Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Mia
Imake it exactly thirteen minutes into my “be normal, Mia” plan before Sierra ruins my life.
It’s not even her fault. It’s mine, for answering her FaceTime call with my hair still in a messy bun, my leggings still covered in grass stains from the package-hauling incident, and my face practically vibrating with the kind of secrets that usually require a bottle of wine to confess.
I prop the phone up against a stack of unread mail on the kitchen island.
Sierra’s face fills the screen. Perfect winged eyeliner, oat milk latte in hand, the effortless glow of an omega who has a bonded pack and doesn’t have to worry about chaotic neighbors dropping gaming chairs on her lawn.
She takes one look at me and sits up straighter in her chair.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, no. I know that face.”
“I don’t have a face,” I say automatically, grabbing a sponge and wiping a counter that is already clean.
“You have a face,” she counters, narrowing her eyes. “It’s your ‘I did something impulsive and now I’m trying to repress it’ face. It’s giving…panic. And maybe a little bit of new dick. Who is he?”
“Sierra!” I drop the sponge.
She laughs, delightful and wicked. “I’m sorry. It’s just—Mia. You moved to the suburbs to crochet and bake bread and bond with the HOA. Why do you look like you just walked out of someone’s house with your panties in your purse?”
“I—” I cut myself off, because if I start explaining, I’m going to spiral.
I angle my phone a little so she can’t see the chaos of half-unpacked boxes behind me.
“Nothing happened,” I lie, picking at a piece of lint on my shirt. “I’m just unpacking. It’s stressful.”
Sierra makes a sound like a judge banging a gavel. “Objection. Liar. Start talking.”
I inhale. Exhale. Look at the ceiling for divine intervention. None comes.
“My neighbors moved in.”
Sierra’s eyes brighten immediately, like I’ve just offered her gossip on a silver tray. She leans toward her camera. “New neighbors. Okay. Talk to me. Old? Bonded? Kids? Those people who mow their lawn at 6 AM on a Saturday?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” My voice comes out thin. “Not…exactly.”
Sierra pauses. She knows me too well. She knows the specific pitch of my voice when I’m trying to downplay a disaster.
“Mia,” she says slowly. “What do you mean, no.”
“There are four of them.”
Sierra freezes. She blinks, processing the math. “Four…men? A pack?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And they’re hot. Painfully hot. The kind of hot that should be regulated by zoning laws.”
Sierra’s mouth drops open. A slow, feral grin spreads across her face. “Mia.”
“Stop.”
“You’re single.”
“Sierra, don’t.”
“I’m just checking the safety specs! All alphas? Is there a beta?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good. So, they’re stable.” She pauses, her grin widening, eyes glittering with evil intent. “Now for the fun part. Do they have…problematic alphas?”
“Three of them,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
“Oh my God.” She claps one hand over her mouth to stifle a squeal. “You hit the jackpot. You moved to the suburbs for peace and quiet and you landed next to this?”
“It’s not a jackpot, Sierra. It’s a crisis. You should see them. They are pure chaos. They have a nest in the living room, they sleep in a pile on the floor like puppies, and they have server racks in the hallway.”
“Server racks?” Sierra frowns. “Like…IT guys?”
“Yes. But not the ‘fix your printer’ kind. The ‘we don’t sleep and we drink black coffee and we look like we could ruin your life’ kind.”
Sierra waves a hand, dismissing the red flags. “Details. I want details. Names. Scents. Vibes. Go.”
I groan, resting my forehead on the counter. “There’s Eli. The beta. He’s…a lot. Responsible type. Big. He has these eyes that just…hold you.”
“Good. We like a holding beta. Continue.”
“Then there’s Declan. Redhead. Chaos incarnate. He answered the door in sweatpants and nothing else this morning.”
Sierra’s eyebrows jump. “Okay, bold. I like him.”
“And then there are twins,” I add. “Knox and Rhys.”
Sierra freezes. Her coffee mug pauses halfway to her mouth. The playful grin vanishes, replaced by a sharp, professional focus.
“Wait,” she says. “Knox and Rhys? And a redhead named Declan?”
“Yes.”
“And they run a location app? Scaling servers? Something about Europe?”
I blink, lifting my head. “Yes. How do you know that?”
Sierra sets her mug down with a decisive clack.
“Mia,” she says, her eyes wide. “That’s the Traynor Pack.”
“The who?”
“Traynor Tech. The ‘Find Your Pack’ app? It went viral in London last month? It’s basically the only thing people in the industry are talking about right now.”
I stare at her. “You know them?”
“I worked their launch event in Sweetwater this past Spring,” she says, leaning in. “I spent three weeks emailing their admin team. Mia. They are…memorable.”
