Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rhea
I barely sleep.
Not because I'm not tired - I'm exhausted . My bones are begging for mercy. But my brain? No. My brain is hosting a full-blown 3 a.m. chaos symposium where the keynote speaker is Regret and the panel discussion is “ Why Didn’t Lucian Show Up (And Why Are You Acting Like It Matters? )”
I roll over for what feels like the hundredth time, smashing my face into the pillow and letting out a long, frustrated groan that could honestly be used as ambient sound in horror movies.
I’m starving. I’m sticky. I’m wearing a hoodie that smells like Kai, and somehow, despite being fucked into the stratosphere by two extremely competent alphas, I still feel… twitchy. Like something’s missing.
Which. Is. So . Annoying.
Ash? Ruined me . In the best way. Ten out of ten, would let him break my back again.
Theo? Held me like I was made of light and whispered things that made me want to cry and also punch a wall. Also ten out of ten. Would worship with again.
But still, my body keeps reaching. Like it knows someone didn’t show. Like it’s screaming, “ Hey! You forgot one! ”
And I hate that it’s right.
Because now, despite being full of slick and sainted alpha praise, I am back to square one: mildly feral and ready to flip a table.
I pull Kai’s hoodie tighter around me. It helps. Kind of. I curl into the nest I rebuilt out of stubborn instinct and petty emotion, and after a few long, slow breaths of Kai-scented cotton, I sit up with a groan.
I look like a post-orgasm cryptid. Hair wild, skin flushed, thighs still sore in the best way.
And I’m bored .
So when the knock comes, I practically leap off the bed like I’ve just been caught swiping on my old boss’s dating profile.
( Yes. That really happened. )
The door hisses open after I mumble “ yeah ,” and there he is.
Theo.
Golden boy. Cinnamon roll. Possibly still leaking Omega-worship energy from last night.
But this time, he looks a little… well, off .
“Morning,” he says, voice gentle, but there’s a hitch in it - like it’s been cleared one too many times. “Just checking in. You want something to eat?”
His collar is slightly rumpled. His scent is a little sharper than usual - fresher. Like sweat, soap, and something recently spent.
I narrow my eyes, but keep it breezy. “I want out.”
His face does a thing. “You… what?”
“ Out ,” I repeat, strolling toward him with the serenity of someone who has absolutely lost her mind. “Like, outside. A hallway. Literally anywhere that isn’t this overly scented prison of shame and orgasms.”
Theo blinks. “You want to… go for a walk?”
“I want a snack. A stretch. A goddamn window that opens. And if there’s a rogue alpha on the lawn, I will deal with it personally, barefoot and in Kai’s hoodie.”
He looks down the hall like he’s hoping one of the others will magically appear and rescue him. His instincts are pinging - I can feel it.
Keep her safe. Keep her still.
Hide the knives.
“I should probably tell the others you’re up,” he mutters.
“Tell them I’m reclaiming my civil liberties,” I say sweetly.
He blinks again.
My brow furrows faintly before I smile up at him again, all wide, sweet, and weaponized.
“Please, Theo?” I croon. “Just for a little while?”
Theo melts like cheap wax.
“Just for a little while,” he agrees, already bracing himself for the consequences.
God, I love men. Especially this one.
I’m pretty damn sure Theo would let me burn the entire fucking house down as long as I said please and meant it.
He leads me out into the hall, and we walk side by side, my shoulder brushing his arm. Everything looks different in the daylight - less ominous billionaire secret lair, more museum curated by someone with control issues. Cold floors, vaulted ceilings, and minimalist art that probably cost more than my student loans.
I glance around, squinting at a modern painting that looks like someone spilled their coffee and called it Grief.
“Okay,” I mutter, glancing up at the hallway. “Seriously… who actually lives like this?”
Theo snorts. “Lucian.”
I make a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Of course. Probably has a private dungeon in the basement.”
“Probably two.”
We round a corner. I look at him sideways. “How long has it been?”
He hesitates. “Five days.”
I stop walking. “Five?! Like… five actual days? Not fever dream, slick-slick-gasp days?”
“Don’t panic,” he says quickly. “Kai got a message to the gala team yesterday. Said you had an emergency call and had to leave. They’ve got your stuff - he’s picked it up. I think.”
My stomach twists. “Lexi is going to hunt me for sport.”
“She’s fine. Kai saw her. Said she was... intense , but managing. She’s buying you time and covering your ass.”
I exhale. “She deserves a medal.”
Theo chuckles and nudges me forward again, guiding us down a sweeping staircase and into a kitchen that honestly looks like it belongs in an interior design magazine.
Everything is sleek and sharp and probably voice-activated.
I’m afraid to sneeze near the fridge.
Theo moves like he’s done this a hundred times - opens a cabinet, pulls out eggs and bread.
“Sit,” he says gently. “Let me cook.”
I perch on a stool at the massive kitchen island, watching him work. It’s a little surreal, watching a man who could snap a tree in half with his thighs whisk eggs like he’s auditioning for Great British Alpha-Off.
It’s also hot . Apparently, even scrambled eggs look like foreplay when Theo’s doing it.
And then the kitchen door swings open.
“Good morning, chaos kittens!”
Kai .
He struts into the kitchen like he owns it, shirtless and smug, sweatpants slung just low enough to show the tight cut of his V and the deep curve of his obliques - and cause a hormone spike. His abs are obnoxious . As in, he should be arrested for walking around like that before noon. There’s a healing split on his lip that somehow makes him even hotter, which frankly feels rude.
