Chapter 6 #3
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. The room wasn't built for two people, and it feels even smaller with him standing in it. “You need to tell management what‘s happening,” he says. “They need to know you’re presenting. They need to adjust the schedule, make accommodations—“
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not telling anyone anything. This is my business. My problem. Not yours, not the production’s, not anyone’s.”
“Maya.” His voice is steady, controlled. “This isn’t just about you anymore. If you go into full heat on set—“
“I’m not going into heat,” I interrupt. “I’m taking tablets to suppress it. They’re working. I can get through the next two weeks without anything happening.”
“They’re not real suppressants,” he says. “They’re delaying the inevitable, not stopping it. And when your body decides it’s ready—“
“My body doesn’t get to make every decision for me,” I say, the words coming out hard. “I do. I decide what I can handle, when I need help, and who gets to know what’s happening to me.”
"You can try to control who knows," he says quietly. "You can decide how you handle it. But you don't get to decide whether your body is presenting. Eventually, hiding it won't be an option."
“I’m not an omega,” I insist, even though I know it isn’t true.
“You can say that as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the reality.” he says calmly.
I hate that part of me knows he's right.
“I’m not telling management,” I say, forcing the words out. “Not until I have to. Not until there’s no other choice.”
He studies my face for a long moment. “Okay,” he says finally. “But on one condition.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re in a position to set conditions.”
“I am, actually,” he says. “Because I’m the one who can tell management what’s happening. Or not tell them. Depending on whether you’re willing to compromise.”
Something in my chest tightens. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“It is now,” he says. “Here’s the deal. You don’t have to tell management.
But you do have to let me stay close. On set.
After hours. In the mornings when you come in.
I drive you to and from work. I make sure you get home safely.
I keep an eye on you during the day, make sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard. ”
I stare at him for a second, sure I must have heard him wrong. “You want to babysit me,” I say, the words coming out flat. “That’s your solution. Not respect my choices. Not trust me to know my own limits. Babysit me.”
“I want to keep you safe,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” I say. “From where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you're trying to control me and make decisions about my life without my input.”
“I’m trying to keep you from making a mistake,” he says. “One that could put you in danger. One that could—“
“I’m not in danger,” I interrupt. “I’m at work. With fifty other people. Doing a job I’ve done a hundred times before.”
“You’re in pre-heat,” he says. “On a film set. With three alphas who are already reacting to your scent. That’s not nothing, Maya. That’s not something you can just push through.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “They’re not—we’re not—that’s not what’s happening.”
“It is,” he says. “And denying it won’t make it go away.”
I hate that part of me understands what he's trying to do. “I don’t need a keeper,” I say. “I don‘t need you following me around, telling me when to eat and when to rest and when to go home. I’ve been taking care of myself for twenty-eight years. I think I can handle two more weeks.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But you shouldn’t have to. Not alone. Not when there are people who want to help.”
I hate how much I want to believe him.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally. “That‘s the best I can do.”
He studies my face for a long moment. “That’s not a no,” he says.
“It‘s not a yes either,” I point out.
Something shifts in his expression—not quite a smile, but close. “I’ll take it,” he says. “For now.”
He moves toward the door, pausing when he reaches it. “The offer stands,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”
And then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him. I sink into the chair, my heart still racing. But underneath it all is the unsettling realization that part of me is relieved.
It makes no sense. He’s trying to control me, make decisions about my life without my input, and treat me like I’m fragile or incapable—like everything I’ve proven on this production stopped mattering the moment my designation did.
And yet.
I push to my feet, forcing myself back to the present. Back to the set. Back to the job that needs to get done regardless of what’s happening in my personal life.
But as I step back into the noise and movement of the production, I know things are no longer as simple as they were a week ago. I’m navigating the growing presence of all three alphas in my space, whether I want to or not.
Adrian, with his steady reassurance.
Bash, with his easy smiles and relentless curiosity.
And Elias, with his grounding presence and impossible offers.
My body may be changing, but I’m not ready to let anyone else decide what that means for the life I’ve built.