My stomach does a nervous flip. “Memorable how? Good memorable or ‘call the police’ memorable?”
“Good,” Sierra says immediately. “Intense. A little chaotic. Declan tried to bribe my caterer for extra sliders, and the twins definitely intimidated the venue manager just by standing there, but they were…solid. They paid on time, they tipped the waitstaff double, and they didn’t treat us like the help. ”
She pauses, a wicked glint entering her eyes. “And they are loaded, Mia. We’re talking ‘buy the venue just to avoid a noise complaint’ money.”
I process this.
Rich. Successful. Notorious enough that my best friend in the city knows their names.
And they’re living next door, drilling holes in the wall and sleeping on the floor.
“So they’re not just…random guys,” I say weakly.
“No,” Sierra says. “They are the Traynor Pack. Which means if they moved to Sweetwater Pines, they aren’t just renting. They’re planting roots. They’re staying.”
She grins. “So: four of them. Hot. Rich. Next door. Tell me about the chemistry. Did they flirt?”
I hesitate.
“Mia. Don’t hold out on me.”
“I’m not holding out!” I pick at a loose thread on my leggings. “It’s just…complicated. I went over there this morning to return some packages the delivery guy dumped on my lawn. They gave me coffee.”
“And?”
“And…Tom told me something.”
“Who is Tom?”
“The neighbor down the street. The nice old guy with the golden retriever. He came over while I was in their kitchen. He told them…well, he told them that they’d asked about me.”
Sierra goes still. “They asked about you?”
“Yesterday,” I say, my voice small. “Before we even met. Before I dragged a gaming chair across their lawn. They asked Tom if the ‘pretty brunette at 124’ was single.”
Sierra screams.
It’s a short, sharp sound that makes me wince.
“THEY ASKED IF YOU WERE SINGLE?”
“Yes.”
“Before they met you?”
“Yes.”
“Mia!” She looks like she wants to reach through the phone and shake me by the shoulders.
“Do you understand what that means? Packs like that don’t ask about random neighbors unless their radar is pinging.
They don’t care about the ‘pretty brunette’ unless the pretty brunette smells like something they want. ”
“They did smell me,” I admit, the memory of the beta’s voice on the lawn coming back to me. Everyone in a three-block radius smelled her.
Sierra looks like she might actually pass out from joy. “I knew it. I knew it. They are interested.”
I shake my head. “Or they’re just…looking for a fling. Or they’re bored. Sierra, you should see them. They are overwhelming. I moved here for structure. I moved here for a polite, organized life. I have a plan! One that does not include a pack that drills holes in the wall at midnight.”
Sierra softens, just a little. Her voice drops, losing the teasing edge. “Mia. Look at me.”
I look at her.
“You have a plan,” she says gently. “I know you do. You love your lists. But be honest with me. Is the plan making you happy, or is it just making you feel safe?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it.
“You moved to the suburbs because you wanted a pack,” she says. “That was the dream, right? Not just a mortgage and a fence. You wanted a pack.”
“I wanted a nice, quiet pack,” I whisper.
“Boring.” Sierra mock rolls her eyes. “You wanted boring because you think boring prevents you from getting hurt.”
“I want boring because boring is reliable,” I counter, my voice sharp. “Boring comes home at five o’clock. Boring doesn’t make you guess where you stand.”
Sierra gives me a look. “You mean Julian. Your ex.”
“Yes, I mean Julian.” I take a deep breath. “He wasn’t a monster, but he was just…cold. I spent two years trying not to be ‘too much’ or ‘too needy.’ I starved for attention sitting right next to him because he made me feel high-maintenance for wanting to be kissed hello.”
I cross my arms, channeling the frustration I’ve been bottling up.
“I’m done auditioning for affection,” I tell her. “I moved here to find someone who actually wants a partner. I want to be cherished. I want the big flowery garden and the homemade bread and the white picket fence and everything.”
Sierra leans closer to the screen. “Or maybe you need someone who’s going to obsess over you enough to ask the neighbors about your relationship status before they’ve even introduced themselves.”
My heart thuds against my ribs, shoulders deflating.
“They are terrifying,” I say, and I mean it. They are too big, too loud, too much.
“Good,” Sierra says. “Terrifying is good. Terrifying means they can protect you. And honestly? If they’re Traynor Tech, they’re smart enough to know what they want. And apparently, they want the neighbor.”
“I dragged a gaming chair across their lawn this morning.” I groan, remembering the sheer indignity of it. “I was sweating. I wasn’t wearing makeup. I looked like a gremlin.”
