Chapter 5 #2
There’s something predatory in his stillness—not threatening exactly, but watchful.
Assessing. I tell myself he’s just analyzing business rivals, looking for weaknesses to exploit at the summit.
That his occasional glances in my direction are about professional strategy, not the faint traces of Omega that might be seeping through my strained blockers.
“I need to make some calls,” I announce, needing escape from the testosterone-laden atmosphere. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I retreat to my bedroom, phone clutched like a lifeline. Once inside, I immediately pull up the resort’s concierge service on my tablet.
Pharmaceutical delivery services? None on the island.
Local pharmacy? Closed due to storm.
Other guests willing to share suppressants? Privacy policies prevent staff from asking.
Each avenue closes, leaving me with dwindling options and 36 hours of protection against my own biology. I sink onto the bed, allowing myself exactly ten seconds of panic—counting them silently as my heart thunders against my ribs.
One. Two. Three. Breathe.
Four. Five. Six. Think.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Plan.
Ten. Act.
I stand, decision made. I’ll ration my remaining blockers. Apply them only before entering common areas. Stay in my room as much as possible. And if the storm hasn’t cleared by the time they run out, well.
I’ll deal with that crisis when it comes. One problem at a time.
A knock at my door makes me jump.
“Yes?” I call, hating the slight tremor in my voice.
“It’s Miles.” His deep voice is muffled through the wood. “A moment of your time?”
I hesitate, then smooth my blouse and open the door just enough to see him. He stands with perfect posture, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at ease.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Harrington?” I ask, professional mask firmly in place.
He studies me for a beat, then holds out his hand. In his palm rests a small silver packet—the distinctive foil wrapping of high-grade scent neutralizers. Not as strong as my prescription suppressants, but better than commercial brands.
“These don’t contain parabens,” he says simply. “Less irritation. Decent efficacy.”
I stare at the packet, then at him, uncertain how to respond. Is this a trap? A power play? Or genuine assistance?
“Why would I need those?” I ask carefully.
“Customs often holds medical-grade suppressants,” he replies, face impassive. “Happened to my sister last year in Singapore. Same customs jurisdiction as this island.”
Relief and suspicion war within me. How convenient that he has exactly what I need. How concerning that he’s noticed my vulnerability so quickly.
“That’s considerate of you,” I say slowly, not reaching for the packet yet. “But what makes you think my suppressants were held?”
“Your scent signature is changing,” he says matter-of-factly. “Subtle, but present. The humidity accelerates blocker degradation. Basic chemistry.”
Heat floods my face. Shame and something else—something I refuse to examine—curl in my stomach.
He’s been scenting me. Tracking the changes in my biochemistry. The violation of privacy makes me want to slam the door in his face.
Instead, I reach for the packet with steady fingers. “Thank you for your observation, Mr. Harrington. I appreciate the assistance.”
He nods once, then adds quietly, “I have more if needed. My company invests heavily in designation comfort technology. We test samples regularly.”
Of course they do. Titan Global wouldn’t miss an opportunity to profit from designation biology.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say neutrally.
He turns to go, then pauses. “They see you as a prize, you know. Cole and Rios. An asset to be acquired or controlled.”
My spine stiffens. “And how do you see me, Mr. Harrington?”
His eyes—cool blue-gray like the storm outside—meet mine directly. “As a formidable opponent who happens to be facing a tactical disadvantage.”
With that cryptic statement, he walks away, leaving me holding the silver packet and a new set of questions. Why help me if I’m an opponent? What game is he playing? And most troublingly, if Miles noticed my fading blockers so quickly, how long before Adrian and Caleb catch on too?
I close the door and lean against it, heart racing. Outside, the storm rages on, matching the tumult in my chest.
Three Alphas. One villa. And me, an Omega with dwindling defenses against not just my biology, but theirs.
One thing is certain—Adrian’s precious “code of conduct” won’t survive first contact with reality.
Not when the reality includes an unblocked Omega and three Alphas with competing agendas.
Business rivals by day who suddenly find themselves sharing living space with a prize none of them knew they wanted until they scented it.
Until they scented me.
I crush the silver packet in my palm, feeling the foil give way to the contents inside. Miles is right—this is a tactical disadvantage. But I didn’t climb to the top of NovaDyne’s corporate ladder by surrendering at the first sign of trouble.
I’ll adapt. Survive. And if these three Alphas think an Omega in mild blocker withdrawal will be easy prey or a simple conquest, they’re about to learn exactly how wrong they are.