Not dramatically. Not consciously.
My shoulders hunch. My breathing turns shallow and fast. Heat flares under my skin like I've been startled.
"I'm fine," I blurt automatically.
Drake freezes, then removes his arm at once. His expression flickers—hurt, confusion, regret.
Arden doesn't look at him. "You don't need to power through discomfort, Vee."
I nod, cheeks burning.
Drake steps back, hands raised slightly like he's been burned. "I didn't mean—"
"I know."
And then—
Ragon.
The room feels heavier the moment hemoves.
He approaches slowly, jaw tight, nostrils flaring as if he's already bracing for impact. Instead of sitting beside me, he kneels in front of my chair.
That alone makes my chest ache.
"May I touch you?"
My throat tightens.
"Yes," I say. Because some part of me still believes this is what I'm supposed to do. Because what's left of my omega instincts hum insistently, urging compliance, urging peace, urging me to please the alphas watching—including Arden himself.
Ragon lifts his hand and slides his fingers into my hair.
It's the same motion he used to make. Slow. Grounding. Possessive in the way that once made me feel safe.
My body jerks away violently.
A sharp, involuntary recoil. My scalp prickles. My stomach twists.
Ragon freezes.
Then he pulls his hand back like he's been burned.
His jaw clenches hard enough that I hear his teeth grind. His scent spikes—shock first, then something darker and more painful.
"I did this," he says quietly.
The words hang in the air.
Arden exhales slowly. "That's enough."
The room is thick with overlapping alpha scents now—Jasper's controlled distance, Eli's aching warmth, Drake's unsettled charm, Ragon's coiled intensity—all pressing against my blocked omega notes like static.
I feel overwhelmed. Exposed.
And still, when Arden asks if I want to stop, I shake my head.
Because some part of me still wants to please. Still wants to be good. Still believes endurance equals worth.
