The nest I built last night is mostly intact with the blankets still folded like layers of pastry, pillows barricading the headboard, fairy lights casting a soft haze on the ceiling. If I close my eyes and ignore the faint smoke and ocean tangs in the hall, I can almost pretend I’m still at Eloise’s, where the worst thing you wake up to is someone microwaving soup at five in the morning.
But I’m not there. I’m here. In the house of the three alphas who would, given half a chance, eat me alive or at least go out for brunch and gossip about the taste.
My graduation art exhibition isn’t for another month, but I’ve been treating it like a lifeline. It’s something to focus on, something to drag me out of the trenches every time I catch my reflection and see the girl who got famous for being rejected on live-stream. I open my sketchbook on the desk, uncap a pen,and start tracing over yesterday’s work. If I keep my hands busy, maybe the rest of me will get the memo.
Three lines in, a tap comes at the door. Not the code-violating bang of an alpha, but something softer, more polite.
I blink once, take a breath, and call, “It’s open.”
The door swings inward, and Helena Starling materializes on the threshold like a fashion-forward ghost. She’s in a pale blue tennis outfit, not a hair out of place, and carries a mug with the Starling family crest painted in gold. If she’s here to kill me, at least she’ll do it with elegance.
“Morning,” she says, voice a little breathless, as if she jogged here. “Do you mind a visit?”
I shake my head, then realize I haven’t put on real pants. Or any pants, unless you count the sleep shorts with cat faces. I pull a blanket over my lap and wave her in.
Helena does a slow scan of the room, eyes lingering on the pillows and fairy lights, and gives a tiny nod of approval. “You settled in fast. When I first moved in at finishing school, I didn’t unpack for a week.”
“Unpacking is a coping mechanism.” I set down my pen. “If I keep busy, I won’t spiral and drown in my own hormones.”
Helena grins, and I realize she’s not at all like Ranier. She’s softer at the edges, but the eyes are the same shade of crystalline blue.
“I brought tea,” she says, holding out the mug like a peace offering.
I reach for it, then freeze. “I’m not allowed to drink out of the family crests, right? Isn’t that a thing?”
Helena laughs. “That’s only for the silver. Porcelain is up for grabs.” She sets the mug down and perches on the edge of the desk, one knee crossed over the other in an artful pose that’s probably been drilled into her since infancy.
I take a sip. The tea is some herbal blend, maybe chamomile and citrus, but with a weird undernote of licorice. Not my thing, but I’m not going to die for refusing it.
Helena folds her hands and leans in conspiratorially. “So, how are you really? The guys said you survived night one, which is a record in this house.”
My brain replays every moment since I arrived. Bastion’s smirk. Wyatt’s sidelong glances. Ranier’s refusal to even say my name unless forced. “It’s fine.” Universal code for:Not fine at all, but I won’t give you the satisfaction.
Helena seems to catch it anyway. “They’re a lot, aren’t they? Even for alphas.”
“Is that why you only come home during breaks?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She grins again, not offended. “Partly. But mostly it’s the parents. I think if I lived here year-round, I’d forget how to have a personality.”
“Your brother has enough for all of you, so you’d be safe.”
She laughs, then covers her mouth, as if joy is something she’s not supposed to leak in this house. “Ranier is… complicated. He looks like he wants to murder everyone, but it’s just how his face works. Underneath, he’s a marshmallow.”
I snort. “A marshmallow with a hatchet.”
“Exactly.” Helena glances at the window in time to watch a sparrow dive past, then fixes me with a look that’s suddenly a little more serious. “You heard about their last omega, right? Well, only omega.”
I freeze again. I know the rumors, but I never trust a story that’s been through more than three gossip chains. “I heard she left. Or was chased out.”
Helena shrugs. “Both. It was… complicated. But she wasn’t a bad person at the start. It’s left Everhart Pack very unwilling to trust.”
“Or be sincere in return.”
Helena looks at me for a long moment. “You have the right idea, you know. Not faking it. Not groveling. They respect that, even if they pretend not to.”
I blink, taken aback by the compliment. “Has anyone told Ranier that? Because he spends a lot of time looking like he wishes I’d vaporize.”
She laughs again, more freely now. “He’ll come around. He always does. Bastion, too. And Wyatt… well, if you crack Wyatt, you should write a book about it.”
