20. Bianca
BIANCA
“More coffee?” Freddie’s already reaching for the pot before I can answer.
“I’m good.” But I don’t stop him when he fills my cup anyway. His face brightens as he pours, as if this simple act gives him purpose.
The shower felt amazing. Now I’m wearing clothes Weller somehow procured overnight—perfectly sized, as if he’d measured me in my sleep.
His meticulous attention to detail crosses into obsession, but it’s always been that way.
Sunlight spills through tall windows, warming the kitchen.
I curl up on a stool at the marble island, watching Freddie move around with comfortable familiarity.
He whips up scrambled eggs flecked with fresh herbs, fruit arranged in spirals of color, toast with some jam I couldn’t pronounce if I tried.
He’s always been magic in the kitchen. Memories surface of us baking together, flour dusting his nose as he taught me recipes to impress my family on the nights Mom made Winston and me cook dinner.
His hair catches the light, golden curls chaotically perfect. Each time he glances over, that familiar smile tugs at my heart.
This is what mornings might have been if we hadn’t been ripped apart, if our lives hadn’t been sabotaged.
Owen leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. When our eyes meet, my skin prickles with the phantom weight of him pinning me to that mat.
Heat lingers where his lips brushed mine, and his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as if searching for traces of me there.
Fuck .
“The meeting’s at the Grandmont.” Weller claims the stool beside me. Authority radiates from him with his perfect hair and tailored attire. His eyes track every glance between Owen and me, his mouth tightening when Owen’s attention lingers on my lips too long.
He’s definitely suspicious.
“Two days of meetings with the associates from the West Coast,” Weller continues, pulling out his phone. “We’ll be staying overnight. Owen, you have that appointment to deal with this morning.”
Owen cracks his knuckles one by one, a wild look in his eyes. “Good. I could use the stress relief.”
From the dangerous curl at the corner of his mouth, someone’s day is about to get a lot worse, and he’s not upset about being the reason.
If I didn’t already have my own plans lined up for today, I’d be tempted to beg him to let me tag along.
Tristan drops into the chair next to mine. His knee brushes mine and lingers there. My body tenses, but I don’t pull away… can’t pull away. The contact burns through my jeans like his skin’s made of fire.
“Gotta keep their business transactions tidy,” he says.
I glance at him sideways. “Do they give you breaks, at least?”
“Occasionally,” he replies, eyes glinting. “If we’re good boys.”
His gaze locks onto mine, blue eyes holding a beat too long. The elevator flashes through my mind… his body caging mine against the wall, how quickly he unraveled me without even touching me.
But there’s darkness in his expression, threading through his usual control. A challenge aimed at Owen as tension crackles between them like electricity seeking ground.
“Sounds thrilling,” I say lightly.
“It’s not,” Owen interrupts, pushing away from the counter. He steps closer, gaze locked on mine. “Which is why we’re hoping you’ll join us.”
The room goes silent. Freddie freezes mid-pour, vulnerability written across his face. Weller’s fingers halt over his phone screen. Even Tristan grows perfectly still beside me.
“Join you how?”
“At the hotel,” Freddie rushes out, words tumbling over themselves. “Nothing to do with the meetings... just us. Spending time together.”
Time together. Everything he’s not saying hangs heavy between us. We don’t have much time left.
“We could arrange it easily.” Tristan’s fingers drum against the marble. “Though I do love watching you pretend you’re not desperate to say yes, little bee.”
“Hmm.” I stare at him. “You want me to sneak into your hotel room?”
“We want you to be wherever we are,” Owen answers, his bluntness stealing my breath. “But this is what we can manage without getting you killed.”
Weller’s head snaps toward Owen at the reminder of the stakes.
His jaw locks, but his eyes soften when they meet mine.
“He’s right, it’s dangerous. If anyone realizes you’re with us.
..” His voice trails off, weighted with unspoken concerns.
“But if we can do this safely... it would be worth the risk.”
I hesitate, anxiety coiling beneath my ribs. “Won’t your fathers be there?”
“They won’t get close enough to matter,” Tristan assures me, confidence unshakable. “Trust me, I’ve considered every angle. We’ll make sure you’re protected.”
My phone buzzes against the marble. I have messages from Mom and Ezra.
Shit. The real world hasn’t stopped just because I’ve been wrapped up in them.
