"The–uh, the weather's been lovely," Margot says, a little too quickly. "Perfect for grilling. I was telling Richard we should do this more often. Family dinners outside. It's so nice when we're all together."
No one responds. The clink of silverware fills the void.
"Max, sweetheart, you've barely touched your food." Margot's hand finds my arm. "Are you feeling okay? You look flushed."
"Fine," I manage. "Just not super hungry."
"You said that last time." Her hand finds my forehead, cool and maternal. "You don't feel feverish, but you look—"
"I'm fine." I pull away from her touch. Too sharp. Too defensive.
Margot's hand drops. Hurt flickers across her face before she smooths it away.
The table goes quiet.
Richard clears his throat. "So. I've been looking at beach houses for August. There's a beautiful property in—"
That's when it hits.
Not a wave this time. Aflood.
Heat crashes through me like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming, stealing the breath from my lungs. My skin prickles. My vision blurs. Every nerve ending in my body ignites at once, pleasure and pain tangled together into something unbearable.
I grip the table so hard my knuckles go white. A sound escapes me—something between a gasp and a whimper—and I can't stop it, can't control it, can't do anything except hold on and pray it passes.
It doesn't pass.
The heat keeps building. Pressure mounting in my chest, my belly, between my legs. And my scent—god, myscent—I can smell it pouring off me in waves,, thick and sweet and desperately needy.
Three heads snap toward me.
Atlas goes rigid in his chair, hands flat on the table, every muscle locked. His pupils blow wide, gray swallowed by black, and I see the exact moment his control starts to crack.
Zero's nostrils flare. His jaw clenches so hard I can hear his teeth grind. His hands curl into fists, and there's something wild in his eyes—predatory, hungry, barely leashed.
Bane makes a sound low in his throat. Almost a growl. His whole body is tense, leaning forward like he's about to lunge across the table.
"Max?" Margot's voice seems to come from very far away. "Max, what's wrong?"
I can't answer. Can't speak. Can't do anything except shake and burn and try not to fall apart in front of everyone.
"I need—" The words come out strangled. "I have to—"
I shove back from the table. My chair clatters to the ground. I'm on my feet, stumbling toward the house, but my legs don't want to work right and my head is spinning and everything is too much, too bright, too hot—
"Max!" Margot is behind me. Her hand catches my arm. "Sweetheart, what's happening? Talk to me!"
I yank away from her grip. Spin around. And something inside me snaps.
"Don't touch me!" The scream tears out of my throat. "Just—just leave me alone! All of you, just leave me alone!"
Margot recoils like I've slapped her. Her face crumples—confusion, hurt, fear—and some distant part of me knows I'll hate myself for this later, knows I'm destroying something precious, but I can't stop.
"Max—"
"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!"
I turn and run.
