Chapter Nineteen
Henry
I wake up to the soft, steady rhythm of Leila’s breathing beside me.
The room is quiet, save for the distant chirping of birds outside and the occasional creak of the couch, where Luke is sprawled, still fast asleep.
His arm dangles off the edge, and his fingers twitch slightly as if he’s reaching for something in his dreams.
Two days. That’s how long it took for Leila’s heat to pass.
It was two days of tension, of desire, and of letting loose.
It seems that knotting so often has helped shorten the heat that ravaged her.
I close my eyes for a moment, and flashes of the past few nights fill my mind, the way our bodies moved together, the way she responded to Luke, Ryan, and me.
It was raw and overwhelming. But it was also incredible, every moment of it.
I turn my head to look at her—Leila—lying there in the early light, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow.
There’s something about the way she sleeps, so peaceful after the storm of lust and pleasure that we experienced.
I feel something stir inside me. It’s something deeper than lust. It’s love.
Here I am, watching her, wanting her, and realizing that this…
this is a view I want to see for the rest of my life.
The thought makes me restless, and a sudden thirst grips me. Quietly, I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb either of them. I need water to clear my head.
I make my way toward the kitchen, eager to quench my thirst. But as I draw closer, something unexpected hits me, a rich, sweet scent hanging in the air: coffee, omelets, and toast. I pause mid-step, curiosity coursing through me.
I hadn’t seen any staff when I arrived. Luke and Leila are still asleep, undisturbed. That leaves only one possibility.
Ryan?
I move silently, the weight of the thought pressing down on me as I approach the kitchen. And there he is, standing by the stove. Ryan is calmly putting together what looks like breakfast. His movements are practiced, almost casual, as if the last two days haven’t caused any drain on him.
The sight of him jolts something in me, propelling me back to the time he first arrived at the house.
In that rage-filled moment before Leila’s pheromones and her aura drove our energies to her, we fought recklessly and angrily.
Though the wounds are healed, my mind vividly remembers the sharpness of his claws in my sides and the sting of his counterattacks.
My pulse quickens at the memory, my body tensing instinctively as if unsure whether to brace for another clash.
He must sense me there, standing behind him, because he turns slowly.
For a brief, charged moment, we just stare at each other.
There’s no bravado in his face and no immediate challenge.
Just hesitation. Uncertainty. It’s mirrored in me, too.
We’re caught in this quiet, fragile pause, not knowing if it’s over or if something is still waiting to break.
Ryan breaks the silence by slowly pushing a plate of omelets and toast across the table, followed by a jug of coffee.
The gesture feels deliberate, a way to dissolve the tension that still lingers in the air between us.
I glance at the food, then back at him, cautious, my guard still up.
It’s hard to believe that, after everything, it could be this simple.
Two days ago, we were inches from tearing each other apart, claws and teeth bared, anger in our veins.
Every moment between us from the day we met has been steeped in competition, both of us driven by a shared desire for Leila, battling for her attention and for dominance.
And now here he is, offering me breakfast? It feels too easy. Too soon.
“Relax. Have a seat,” Ryan says, his voice calm as he picks up the coffee jug. He leans back in his chair. His movements are slow and nonthreatening. “It’s not poisoned,” he adds with a slight smirk, trying to ease the tension as he pours himself a cup.
I don’t move right away. The wariness between us isn’t something that can just evaporate overnight. But there’s something different in the air now. The instinct to fight is still there, but so is the desire for this to be over.
I slide into the seat across from him, taking the jug of coffee he offered. The first sip is warm and grounding, the rich aroma filling my senses as I try to steady myself. For a moment, we just sit there, sipping in silence. The air between us relaxes. The tension thins but is not entirely gone.
Even as we sit with a quiet calm settling over us, my mind keeps drifting back to our fight and the sheer intensity and bruising force of it all. And yet, what lingers most is the question: Why is he here? I wasn’t expecting him, and I’m almost certain Leila didn’t invite him.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask, my voice low but edged with suspicion. I try to soften it with a small jab, nodding toward the food. “Besides making breakfast, of course.”
Ryan takes his time sipping his coffee before he responds. “Well, I own the place,” he says casually.
I blink, taken off guard. My surprise must be written all over my face because he goes on explaining. “Augustus gave it to me. I actually came here to take a look at it.”
His words land, and then, as they sink in, the full weight of the situation hits me.
Leila’s father gave Ryan this house. He must have known exactly what would happen, that Leila would be here, deep in her heat, and that Ryan would be drawn to her powerful pheromones.
He had planned it all. He knew the effect her heat would have on Ryan, and he knew it would force them together and that Ryan would knot her. This wasn’t just some coincidence.
It was an orchestration and a calculated move by Leila’s father to solidify their bond and push them toward marriage. But there was one thing he didn’t account for. Me. I was the unforeseen variable in his carefully laid plans.
I can’t help but smirk, almost impressed by the sheer cunning of it all. Leila’s father had played his cards well, far better than I could have given him credit for.
