He’s silent for a moment, considering. “You might need something stronger,” he says finally. “Real suppressants, not just the herbal kind. They’d need a prescription, but I know a doctor who could—“
“No,” I interrupt him. “No doctors. No prescriptions. No anything that makes this more real than it already is.”
Something shifts in his expression—frustration, maybe, or understanding. “It is real, Maya,” he says. “Pretending otherwise won’t make it go away.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say, though we both know it’s not entirely true. “I’m managing. The blockers are helping. I can get through the day, through the production, through whatever this is.”
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods once. “Okay,” he says simply. “But if that changes—if they stop working completely, if things get worse—you tell me right away.”
The certainty in his voice makes it easier to agree than it should be. “I will,” I say, and mean it.
He nods again, turning his attention back to the road. We drive the rest of the way in relative silence, the only sound the softhum of the engine and the occasional comment about the traffic or the weather.
The studio lot comes into view twenty minutes later, the familiar gate and security booth a welcome sight after the unfamiliarity of the morning. Elias slows as we approach, maintaining the speed limit despite the empty road.
“Remember,” I say as we near the employee parking area. “Separate entrances. Separate paths. No special treatment, no obvious connection.”
He nods once, eyes on the road. “I remember,” he says. “You go in first. I’ll follow in five minutes. We keep our distance on set.”
“Thank you,” I say looking down at my hands.
He doesn’t answer, just pulls into a spot near the back of the employee lot, choosing one that isn’t too close to the main entrance. I reach for the door handle, suddenly aware that we‘re here—that the moment of separation is actually happening, that whatever this is between us is about to become real in a way it hasn’t been before.
“Wait,” he says. “Your bag.”
I look down, suddenly remembering the tote still sitting at my feet. “Right,” I say, reaching for it. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you inside.”
He nods, watching as I gather my things. Something shifts in his expression—a calculation, maybe, or a decision being made. “Maya,” he says as my hand reaches for the door. “Whatever happens today—whatever you need—I‘m here. Okay?”
The words catch me off guard. Not because of what he’s offering, but because I believe him. “I know,” I say, and mean it.
I push the door open before I can change my mind and slide out of the seat. The morning air hits my face, cool and clear after the confined space of the car. I adjust my bag on my shoulder, taking a deep breath to center myself before I start toward the building.
And that’s when I see them—Adrian and Bash, standing three cars down, deep in conversation as they head for the entrance. They haven‘t noticed me yet, too focused on whatever they‘re discussing to pay attention to their surroundings. Adrian says something that makes Bash laugh, the sound carrying across the lot.
I freeze, suddenly unable to move. They can’t see me here—can’t see me getting out of Elias’s car, can’t know that he drove me to work, that he stayed at my apartment, that whatever’s happening between us has already crossed lines I’m not ready to face.
But it‘s too late. Bash looks up, his attention catching on my movement. He says something to Adrian, too low for me to hear, and then they’re both turning, both looking at me with expressions that shift from surprise to something more complicated.
I force myself to move, to keep walking toward the building like nothing’s different, like I didn’t just arrive in Elias’s car instead of on the subway like I told them I did before.
Behind me, Elias’s car door opens and closes with a soft thunk. His footsteps follow behind me, maintaining the distance I askedfor but close enough that I can feel his presence at my back. Exactly where he said he would be.
“You want me to carry that?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear it.
Yesterday, it would have sounded like a simple offer. Now it feels like something else entirely. An alpha offering to carry an omega’s bag is a gesture so loaded with implication that I can’t believe he’s making it where anyone could see.
And the worst part is how I respond. A small, embarrassing burst of pleasure goes through me at the offer, at being seen as someone worth helping. My omega practically preens under the attention, pleased that he noticed before I ever had to ask.
“I’ve got it,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I mean. “Thanks though.”
I speed up, suddenly desperate to put distance between us before Adrian and Bash notice what’s happening. But it’s too late—they’ve already changed course, cutting across the parking lot to intercept me before I can reach the building.
“There she is,” Adrian says as they approach, his voice light with false surprise. “The woman of the hour. Or should I say, the woman who claimed to take the subway home last night when she very clearly did not take the subway home last night.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s not what it looks like,” I say automatically, though we all know it’s exactly what it looks like.
“It looks like someone got a ride,” Bash says, his eyes moving from me to Elias and back again. “A very specific ride from a very specific someone who is now standing very close to you.”