He looks like he hasn’t slept - or like he’s been up doing things that would have made me blush five days ago - and for the first time in days, I’m not swimming in heat, not fogged with the overwhelming pull of instinct or bond. I’m just... me.
And he’s just shirtless and beautiful and unfair.
Which means I can really appreciate it.
He slides onto the stool beside me like this is a sitcom and he’s the fan-favorite side character who might also be the sex interest. Which, honestly… fair.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Look who’s upright and devastating.”
“I’m wearing your hoodie,” I deadpan.
“Exactly. You’re radiant.” He leans in. “You wanna keep it? I’ll trade it for a kiss.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“Oh, I do,” he says with a grin that’s all wicked. “About that mouth. Constantly .”
I arch a brow. “Try that again and I’ll trade your kiss for a punch.”
Kai grins, completely undeterred. “Worth it.”
“Jesus,” Theo mutters at the stove, flipping eggs like he’s about to throw them at someone.
“What?” Kai says innocently. “I’m just saying hello. With flair.”
“You’re flirting like a man who’s never met consequences.”
“Never have. Heard they’re terrible.”
I snort and take a sip of water, fighting a smile.
For the first time in days, I feel… not like I’m unraveling. Just warm. Safe.
Like I’m me again, with a little extra bite.
Kai notices. His grin softens - just a little - and he tips his head to the side, watching me.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
I look over. “What?”
“You,” he says simply. “You’re back.”
For a second, the air stills between us. But then he winks and breaks it before it gets too heavy.
Then: “Still not getting that kiss, huh?”
“Not unless your abs come with a side of apology for the mouth.”
“Bambi,” he grins. “My abs are the apology.”
Theo sighs. “I need stronger coffee.”
And then -
“I see you’re vertical,” Ash says, materializing at the counter like a sexy shadow with a caffeine addiction. He’s holding a mug of coffee and wearing a white t-shirt that clings to his muscular arms in a way that should come with a warning.
I nod. “Apparently.”
He watches me for a beat. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been held hostage by my own hormones and edged into madness.”
Kai, who has now decided that bananas are a personality, nearly chokes laughing.
“Oh my god,” he grins, mouth full. “Marry me.”
Theo snorts. “She’d kill you within the week.”
“Two days,” Ash mutters into his coffee, deadpan.
“He's not wrong,” I shrug, “And I’d make it look like an accident.”
“Terrifying.” Kai looks thrilled . “I’m into it.”
Theo slides a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, and cut fruit arranged like I’m five years old and can’t be trusted with a knife.
I glance up at him. “You cut the crusts.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” he says simply.
God. Theo. Soft hands, steel spine, and the audacity to be this nurturing.
I look around at the three of them - chaos, calm, and controlled violence.
All mine, kind of. Maybe. Whatever this is.
It’s weird. And intense. And probably frowned upon by polite society.
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I pick up a piece of toast, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth feels. I chew. Dryly. Dramatically. Like I’m proving a point.
I have no idea what the point is, but I’m making it.
The truth is, my mouth’s like a desert, my thighs are stuck to this chair like it’s trying to absorb me, and my whole body still feels like someone left it on vibrate.
Because yeah - newsflash: I’m not done. My heat? Still here. Just... lurking.
Like a raccoon in the attic - not actively trashing the place, but definitely scratching at the walls from time to time.
Every few seconds, it pulses. That low, traitorous throb between my thighs. A slick little whisper that says: Not done. Not close.
Nice toast, though.
Theo hums to himself at the stove like we’re not sitting in the aftermath of multiple orgasms and mild emotional collapse. Kai’s draped over one of the kitchen chairs, spinning a pear like it owes him money. Ash is in the corner, radiating quiet menace, holding his coffee like he’s already decided who’s getting ejected from the house next.
It’s surreal. Like breakfast with three very attractive, barely housebroken wolves.
Theo slides a plate to Ash. Doesn’t say a word. Kai flicks a blueberry at Ash’s head like it’s a challenge. Ash eats it without blinking.
I chew my toast a little slower.
I try - try - to ignore the way the seat is suddenly way too hard. How my skin feels too tight. How my body keeps doing that restless, fidgety shift like it’s trying to get comfortable on a chair built by satan himself.
Still in control. Still functional.
Still wearing Kai’s hoodie like it’s armor made of smirking testosterone.
But I’m also... not not staring at the door.
Like a sixth sense, it happens; and when the air in the room dips, like someone turned down the dial on reality itself, I don’t have to look.
I know .
Lucian.
He enters like something out of a noir film and a military-grade fantasy; all stormcloud energy and unfair bone structure, dark jacket perfectly pressed, hair probably scared of disappointing him.
The air rearranges around him like he’s allergic to relaxation.
His scent hits me then. Dark, cool, sharp fruit with a hint of rage-scented cologne. Like blackberry and disapproval.
It’s unforgiving and arousing in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and groan at the same time, and my thighs press together automatically.
Rude.
He doesn’t say anything - just scans the room like he’s evaluating which one of them is about to get court-martialed for breathing near me.
Then his gaze lands on me, and stays there.
I feel it. In my chest. In my core. In my goddamn kneecaps.
And just like that, the fragile peace I’d constructed - toast, hoodie, minimal shame - shatters like a cheap wine glass in a frat house.
Because I’m not ready for him. Not at all.
But apparently, my heat doesn’t care.
It sees Lucian Vale and goes: That one. Yes. Ruin me, Daddy Alpha.
And I?
I take another bite of toast like that’s going to stop me from combusting in front of everyone.
Spoiler alert: it won’t.