Chapter 14 #2
“It’s fine,” I say, and immediately take a sip of wine, needing something to do with my hands, my mouth, anything to distract from the way he’s looking at me.
The taste is so smooth and velvety, it almost makes me sigh.
It’s the kind of wine that makes you understand why people write poems about it.
An awkward silence falls over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of Diego’s cooking and the rhythmic chopping of Dane’s knife.
“So,” Tristan says finally, leaning against the counter opposite me. “How does it feel to be back in the Sterling lair?”
I narrow my eyes at him over my wine glass. “Temporary housing arrangement,” I correct. “And it feels... surreal.”
“Good surreal or bad surreal?” he presses, dimple appearing as he grins.
“Just surreal,” I say firmly. “Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.”
Dane grunts in what might be agreement or just acknowledgment. He slides the garlic and parsley he’d been chopping over to Diego, who adds them to a sizzling pan. The aroma intensifies, making my mouth water.
“Helen called while you were getting settled,” Rett says. His words make me frown a little. Helen called him directly instead of ringing me? Oh, right, yes. She saw the claiming marks. Probably assumes everything’s done and dusted, and I belong to the Sterlings now.
I push back the thought. “Any news?”
“They’ve finished processing the scene. Insurance adjusters will be there tomorrow morning.”
My stomach tightens at the reminder of why I’m here. “Did they find anything? Any leads?”
“Nothing concrete yet.” He shakes his head. “But Dane’s contacts are reviewing the building’s external cameras. They might have caught something the gallery’s system missed.”
“Dane’s contacts?” I repeat, looking at the quiet alpha.
“After my stint in the army, I worked in private security,” Dane explains.
“Before you guys formed Sterling Solutions?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Mmm,” he confirms with a nod. Not exactly a detailed career history, but it’s something.
“Food’s ready,” Diego announces, draining the pasta with expert hands. He works quickly, plating five generous portions.
Rett slides a placemat in front of me on the smooth marble, followed by a fork and a linen napkin. Dane sets a glass of water down beside it.
Tristan sets a steaming plate of pasta in front of me with a dramatic flourish. “Madam.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “Thank you, good sir.”
Diego, Rett, and Tristan take the stools on either side of me and across the island, boxing me in with a comforting, if slightly overwhelming, wall of alpha. Dane remains standing, leaning against the counter as he eats.
“Eat while it’s hot,” Diego urges, his eyes on me, full of anticipation.
I twirl some pasta onto my fork and take a bite. The flavors explode in my mouth almost immediately. “Oh my God,” I moan before I can stop myself. “This is amazing.”
Diego’s face lights up. “Gracias. My abuela’s recipe. Simple ingredients, treated with respect.”
“She taught you well,” I say, taking another bite. For a moment, the strangeness of this whole situation fades away. The pasta is really ridiculously good, the kind of soul-warming food that makes you feel safe. I look from the simple, perfect dish to Diego, then to the others.
“I have to admit,” I say, a small, genuine laugh escaping me, “this isn’t what I expected.”
Four pairs of eyes turn to me.
“What did you expect?” Rett asks, his voice neutral but his gaze curious.
I gesture with my fork. “This. You guys... cooking. In a kitchen. I figured your version of a home-cooked meal was having a Michelin-starred chef on retainer.”
Tristan snorts. “We tried that. Fired him after a week. He was an asshole, and he kept trying to put foam on everything.”
“And he didn’t respect the ingredients,” Diego adds, his expression turning serious. “He just cooked to show off. Food like this... It’s about taking care of people.” He looks at me, and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that makes my chest ache. “It’s the only way I know how.”
I blink, gaze dropping back to my plate. This is the first time I’ve ever considered them not as four intimidating alphas, but as... brothers. A pack.
“We had to learn,” Dane says suddenly, his quiet voice drawing my attention. He’s not looking at me, but at his plate, swirling his pasta with his fork. “When we first moved to the city, we had nothing. Lived in a two-bedroom shithole over a laundromat. If we didn’t cook, we didn’t eat.”
I stare at him, completely floored. This is the last thing I would have ever imagined. The Sterling brothers? The powerful, untouchable Sterlings living in a rundown apartment?
