Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Zoe
The drive back to my apartment is silent. The kind of silence that feels like it might shatter if anyone breathes too hard. I stare out the window, watching the blur of streetlights as Rett navigates through the nearly empty streets.
My mind can’t stop replaying the images: shattered glass, toppled sculptures, papers strewn across my office floor. My laptop gone. And that single, ugly word spray-painted on the frame.
BITCH.
A chill runs through me again, just thinking about it. This wasn’t a random break-in. The perp took only pieces from exhibitions I’d curated. They went through my desk, my files. They left that message.
But why? Who would target me? I’m an assistant curator at a mid-sized gallery. I’m not exactly swimming in enemies.
Unless...
My eyes dart to the rearview mirror, where I catch Rett watching me.
He looks away quickly, but not before I see the intensity in his gaze.
The same intensity I see in Dane’s rigid posture beside him, in Diego’s concerned glances from the seat next to me, in Tristan’s uncharacteristic silence on my other side.
Four alphas. Four claiming marks on my neck. And suddenly, my gallery gets hit with a personal, targeted break-in.
The timing is... suspicious.
“We’re here,” Rett says, pulling up in front of my building. The same building I left with them barely two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime has passed.
I agreed not to stay alone tonight. Words I’d said in the shock of the moment back at the gallery. But now, looking at my familiar building, I’m having second thoughts. Surely I’d be fine with my door locked. Maybe a chair propped under the knob like in the movies...
Before I can voice these thoughts, all four of them are already out of the car, moving like a security detail again. A pack on a hunt.
“I can grab some things and we can go,” I say, fishing my keys from my purse. “I won’t be long.”
None of them relax. Rett’s jaw is set in that stubborn way I’m starting to recognize too well.
Diego looks pained, like he knows what’s coming and doesn’t like it.
Tristan is uncharacteristically somber, and Dane.
..well, Dane looks like he’s planning multiple escape routes and defensive positions simultaneously.
“You’re not coming back here until this is resolved,” Rett says, his voice level. “Not just for tonight. Until whoever did this is caught.”
I cross my arms, keys dangling from my fingers. “Wait, what? That’s not what I agreed to back at the gallery.”
“The break-in was a message, Zoe,” he continues. “They targeted your office. They have your information.”
A chill runs down my spine, but I wrap my arms tighter around myself, digging my fingers into my elbows.
“They took the office computer,” Dane says. “The one you’re logged into all day. How long until they have access to your emails? Your saved passwords? Your home address is in a dozen different files on that thing.”
The blood drains from my face. He’s right.
My professional email account has years of correspondence.
My digital calendar, a minute-by-minute map of my life.
The donor database, with the private home addresses of half the city’s elite.
And my own HR portal... my pay stubs, my emergency contacts, my home address. It’s all on that machine.
“Okay,” I say, my voice tight, my mind racing.
“So I’ll call Helen. We have to notify the board.
We’ll need to contact every donor on that list, warn them their data has been breached.
And I’ll log in to the gallery’s account and change my user password.
” I’m already running through a frantic mental checklist, each item a new wave of nausea.
The legal fallout. The insurance claims. The catastrophic loss of trust. “I can handle this.”
“Can you handle them showing up here, at this door, tonight? Or tomorrow night? What about the night after that?” Rett asks, his voice quiet but unrelenting. “Because that’s the reality we’re facing.”
The world feels like it stops spinning.
“Can we talk about this inside?” Diego suggests, gesturing to the sidewalk where we’re standing. “It’s not exactly private out here.”
He has a point. I glance around, suddenly aware of how exposed we are. Mrs. Grant could be watching from her window. Anyone could be watching.
Including whoever broke into the gallery.
I nod, turning toward the building entrance.
The four of them follow me inside, up the cranky elevator, and down the hall to my apartment door. It feels surreal, leading this parade of alphas back to my home for the second time tonight. Like some weird déjà vu loop I can’t escape.
I unlock my door, pushing it open to reveal my modest apartment. The familiar sight of my living room with its worn couch, the overflowing bookshelf, and the small dining table cluttered with art magazines should be comforting. Instead, it all looks suddenly vulnerable. Penetrable.
