"You're awake," Elliot said as I stepped into the kitchen, his voice carrying that familiar Alpha calm that always made the air feel subtly charged. He wore an apron over a soft-toned sweater, a sight so domestic it unsettled my instincts more than any command ever could.
The kitchen already smelled like a prepared morning feast—warm bread, protein-rich breakfast cuts, and freshly brewed coffee. Everything was arranged with careful precision, like a pack Alpha who knew exactly how to sustain those under his protection. Elliot adjusted the coffee machine without looking at me, then said, "Take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon."
I should've sat down. I should've kept distance. Instead, something in me moved before I could think—something quieter than logic, louder than instinct. I walked straight up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.
