It doesn't help.
Nothing helps.
I lie there in the dark, body throbbing with tension and want and impossible embarrassment, and I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do now.
Three alphas.
One wants to hurt me. One wants to save me. One just ran away because he doesn't want to want me.
And I want all of them.
God help me, I want all of them.
I pull the pillow over my head and pray for sleep that won't come.
Chapter 23
Three days.
I've managed to avoid the brand new mandatory family dinners Richard is forcing us to do for three days straight. Monday was easy—late class, group project meeting that ran long, grabbed a sandwich from the campus café and ate it in my car. Tuesday I picked up an extra shift at the bookstore, texted Margot that I'd be home late, microwaved leftover pasta at eleven PM when everyone was asleep. Wednesday I claimed a study group for an upcoming exam, which wasn't entirely a lie. There was a study group. I just didn't go to it.
But today is Thursday. No classes after two. No work. No study groups, real or imagined.
No excuses.
"Max! Dinner's ready!"
Margot's voice floats up from the first floor, warm and expectant. I've been standing in front of my closet for ten minutes, staring at clothes I've already looked at three times, trying to will myself to move.
I can do this. It's just dinner. Sit at a table. Eat food. Make small talk. Pretend the three alphas across from me haven't seen me at my most vulnerable. Pretend one of them didn't pin me against a workout bench. Pretend another didn't kiss me until Iforgot my own name. Pretend the third isn't watching me like he's waiting for permission to devour me whole.
Easy.
I pull on a hoodie—oversized, soft, comforting—and force myself downstairs.
The dining room is already full when I arrive. Richard at the head of the table, Margot beside him. The brothers spread out on the other side like a firing squad. Like judges at a trial.
The only empty seat is next to Margot. My usual spot.
I slide into the chair, keeping my eyes down. Don't look at them. Don't look at any of them.
"There you are." Margot beams at me as I settle in. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten."
"Sorry. Lost track of time."
"Studying?" Richard asks. His tone is neutral, but his eyes are sharp. Assessing.
"Yeah. Midterms coming up."
It's not a complete lie. Midterms are coming up. I just haven't opened a textbook in days.
Margot starts passing dishes around—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans with almonds. The food smells incredible. My stomach should be growling. Instead, it's clenched tight, too knotted with anxiety to register hunger.
I take small portions. Push food around my plate. Try to look like I'm eating.
The table is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that has weight, that presses down on your shoulders and makes it hard to breathe. Margot tries to fill it with chatter about her day, about a gallery opening she's planning to attend, about the weather forecast for the weekend. Richard offers monosyllabic responses. The brothers say nothing at all.
I can feel them.
