The city passes outside the glass. I lean back against the headrest and let my eyes rest without closing them completely.
I’m still here. The same Maya who started this production, who noticed details that other people walked past, who kept months of complicated work running without anyone acknowledging it. She didn’t go anywhere.
She’s just going to have to learn to take up a little more room.
Chapter 27
Maya
We turn onto the driveway, and something in my body gives way before my brain catches up.
The house rises out of the dark ahead of us, yellow light bleeding from the windows across the front porch. Adrian slows the car, and Bash shifts beside me in the back seat, his arm brushing mine as the wheels roll to a stop on the gravel. I don’t remember when my breathing evened out. I don’t remember when my hands stopped clenching into fists in my lap.
But the moment the car goes still and the engine cuts, the last of the day’s tension starts draining from my shoulders like a weight someone else has been carrying.
I’m exhausted on every level. The production meeting lives in my chest like a bruise I keep pressing on. Nadia’s face when she walked in, the way the clinic smelled, the doctor’s questions, the way I cried in the sitting room and my face still feels tight where the tears dried hours ago. My body hurts in places I didn’t know could hurt.
And yet.
Something inside me is calmer than it was this morning. Everything isn’t fixed. But the screaming panic has settled into something I can actually breathe around.
Adrian turns in the driver's seat. The porch light catches the edge of his profile, highlighting the tension still lingering in his jaw from the phone call. Beside me, Bash has gone silent, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead. Elias sits in the passenger seat with his hands resting loosely in his lap, his breathing slow and even.
Nobody moves, and silence fills the car.
Adrian speaks first, his voice gentle. “Maya,” he says. He shifts in his seat so he can see me properly. “I know this has been an impossible day. And I know this is the last thing you need right now, which is why I’m trying very hard not to make this sound like I’m trying to pressure you.”
Bash listens beside me. His body angled toward mine, close enough that the space between us feels almost nonexistent.
“The doctor said your heat could come any time now. Days, not weeks.” Adrian pauses, searching my face. “And after everything that happened today, and the state you’re in, and the fact that you’ve been running on blockers and fear and stubbornness for days now... Bash and I would feel better if you stayed here. Instead of going back to your apartment tonight.” He pauses for a moment.
“There’s a room for you upstairs,” he continues. “It’s already ready. We have supplies. Medicine. Everything the doctor mentioned. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. And you wouldn’t be doing this with only one alpha.” His expression softens. “And there are three of us. You don't have to carry all of this by yourself anymore.”
Bash picks up the thread without hesitation. “The space is already yours. We’ve had it set up for days. You’d be morecomfortable here than anywhere else, and we could help monitor your symptoms without you having to track everything yourself.” He tilts his head slightly. “And you wouldn’t have to go through sudden changes with only Elias as backup. As much as I’m sure he’d handle it flawlessly.”
He says the last part with a lightness that makes something in my chest ease.
“I want to be very clear,” Adrian says, and his tone has shifted into something more vulnerable than I’ve heard from him before. “There is no pressure attached to this. No expectation. We’re not... I’m not asking because we want something from you. We’re asking because we want you safe and cared for. However you need that to look.”
Bash nods. “Whatever you decide.”
I look at Elias. He hasn’t spoken, but he’s watching me from the front seat with an intensity that carries no judgment. His dark green eyes find mine and I know without him saying a word that he agrees with every word they have said.
I should say something. I should process this. I should weigh the options, consider the implications, and think about what staying here means for the fragile independence I’ve been clinging to since this started.
Instead, Nadia’s voice echoes through my head.You are the omega. The omega is you.
The doctor’s words follow.Your emotional responses are well within the normal range.
Your instincts are not fake.
You need support.
You don’t have to do this alone.
I stare at my hands in my lap. I’m tired and completely done fighting myself.
“Okay,” I say. The word comes out small, honest and a little broken around the edges.