I step inside, flipping on lights as I go, suddenly aware of how easily someone could break in. The window by the fire escape. The thin walls. The flimsy deadbolt.
No. Stop it. Don’t let them get in your head.
But it’s too late. The seed of fear has been planted, and it’s growing with alarming speed.
“Nice place,” Tristan says as they file in after me, his eyes scanning the room. He gestures to the slightly crooked abstract print above my couch. “Is that an original? Looks... angsty.”
The joke lands with a thud in the tense silence of the room. He seems to realize it too, his easy grin faltering for a second before he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping my keys on the side table. Before I can even ask them what they suggest, Rett steps forward.
“This building,” he says, gesturing to my apartment, “is compromised. You are not safe here.”
“He’s right,” Dane adds, moving to my front door. He examines the lock with a critical eye. “Standard deadbolt. Could pick it in under thirty seconds. Window locks are basic. No security system.” He meets my eyes, his pale blue gaze intense. “It’s a fish tank.”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the growing knot of dread in my stomach. “You’re overreacting. It was just a gallery break-in. We’ve had break-ins before. Art theft happens, unfortunately.”
“Art theft, yes,” Rett nods. “Personal messages spray-painted on the art itself? No. That’s a threat, Zoe.”
“We don’t know it was directed at me specifically,” I whisper, but my voice lacks conviction. “It could have been for Helen. Or just a general ‘fuck you’ to the gallery.”
“They only took pieces from your exhibitions,” Diego says gently. “They went through your desk. They left that message on a painting.” His warm brown eyes are full of concern. “Zoe, you know what this means.”
I do. God help me, I do. But admitting it makes it real. Makes the fear real.
“So what’s your solution?” I ask, crossing my arms even though I know it looks defensive. “Armed guards? A panic room?”
“Move into the penthouse,” Rett says without hesitation.
The words drop into the silence like stones falling to the bottom of a very, very deep well. Move… in with them? Live in their space? Be surrounded by their scents, their presence, their overwhelming alpha energy, 24/7?
I stare at him, speechless, my mind struggling to process the sheer, insane audacity of his suggestion. “Move in. With you?” I finally manage, my voice a strangled whisper.
“Yes,” Dane rumbles from where he’s still standing by the door.
“Absolutely not,” I say. But the denial is a reflex. A grab for the normalcy that was shattered the moment I walked into the gallery tonight. I know it. And it feels like they know it too. “That’s... that’s insane.”
“Is it?” Rett says. His deep blue eyes bore into mine as his jaw clenches behind his closed mouth.
I break his gaze and release a breath, rolling my shoulders. “I’ll go stay with my friend. She’s mated to three alphas. I’ll be safe there.”
The moment the words “three alphas” leave my mouth, the atmosphere in the room changes. A sudden, visceral drop in pressure, like before a lightning strike.
A low, collective growl rumbles through the small apartment, a sound that seems to vibrate in my bones.
It’s not a human sound. It’s the deep, guttural sound of pure, primal possession.
Rett’s jaw clenches so tight a muscle jumps.
Dane, who had been a statue in the doorway, takes a half-step forward, his hands flexing into fists.
Even Diego’s warm expression hardens, a flicker of something cold and territorial in his eyes.
They don’t want me safe with other alphas. They want me safe with them.
Tristan is the first to recover, visibly shaking off the instinct. He shoves a hand through his dark hair, turning away to pace toward my bookcase as if he needs to put distance between us.
“Okay, see, that’s...” he begins, his voice strained. “It’s not just about your safety, Zoe. It’s also about... the static. Being near you helps. A lot. We can think clearer, function better. And right now, we need to be at our best to figure out who did this.”
Ah, there it is. The ‘what’s in it for them’ part of the equation. How did I forget? I’m their beta aspirin.
“Temporarily,” Rett says, as if sensing my internal resistance. “Until we catch this person. We can add more security to our building. Multiple layers. No one gets in without clearance.”
I pace the small confines of my living room, my mind racing.
Part of me, the logical, practical part, acknowledges that they’re right.
