Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Elle
I wake to heat crawling under my skin, a restless ache that has nothing to do with the tropical storm still raging outside my window.
My sheets are twisted around my legs, damp with sweat despite the room’s perfect air conditioning.
Something’s wrong. I press my face into the pillow, inhaling my own scent—stronger than it should be, sweeter.
The blockers are failing faster than I calculated.
This isn’t just blocker withdrawal. This is the precursor to something worse.
My heat is coming, and it’s coming early.
“Fuck,” I whisper into the empty room, the word harsh and alien on my tongue.
I check the time: 7:36 AM. I’ve slept later than intended. Later than I ever allow myself on work trips. My body feels heavy, limbs weighted with a languid warmth that whispers seductive promises of what’s to come if I don’t get this under control.
I force myself out of bed, the cool air hitting my sweat-dampened skin and raising goosebumps along my arms. In the bathroom mirror, my reflection tells the story I don’t want to read—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips fuller than usual.
The telltale signs of an Omega whose hormones are surging toward heat.
I reach for the silver packet Miles gave me yesterday, fingers trembling slightly. Not from fear—I refuse to be afraid—but from the low-grade fever that precedes my cycle. I tear it open, the foil crinkling loudly in the silent bathroom.
These aren’t my usual industrial-strength blockers.
They’re good—better than commercial grade—but different.
I apply them to my pulse points, methodically covering wrists, throat, behind my ears.
The formula is cool against my skin, soothing the redness left by yesterday’s harsh chemicals.
No sting, just a pleasant numbness that spreads as the blockers absorb.
I wait, counting my breaths, monitoring my body’s response. The warmth retreats slightly, like a tide pulling back from shore. Not gone, just... contained. Temporarily.
I exhale slowly. These will buy me time—hours, not days. My biological clock is accelerating, pushed forward by stress, by proximity to three unmated Alphas, by the universe’s perverse sense of humor.
I have maybe two days before full heat hits, not the four I’d calculated. The realization sits heavy in my stomach. Two days to get off this island. Two days to find stronger suppressants. Two days to prepare for the possibility that neither of those things will happen in time.
I dress with deliberate care, selecting a silk blouse in deep burgundy—a power color, a shield—and a pencil skirt that feels like armor. Professional. Controlled. The picture of composed competence, even as my insides twist with awareness of what’s coming.
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. A message from Adrian:
Strategy meeting at 9 AM. All four of us. Need to coordinate summit approach given the delay. Boardroom in villa.
I stare at the screen, mind racing. A strategy meeting. All four of us in one room, reviewing presentations, discussing the summit. Hours of proximity to three Alphas while my blockers fight a losing battle against my biology.
This is fine. I can handle this. I’ve built my entire career on being more than my designation. One meeting won’t break me.
I respond with a simple “Confirmed” and finish my preparations.
Extra layer of blockers. Hair pulled back in a severe bun that no one would describe as alluring.
Minimal makeup. Nothing soft. Nothing inviting.
I am Elle Park, executive assistant and consummate professional, not an Omega on the edge of heat.
By the time I emerge from my room, the others are already gathered in the villa’s kitchen. The air is thick with coffee and testosterone, an invisible current of energy passing between the three Alphas as they maintain careful distances from each other.
Miles stands by the window, coffee mug in hand, watching the storm with calculated disinterest. Adrian reviews documents at the kitchen island, his posture perfect, control radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
Caleb lounges against the counter, performance casual, eyes tracking my entrance with predatory focus.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, grin spreading slow and deliberate. “You’re looking particularly... vibrant today.”
My skin prickles at his tone. Can he tell? Have my blockers already failed so completely? I resist the urge to touch my neck, to check if my scent glands are swollen—a telltale sign of approaching heat.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Miles says quietly, nodding toward the pot. “Cream’s in the refrigerator.”
I move toward the coffee maker, keeping my movements measured despite the jittery energy building beneath my skin. As I pour myself a cup, I feel rather than see Adrian’s eyes on me, assessing, cataloging.
“The meeting room is set up,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ve prepared agenda items for the summit coordination.”
