I drop my keys on the bowl and crouch down, pulling her into my arms. She smells like apple juice and the vanilla lotion Grayson uses on the kids after their baths. It’s the scent of safety, of a life I earned through blood and secrets, and I breathe it in until the tension in my jaw finally begins to give way.
“Four wings,” I repeat, smoothing a stray hair back from her forehead. “That sounds like a very fast dragon, Rosie. Are they going to be flying or sitting on the cake?”
She considers this, her brow furrowing in deep, tactical thought. “Flying. And the crown has to be at the top. The big one. So the people in the back can see it’s a princess party.”
“A princess wedding,” I correct gently, smiling at her. “And I think we can manage the dragons. I’ll talk to the baker. We’ll make sure the glitter’s the edible kind, or your Uncle Maceo will have a fit about the ‘structural integrity’ of the frosting.”
She giggles, a bright, clear sound that echoes through the hallway, and for a moment, the weight of Ember House feels manageable. I let her drag me toward the kitchen, listening to her contradictory list of requirements—multiple dragons, a crown large enough to be visible from space, and ‘at least five’ layers of chocolate. I give her my full attention, nodding at the right moments.
Later, after Rosalie has carried her cake plans into the kitchen, I slip back outside and sit alone in the car. The house glows through the windshield, close enough that I can see movement behind the curtains, but no one follows me.
I turn Blake’s engagement ring and wedding band against each other until the edges press into my skin. I’ll tell them when Nicholas has a real plan, when the numbers are less frightening, when I can bring them a problem with a solution already attached. Not tonight. Tonight, I keep it mine.
I wonder how long I can keep Ember House safe without admitting I’m frightened.
2
Blake
The elevator doors at Keller Industries open as I lean a little harder on my cane, the silver handle cool against my palm, and step out into the lobby. Maceo is half a step behind me but he’s not hovering, which is why I haven’t fired him or bitten him yet.
“The board is already in the conference room,” Maceo says, his voice a low vibration. “They’re expecting a presentation on the Q4 roadmap. I told them you’d be handling the creative vision and I’d be taking the operational details.”
“Operational details,” I repeat. “That’s a very polite way of saying you’re the one who has to talk to the vultures so I don’t drop dead in the middle of a sentence.”
Maceo stops at the glass doors of my executive suite, muffling a chuckle as he waits for me to open the door myself. My desk is exactly where I left it, but there’s a second workstation set upnear the window that now belongs to my Gamma. I huff out a sigh, both hating and loving the idea of his presence in my office.
Moving to sit in my chair, the leather creaks beneath my weight. I immediately reach for my tablet, my fingers itching to dive into the latest build for the Ember House expansion’s virtual walkthrough, but Maceo sets a glass of water and a small plastic pill cup on the mahogany surface before I can tap the screen.
“Nine o’clock,” he says.
“Already? Fuck.”
Maceo cracks a smile. “Yes, genius.” He doesn’t move. He stands there, a pillar of immovable patience, until I pick up the pill and swallow it. I hate the way the water feels cold in my throat.
“Lunch at noon,” Maceo adds, moving toward his own desk. “I’ve already cleared the schedule for the hour. No investors, no calls. Just food and silence.”
“I have a company to run,” I snap, the irritation familiar. “I can’t just vanish for sixty minutes because my pulse decided to be dramatic three weeks ago.”
Maceo sits down at his own desk but doesn’t look up from his monitor. “You can run the company from the breakroom or you can run it from a hospital bed. I’ve already calculated the efficiency loss for both. The breakroom is more cost-effective.”
I glare at the back of his head. He’s exactly what I need, and that’s the most galling part.
I turn back to my screen, but I find myself watching him in the reflection of the glass. He handles the emails that used to make my jaw ache. He takes the calls from the attorneys who are trying to find cracks in our merger agreements.
Maceo flags an investor response for language that gives the board too much discretion and tells me he won’t send it as written. I remove the clause, reject two of his other changes,and approve the final version. He sends it without another argument. He doesn’t need the last word, and I don’t need to carry the conversation long enough to prove the decision is mine.
The morning passes in a strange, rhythmic quiet. I dive into the design work, adjusting the lighting parameters for the expansion wing. I want the hallways to feel warm, not clinical. I want the Omegas who come to Ember House to feel like they’re walking into a home, not a facility. It’s the only way I know how to help Luca by building the world he envisions with a level of technical precision that makes it real.
At eleven forty-five, my hands begin a faint, rhythmic trembling. I look at the clock. Maceo doesn’t say a word. He stands, grabs his jacket, and waits by the door.
We’re halfway through a silent lunch in the executive dining room when Luther’s name flashes on Maceo’s phone. Maceo answers on the first ring, his face hardening instantly.
“Luther,” Maceo says. He listens for a moment, his brow furrowing. I stop chewing. My heart gives a small, rebellious thud against my ribs, and I force myself to breathe through it. Maceo looks at me, then hits the speakerphone button.
“...directly on my personal line,” Luther’s voice rumbles through the speaker, tight with a restrained Alpha growl. “Victor didn’t even bother with the office. He wanted to talk about ‘transitional opportunities’ at Keller Industries. He had the audacity to suggest that with my ‘recent family distractions,’ I might be looking for a way to offload the operational burden.”
I feel anger slide down my spine. “Transitional opportunities?” I ask, my voice like a serrated blade. “That’s corporate-speak for a fire sale, Luther. He thinks we’re weak because I had a cardiac event.”