My apartment isn’t secure. Whoever broke into the gallery could easily break in here.
I can’t afford private security. And to be honest, imposing on Leah and her pack isn’t ideal either.
But another part of me recoils at the idea of running to four alphas for protection. Especially these four alphas, who already have my hormones doing the cha-cha every time they’re within ten feet of me.
And the most infuriating thing? They’re right about the danger. And…I’m…I’m scared. The word “BITCH” keeps flashing in my mind.
“This is a transaction,” I say finally, meeting each of their gazes. “Let’s be clear about that. You need me to silence your ‘static.’ I need security. That’s it.”
“If that’s how you want to see it,” Rett says, his expression unreadable.
I take a breath. “Temporarily. And we have rules.”
All four of them straighten slightly, their attention sharpening.
“I get my own room, with a lock,” I state firmly. “You do not enter without my permission. Ever. This is a security arrangement, nothing more. We are roommates. Got it?”
Rett nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. “Agreed.”
“And I need to keep working,” I continue. “No interfering with my job. No showing up unannounced like Tristan did.”
“Hey,” Tristan protests, holding up his hands. “For the record, my ‘interfering’ landed you the Davelle sponsorship. You’re welcome.” He says it with a half-smirk, but he has the grace to look a little sheepish about it.
“Agreed,” Rett says again, shooting Tristan a warning look.
“And this is temporary,” I emphasize again. “As soon as whoever did this is caught, I’m coming back to my apartment.”
They glance at each other. Something passes between them that makes my eyes narrow.
Rett nods. “Of course.”
I release a deep breath, still not quite believing what I’m agreeing to. “I’ll need to pack some things.”
“I’ll help,” Diego offers.
Tristan claps his hands together. “Well, this will be cozy. Roomies!” He grins, some of his usual spark returning.
I shoot him a look that could wither plants. “Temporary roommates. With boundaries.”
“Of course,” he agrees, though the dimple in his cheek suggests he’s not taking this as seriously as I’d like.
As I head to my bedroom to pack, my mind is spinning. Am I really doing this? Moving in with four alphas who claimed me after one night? Four men who turn my brain to mush and my body into a traitor every time they’re near?
Yes, apparently I am. Because staying here alone, jumping at every sound, wondering if tonight’s the night someone decides to turn that spray-painted threat into action is worse.
Fuck.
I pull a suitcase from my closet, throwing in clothes, toiletries, my phone charger, my planner. Normal things. Everyday things. As if there’s anything normal about this situation.
Diego appears in the doorway, his expression soft. “Need help?”
“I’ve got it,” I say, perhaps too quickly. Having him in my bedroom feels too intimate, too close.
He nods but doesn’t leave. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about all this. The break-in, the threat... It’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is,” I mutter, creasing a sweater into a brutally sharp line, my knuckles white with the effort.
“Lo sé, querida,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”
I look up, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his warm brown eyes, a sincerity that makes it hard to maintain my walls. “I’ve always handled things on my own.”
His smile is small. “Maybe, just this once, you don’t have to?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Before I can find one, Dane steps into the room. He doesn’t say a word, just reaches down and takes the handle of my suitcase from my hand. The warmth of his fingers brushes against mine for a fraction of a second, and the contact sends a jolt straight up my arm.
“I’ve got it,” his voice is a low rumble that whispers against my ears.
“Okay,” I manage, throat suddenly dry.
The walk to the front door feels strangely long.
Dane carries my bag. Tristan has already moved ahead, checking the peephole of the front door before pulling it open.
Rett waits by the threshold, his hand resting on the doorframe like a silent sentinel.
As I pass, Diego murmurs, “We’ve got you, Zoe,” his voice a low rumble meant only for me.
This is it. I’m actually leaving.
I take one last look around my small, quiet apartment, the only place that’s been truly mine for the last three years. Then I step into the hallway.
Rett closes the door behind me, and I turn the key in the lock. The click of the deadbolt sliding into place is loud in the silence of the hall. Final.
I stare at the closed door, at the four expectant alphas waiting for me, and a single, hysterical thought bubbles up from the chaos in my brain.
What in the ever-loving fuck have I just agreed to?