to their raw data. Which I don't have," he said, his brow furrowing, fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the edge of his keyboard.
"Could you get it?" I asked, keeping my voice light, curious, nothing more than an Omega interested in her Alpha's work.
He was quiet for a moment, thinking, his gray eyes going distant the way they always did when his mind was working through a problem. "Possibly. I still have contacts from my academic days. If I reached out to the right people..." He trailed off, already lost in the possibilities.
I hid my smile against his hair. "You should try," I said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "It's obviously bothering you."
Over the next few days, I watched him descend into the kind of focused obsession I'd been hoping for. Emails were exchanged. Arguments were drafted. Data was analyzed and re-analyzed. Ethan barely slept, barely ate, barely noticed anything that wasn't directly related to his academic vendetta.
The others worried. I soothed them.
"He's fine," I told Mason, pressing close to his side, letting my hand rest on his chest. "You know how he gets. Let him work it out of his system."
"He's not taking care of himself," Mason said, frowning at the closed door to Ethan's office, his jaw tight with concern.
"I'll make sure he eats," I promised, looking up at him with what I hoped was reassuring warmth. "I'll bring him meals. Check on him."
Mason studied my face for a long moment, something flickering in his dark eyes. Then he pulled me close and kissed my forehead, his lips warm against my skin. "What would wedo without you?" he asked, his voice low and tender, full of a gratitude that made my stomach twist. The question hit harder than it should have. I pushed the feeling down and smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek.
"Starve, probably," I said lightly, forcing a teasing note into my voice. "All of you are hopeless." He laughed, and the sound was so warm, so genuine, that I almost faltered. Almost told him everything. Almost begged him to understand why I needed to do this.
Instead, I kissed his cheek and went to bring Ethan a sandwich he wouldn't eat.
The day came on a Thursday.
Mason and Leo had left early for a supply run, a longer one than usual, something about picking up equipment from a town two hours away. They wouldn't be back until evening. Caleb was in his workshop, deep in a commission that had been consuming him for days. I'd made sure to bring him lunch, to press a kiss to his cheek, to tell him not to work too hard.
