Rowan stands at my stove, spatula in hand, flipping bacon in an unfamiliar cast-iron pan. His broad back stretches a dark blue Henley, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He navigates my kitchen with effortless familiarity, reaching for things without searching, as if he’s already mapped the space.
Lena sits at our small table, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing the oversized T-shirt and leggings she sleeps in. Her cheeks flush pink with health and no trace of the pallor that has haunted her all week. A mug of coffee steams between her hands.
Beside Rowan, the counter holds eggs, a loaf ofbread I didn’t buy, and orange juice, absent from our refrigerator last night.
Morning light filters through the angled blinds over the sink, catching dust motes that dance in the air and highlighting the worn edges of our cheap furniture.
It’s wrong. All of it. Wrong and impossible and a violation of every boundary I’ve ever set.
“Morning, precious.” Rowan doesn’t turn from the stove, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Lena brightens when she notices me, her smile unwavering. “Ash! You never sleep this late. You should have told me you were going to have a guest stay over.”
The muscle in my jaw ticks, but I don’t give away the lie.
“I was surprised when I woke up to find him in the kitchen. Good surprised,” she rushes to add. “You never bring anyone home. I was starting to think you didn’t have any friends.”
“Rowan and I met during a job.” Acting calm, I cross to the coffee pot, and as I pull out a mug from the cabinet closest to Rowan, I hiss, “How did you get in?”
Rowan’s nostrils flare to take in my scent as heslides bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate with practiced ease. “Through the front door, precious. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
The coffee burns my tongue as I gulp it down, but the pain grounds me, giving me focus. I turn to lean on the counter, cataloging the front room, and spot the doorstop leaning near the coatrack.
Had I forgotten to place it under the handle when I got home last night? I had been disoriented, but was I careless?
“You haven’t had a day off in forever. Rowan suggested we let you sleep,” Lena continues, oblivious to the tension humming between the Alpha and me. “He said you guys met at your work?”
The lie settles in the air between us, and Rowan raises an eyebrow at me over the sizzling pan, challenging me to correct it.
“He was telling me about this restaurant where he can introduce me to the owner,” Lena says with a thread of excitement. “They need servers, and the tips are amazing. He said he could put in a word for me.”
My mug freezes halfway to my lips. “You have school.”
“For after school,” she clarifies, rolling her eyes. “A few shifts a week. We could use the money, right?”
My throat closes around an answer. She’s right.We need the money. But the idea of Lena working where Rowan has connections sends panic coursing through me.
“Eggs are almost ready,” Rowan announces, cracking three into the bacon grease with a practiced flick of his wrist. “How do you take yours, Ash?”
The normalcy of the question in this abnormal situation throws me off balance. I swallow hard, forcing myself to remain calm while my brain races through scenarios, calculating risks and mapping escape routes.
“Over easy,” I answer, buying time while I figure out what game he’s playing.
What does he want from me? From us?
Because no one ever offers help without expecting payment.
As we eat, Lena fills the silence with chatter, and Rowan proves to be a skilled conversationalist as he steers her questions back onto herself while revealing nothing personal about himself.
I keep my body angled toward her, creating a barrier between her and Rowan with my bare shoulders. The eggs sit heavy in my stomach, rich with bacon grease, and seasoned with pepper.
“This calculus assignment is kicking my butt,” Lena sighs, pushing eggs around her plate. “Ms. Chenwants us to understand derivatives through geometric applications, but the textbook examples are?—”
The distant wail of sirens cut through her words, growing louder as they approach our block. I track the sound, gauging distance, direction, and speed. Not ambulances or fire trucks, but police cruisers, moving fast toward the south side of Brickwell.
My muscles coil tight, fork suspended mid-bite as I listen. Rowan’s attention cuts toward me, catching my reaction before shifting to the window. His back straightens, head tilting as he splits his focus between our conversation and the approaching sound.
Lena continues talking without pause, as if the sirens are no more notable than birds chirping or traffic passing. “Anyway, the textbook examples are way more advanced than what she’s teaching, but she wants us to reference them, which makes no sense…”