“It’s true,” Tristan nods, his lips twisting into a fond, nostalgic smile. “Rett worked two jobs, Diego cooked, Dane handled... pest control,” he says with a wink, “and I mostly just stayed out of the way and tried not to break anything.”
Rett doesn’t deny it. He just takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes holding mine over the rim of the glass. “We take care of our own, Zoe. We always have.”
I frown, my fork hovering over my plate. The pieces don’t fit. “But... you’re a Sterling.” Everyone knows the name itself goes with old money and sprawling family estates. “Sterling Industries. Your father...”
A shadow passes over Rett’s face, so quick I almost miss it.
“My father is a Sterling,” Rett corrects, his voice taking on a hard, precise edge. “I’m not. Not in the way you mean.”
I must look as confused as I feel, because Diego speaks up, his voice gentle. “Rett’s father disowned him when he was eighteen. For... choosing us over the family business.” He glances at Rett with a look of fierce, unwavering loyalty. “When Rett left, we stayed with him. We started…with nothing.”
“Sterling Solutions is ours,” Tristan adds, a note of hard-won pride in his voice. “We built it from the ground up. No trust funds, no handouts. Just Rett’s stubborn refusal to fail and a lot of cheap ramen.”
My gaze snaps back to Rett. Suddenly, his control-freak nature, his intense focus, and his almost suffocating protectiveness of his pack all click into place. He’s not just a CEO; he’s a pack alpha who clawed his way up from nothing to build a fortress for his family. For his pack.
He holds my gaze, and for the first time, I see past the millionaire, past the alpha, and see the man. The man who chose his brothers over an empire and then built them a new one with his bare hands.
And that, I realize, is a thousand times more terrifying than any trust fund.
I swallow hard, focusing on my pasta.
“What happens tomorrow?” I ask, setting down my fork.
“We have security coming to upgrade the system here,” Rett says. “A specialized team that works with high-profile clients.”
“And I’ll be coordinating with the police investigation,” Dane adds.
“I’ll need to go to the gallery,” I say.
The four of them exchange glances.
“One of us will go with you,” Rett says finally.
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again. This is the deal I agreed to. Temporary housing in exchange for their protection. And after seeing that ugly message spray-painted on the artwork, I can’t honestly say I want to face the gallery alone.
“Fine,” I concede. “But try to be... subtle.”
Tristan snorts. “Subtle isn’t really in our wheelhouse, sweetheart. But we’ll do our best.”
I bristle at the “sweetheart,” but let it slide for now. Too many battles in one day, and I’m running out of energy to fight them all.
Diego begins clearing the plates, waving away my attempt to help. “You’re exhausted,” he says gently. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”
He’s right. Now that I’ve eaten, the events of the day are catching up with me. My eyelids feel heavy, and my body aches with fatigue.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say, sliding off the stool. “And for... everything, I guess.”
“Our pleasure,” Rett says, his voice low and sincere. “Get some sleep, Zoe.”
I nod, suddenly unable to meet his intense gaze. “Goodnight,” I murmur, turning to head back to my room.
“Sweet dreams,” Tristan calls after me.
“If you need anything...” Diego begins.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure them, forcing a smile I don’t quite feel. “Goodnight.”
The walk back to my room feels longer this time, the hallway stretching out before me like a tunnel. When I finally reach the door, I slip inside quickly, leaning back against it once it’s closed.
The room is exactly as I left it, but somehow it feels different now. Less like a guest suite and more like... I don’t know. A refuge? A prison? A bit of both, maybe.
I turn the lock with a decisive click, testing it just as Rett suggested. It holds firm.
With mechanical movements, I get ready for bed. Brush teeth. Wash face. Change into pajamas. Normal routine in an abnormal situation.
The bed is obscenely comfortable, the sheets cool and smooth against my skin. I sink into the mattress with a sigh that’s half relief, half surrender.
From somewhere in the penthouse, I hear the low murmur of voices. They’re talking about me, I’m sure. Figuring out how to keep their beta safe while also keeping their static at bay.
I roll onto my side, staring out at the glittering city below. From up here, everything looks small. Manageable. But I know better. Down there is chaos and danger and a person who, for whatever reason, has decided to target me.
And in here... in here are four alphas who claimed me, who want to protect me, who need me for reasons I still don’t fully understand.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. But as I drift off, one thought circles in my mind:
How did my carefully constructed life fall apart so completely in just three days?