“He knew she would be here when you arrived,” I say, the pieces of the puzzle finally settling into place.
“Yup,” Ryan replies with a casual shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He pours himself more coffee, completely at ease.
I watch him for a moment, studying the calm that’s settled over him.
There’s a relaxed confidence in his posture and a kind of acceptance that makes me pause.
The fire between us isn’t burning quite as hot now, but the embers are still there, waiting.
I lean back in my chair, weighing my next question.
“So... what now?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Ryan takes a slow sip, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of his cup. “Well, it doesn’t look like Leila wants to choose just one of us.”
“Yeah. No shit,” I mutter, my mind flickering with images of last night, the way Leila responded to all three of us, her pleasure magnified by our collective claim on her. The way she seemed to revel in it, her body instinctively drawn to the power of both our knots and Luke’s touch.
Ryan shrugs, the same calm expression never leaving his face. “After last night, we might as well form a family unit.”
The casualness of his statement almost makes me laugh. It’s almost absurd. Two days ago, we were ready to kill each other, and now he’s talking about forming a family unit like it’s the next logical step. And yet, in this strange, surreal moment, it doesn’t feel completely ridiculous.
“I don’t see any downsides to it,” Ryan explains, his tone steady and measured.
“From a status perspective, it’ll be good for her and her family.
An Omega like her, Alphas like us. It fits.
More than that, I know I’ll do anything to protect her, and it’s clear you and Luke will, too.
She’ll be safe with us. I think she’ll be happy with us. ”
The words sink in, resonating more deeply than I expected.
We spent all this time locked in competition, pushing and pulling for dominance, when the answer was staring me in the face.
Leila doesn’t have to choose. She’s safer with us three.
She’ll be happier with us three. A bond of us, bound by love and the primal need to keep her safe.
I think of Ares and how much he thrived after marrying Cassie and how content he became in their shared bond.
He found strength in their union and in the family unit they built together.
The thought of having something like that and building my own family unit with Leila and forging a bond with Ryan and Luke around our shared love for her, sends a warmth through me I wasn’t expecting. It feels... right.
“You’re right,” I say at last, nodding to Ryan.
Ryan smirks and that ever-present cockiness slips back into his expression. “You’ll come to find I’m always right.”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
His arrogance would usually grate on me, but right now, it feels harmless and maybe even deserved.
With a sigh, I push my chair back and stand, stretching the tension from my shoulders.
“I’m going to hit the restroom,” I say, turning toward the hallway.
As I move toward the door, my eyes catch on something I’ve barely given any thought to in days. It’s my phone, lying untouched on the table. I grab it absentmindedly, not expecting anything. But the moment the screen lights up, a shock runs through me.
Ares?
Thirty-seven missed calls from Ares.
My heart lurches, and my mind races to find a plausible reason for why he would be so desperate to reach me.
He knows where I am, and he knows what I’ve been doing with Leila these past days.
I had told him her heat was starting, and I would be spending a few days with her.
So, what could be so urgent that he’s been calling over and over? Something with business, maybe?
An uneasy feeling coils in my chest as I quickly dial him back, pressing the phone to my ear. Whatever it is, I need to know what’s going on.
The phone barely rings before Ares’ voice cuts through the silence, sharp and taut. “Henry?”
“Yeah, Ares. What’s up?” I ask, though the unease in his tone already has me on edge.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he says. Urgency laces his words, but there’s something else there, something restrained. There’s a caution that makes my pulse spike.
“I can see that. Thirty-seven missed calls. What’s going on?”
There’s a pause, brief but heavy. “Everyone’s been trying to reach Leila. Are you with her right now?”
At the mention of her name, my pulse quickens further. I straighten, my focus sharpening. “No, she’s still in the room.”
“I need you to get her phone. Now. Keep her away from it for a while,” Ares says, his voice firm, but there’s an edge of concern that makes my stomach churn.
“Ares,” I press, the unease in me growing by the second. “What the hell is going on? Why should I keep Leila away from her phone?”
Across the room, I see Ryan’s head tilt slightly, his brow furrowing as he notices the shift in my voice. His eyes lock onto me, his expression tightening with curiosity, sensing something is wrong.
Ares hesitates a heartbeat too long. “Ares,” I snap, my patience hanging by a thread. “Talk to me!”
Then, finally, he speaks, and the words hit like a hammer to my chest. “Leila’s mom... she committed suicide in prison. Her mom’s dead, Henry.”
A cold weight drops into my stomach. The room seems to tilt, the words echoing in my mind as I struggle to grasp them. Dead. Leila’s mother. I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat as my gaze drifts to Ryan, who’s now standing, his calm demeanor replaced by concern as he watches me.
Before I can say anything, a scream rips through the house, a raw sound that reverberates off the walls, slicing through the air like a blade.
Ryan and I both freeze, our heads snapping toward the bedroom where the sound is coming from.
Leila’s scream, filled with anguish and horror, cuts through everything else.
In that moment, I know. She knows.