“And let me guess,” Sierra says dryly. “They let you in and gave you coffee anyway.”
“...Yes?”
“Case closed.” She picks up her coffee again, looking satisfied. “Now. Where are they?”
“Next door.”
“Show me.”
“Sierra, no.”
“Mia. Go to the window. I want to see the Traynor Pack in the wild. I want to see if Declan is still wearing just sweatpants.”
“I am not spying on them!”
“It’s not spying. It’s neighborhood watch. It’s community engagement.”
I hesitate.
My brain says: Sit down. Write your article. Be a professional.
My omega says: Go to the window.
“Fine,” I snap, picking up the phone. “One peek. Then I am going back to work and ignoring them forever.”
“Sure you are,” she says dryly.
I pad to the side window. I cracked it open earlier to let in the breeze and now the sounds of the pack drift in clearly. My heart is doing a stupid, fluttery thing in my chest. I ease the curtain aside by half an inch, careful not to move the fabric too much.
My breath hitches.
Their backyard is bathed in morning sun. Their fence is open at the side gate.
And in the middle of it are all four of them.
Shirtless.
It’s like a calendar shoot out there.
Eli stands at the center like a foreman, jeans low on his hips, the sun catching the pale gold in his hair and the sheen of sweat on his shoulders. He’s holding a folded instruction manual in one hand, gesturing at the others with the calm authority of a man who knows he’s right.
Declan is pacing the patio with a tape measure, arguing with invisible math. He points at the ground, then points at the grill box, shaking his head.
Knox and Rhys are the ones doing the heavy lifting. They’re on opposite sides of a massive stainless steel grill, bare chests gleaming, muscles flexing as they shove it three inches to the left.
Then three inches to the right.
Then they both stop, straighten up, and stare at each other like two stags about to lock antlers.
It’s ridiculous. It’s loud. It’s so aggressively male that I can feel the energy of it through the glass.
It’s…magnetic.
My omega presses up against the inside of my ribs, purring. Look at them. Look at how they work.
I press the volume down button frantically as Sierra’s voice squawks from the speaker against my chest. “WELL?” she demands. I clutch the phone tighter, refusing to flip the camera.
“They’re building a grill,” I whisper, unwilling to look away. “They’re arguing about where to put it.”
“Are they shirtless?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Is Eli supervising?”
“Yes. He looks like he wants to return them all to the store.”
Sierra laughs. “That tracks. Okay, tell me about the twins. Are they scary?”
I watch Knox shove Rhys’s shoulder. Rhys shoves him back, harder.
“They’re…big,” I say. “Intense. They move like they share a nervous system.”
I watch them for another second. I shouldn’t, but I do. I watch the way Eli commands the space without yelling. I watch the way Declan laughs at something Eli says, throwing his head back. I watch the way the twins move in sync, terrifyingly strong but careful with each other.
And then, it happens.
Knox looks up.
It’s not a casual glance. It’s like he felt the weight of my gaze on his skin.
His head snaps toward my window, and he freezes as his eyes lock onto the gap in the curtains with laser precision. Then his mouth curves.
Not a polite smile.
Not even a friendly one.
A slow, filthy grin that makes my pulse jump and my thighs go tight.
He elbows Rhys without breaking eye contact with me.
Rhys looks. His gaze is darker, heavier, unreadable. He doesn’t smile, but his attention fixes on me like a magnet.
Then Declan looks up, following their gaze. He beams, waving the tape measure like a flag.
And finally, Eli.
The beta looks up from his manual. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks…inevitable. His gaze finds the window instantly, like he knew I was there the whole time.
Four sets of eyes.
All on me.
Knox lifts a hand and waves. Just once. Casual.
Like I’m not hiding behind a curtain in my leggings.
Like they know exactly what I’m doing.
Sierra makes a sound on the phone that is basically a victory scream.
I duck back behind the wall, my back hitting the plaster, my heart hammering so hard I think they might hear it across the lawn.
“Oh my God,” I hiss. “They saw me.”
“Good!” Sierra cackles. “Let them see you. Let them know you’re looking. Let them know the pretty brunette is watching the show.”
Through the barely open window, I hear it.
Laughter. Deep, male, carried by the morning breeze. And it’s not mocking. It’s inviting.
“Mia,” Sierra says, her voice warm and serious now. “Forget the picture-perfect dream. Forget the plan. Just…see what happens.”
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, hugging the phone tight.
My face is burning. My pulse is racing.
And despite everything, despite the chaos, despite the noise, despite the sheer terrifying size of them, my body isn’t pulling away.
“I am in so much trouble,” I whisper, but I don’t move away from the window.