Guilt twists sharply in my chest. I can’t lose myself in them again… not with Whitney returning soon, and not when this is just temporary, no matter how desperately I wish it wasn’t.
It’s all about to go poof… and we all know it.
“So?” Freddie asks, anticipation brightening his face. “Hotel? Tonight?”
My throat constricts, want and dread twining together. Every rational instinct screams to run, but my body betrays me, leaning toward them like they generate their own gravity. The decision tears free before reason can intercede.
“What do I need to do?”
Relief ripples through the room.
“A car will pick you up at seven,” Weller says, instantly shifting to planning mode. “Coffee shop across from the hospital. The driver will bring you through the service entry.”
“Hair up, hat on,” Tristan adds, leaning closer until his knee presses mine again. “Simple disguise. Hotel staff won’t notice you.”
“We’ll have a suite far from the meeting floors,” Freddie adds, reassurance warming his voice.
Every rational thought screams that this is a bad idea. Whitney will be back soon. But spending the night with them is too tempting.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But if this ends with me in a suitcase, I’ll haunt all of you.”
Freddie pales, but Owen lets out a low laugh, the sound rich and dark. Tristan’s mouth quirks upward, amusement dancing in his eyes. Only Weller remains stone-faced, his gaze intense as he leans forward.
“No one is going to touch you, but we’ll need to communicate carefully,” Weller says, pulling a small black phone from his jacket. “Burner. Our regular phones are monitored.”
Monitored. Reality crashes back.
I take the phone as he shows me the single number programmed into it. “Only use this for our communications.”
“Got it.”
My regular phone buzzes again. Megan’s text this time.
They must be in town today getting supplies.
Guilt digs deeper as I think about the refuge… about the people who’ve been my family these past five years.
I need to update Ezra and Megan, appease my mother, juggle my revenge plots, and somehow prevent everything from collapsing around me.
“I should get to the hospital,” I say, sliding off the stool.
What I don’t mention are my other errands planned for today. Errands involving flowers, duct tape, and three unsuspecting omegas who have no idea what’s coming.
“Car will be ready in ten,” Weller says, already making calls.
Tonight, I’ll walk straight into emotional quicksand. But staying away isn’t an option anymore.
* * *
My stomach churns with each ding as I get closer to my brother’s hospital floor.
Tonight feels both too far away and too soon.
Focus. Winston first.
I push through the door to his room and stop dead.
Winston’s sitting up in bed, eyes clear and focused, talking quietly with Clara. But the moment I step inside, his head snaps toward me, and his nostrils flare.
Shit.
“There’s my long-lost sister,” he says, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head, studying me more carefully than I anticipated.
Clara beams at me. “Look who’s awake and talking. The doctors say he’s making incredible progress.”
I move closer to his bed, trying to act normal. “How are you feeling, Winnie?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” He’s studying me… like a doctor might. “But my head’s clearing up.”
“You scared us, asshole.”
“Sorry.” He laughs softly, then winces from the pain it causes, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. “You smell like...”
My heart skips. “Like what?”
“Like...” He pauses, nostrils flaring again as he processes. “Like them. But not just passing contact. You’ve been around them. A lot.”
Fuck. I forgot how sharp his senses are when he’s not unconscious.
Clara’s eyebrows shoot up, her eyes bouncing between us.
Winston’s gaze shifts to Clara. “Can you give us a few minutes, babe?”
Clara nods, squeezing his hand before standing. “I’ll grab coffee. Be right back.” She slips out, closing the door softly behind her.
Winston waits until her footsteps fade before turning back to me. “How much time have you been spending with them, B?”
I fidget as I try to decide how much of the truth to share.
“More than I should considering,” I admit.
“Why?” His voice is gentle, but I can see the protective instincts kicking in. “Last I knew, we couldn’t even mention them without you falling apart.”
“Things changed.”
“What kind of things?”
I take a breath. “What I thought happened… I was wrong.”
Winston goes still.
“What do you mean?”
“They were drugged, Winston. The bond was forced.”
The silence stretches between us. Clara’s hand rises to her throat, but Winston... Winston doesn’t look shocked. He looks exhausted.
“Fuck,” he breathes, running a hand over his face. “They wouldn’t talk about it. But the way they acted afterward... I could never wrap my head around any of it. I assumed it was some shit to do with their dads.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you suspected…” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
Winston gives me a look that reminds me of the big brother who used to call me out on my bullshit.