“Perfect,” I reply, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “I’ll bring my notes on the rescheduled presentation slots.”
Caleb pushes off from the counter, moving into my space with deliberate casualness. “Need help carrying anything, Elle? You seem a little... warm this morning.”
My cup freezes halfway to my lips. There’s no way he should be able to detect my elevated temperature from across the room. Unless...
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own materials, thank you,” I say, adding just enough ice to my tone to create distance.
His grin widens, something knowing in his amber eyes. “Just being gentlemanly.”
“You wouldn’t recognize gentlemanly if it bit you on the ass,” Miles mutters, moving past us toward the hallway. “Meeting in five. Let’s not waste time with whatever this is.”
Adrian closes his folder with a sharp snap. “Elle, walk with me. I need to brief you on a development with the neural interface demo.”
It’s an excuse to separate me from Caleb, transparent in its intention. Still, I take it, falling into step beside Adrian as we leave the kitchen. In the hallway, he pauses, turning to face me. His gray eyes scan my face with uncomfortable intensity.
“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low. “You seem different this morning.”
I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to flinch. “I’m fine. Just adjusting to our prolonged stay in this situation.”
His nostrils flare slightly, and I know he’s scenting me, checking for signals my body might be broadcasting against my will.
Something shifts in his expression—concern? Awareness? Desire? I can’t tell, and that uncertainty sends a fresh wave of heat cascading down my spine.
“If you need anything,” he says carefully, “just tell me. This situation is unprecedented.”
“I’m handling it,” I reply, perhaps too quickly. “We should focus on the summit strategy.”
He studies me a moment longer, then nods once, sharp and decisive. “Let’s go.”
The boardroom is sleek and modern, walls of glass showcasing the storm-lashed beach beyond.
A long table dominates the space, surrounded by leather chairs.
Miles is already seated, tablet in front of him, expression unreadable.
Caleb enters behind us, bringing with him a wave of spiced rum and honey scent that makes my stomach clench with unwanted awareness.
I take a seat on one side of the table, placing my materials precisely in front of me.
Adrian sits at the head of the table, naturally assuming the power position.
Miles remains where he is, opposite me. Caleb, instead of taking one of the many available chairs, perches on the arm of my chair, his thigh mere inches from my shoulder.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about the way he’s leaning into my space, deliberate and provocative.
“There are plenty of actual chairs available,” I point out, shifting away slightly.
“But none with such a charming occupant,” he counters, voice dropping to a register that sends unwelcome shivers across my skin.
“Rios,” Adrian’s voice cuts through the room, sharp as a blade. “There are seven empty chairs. Use one.”
Caleb doesn’t move, just smiles lazily. “I’m comfortable here. Unless I’m making Elle uncomfortable?” He looks down at me, eyebrows raised in mock concern. “Am I bothering you, Elle?”
His scent intensifies, wrapping around me like a physical touch. My blockers struggle against it, chemical barriers eroding in the face of pure Alpha pheromones deliberately projected. He’s doing it on purpose, the bastard.
“Professional boundaries, remember?” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the heat building low in my abdomen. “Your own rules.”
“Mmm, rules,” he murmurs, leaning closer still. “So much more fun when broken, don’t you think?”
“Move,” Adrian says, the single word vibrating with Alpha command. “Now.”
The air in the room thickens, charged with territorial energy. Caleb’s smile remains fixed, but his eyes harden as he meets Adrian’s glare across the table. I’m caught between them, my biology responding to their posturing despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.
“Both of you, keep it down,” Miles interjects, not looking up from his tablet. “This display is counterproductive.”
Caleb holds Adrian’s stare for another beat, then shrugs and slides off the arm of my chair. “Just being friendly,” he says, moving to the chair directly across from me, next to Miles. “No need to get territorial, Cole.”
“This is a business meeting,” Adrian replies coldly. “Behave accordingly.”
I focus on my breathing, on the agenda in front of me, on anything except the storm of pheromones filling the room. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive.
The blockers Miles gave me are fighting a losing battle, and all three Alphas know it. I can see it in the way their attention keeps returning to me, in the subtle flaring of nostrils, in the tension crackling between them.