You wanted him to notice.

Serena’s POV

I didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that dim golden lamplight, watching Dominic’s powerful body move with Lydia in the leather chair. The wet slap of skin, her breathy moans, the way he’d gripped her slim ass like it was nothing more than a convenient toy. Then his storm-gray eyes snapping open and locking onto me through the crack in the door—those eyes that had looked at me with raw hunger right before I’d panicked and run.

And the worst part? The way my hand had been between my thighs, shameless, aching, imagining it was my soft, curvy body taking him instead.

I buried my face in the pillow until my lungs burned. Rose was merciless.

*You should have stayed. You should have walked in and told him you wanted him instead of her.*

“No,” I whispered into the fabric. “I should have stayed in my room and never come downstairs.”

*You looked ridiculous. You looked… honest. Like you’d been waiting for that for years.*

“I looked like a complete idiot who got caught touching herself to her best friend’s father having sex,” I groaned, the words muffled. “And now he knows. He probably thinks I’m a desperate, horny mess who can’t keep my eyes off him.”

*You wanted him to notice.*

“Shut up,” I hissed, but there was no real heat in it. My cheeks burned hotter than the morning sun creeping through the curtains. I could still feel the phantom press of his large hand spanning my waist from the cake table last night, the way his thumb had stroked that hidden curve under the dress like he was memorizing me. Now that hand had gripped Lydia’s ass so possessively… and then he’d looked at me like he wanted to do the same to mine. To every soft inch of me.

I threw the pillow at the wall. It hit with a pathetic *thump*. Rose laughed softly in my mind, the smug sound making me want to scream.

By the time the first rays of sunlight painted the guest suite in gold, I had made my decision. I was going to avoid Dominic Blackwood. Completely. No accidental hallway runs. No lingering stares at the training grounds. No more “accidental” collisions that left me trembling and wet for hours afterward. If I had to spend the entire day hiding in Amelia’s bedroom with the door locked and a stack of books for company, I would do it.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing my exhausted eyes with the heels of my hands. My hair was a wild mess from tossing and turning. My sleep shirt clung to my full breasts and the soft give of my stomach like a second skin, and I could feel the damp spot between my thighs where my arousal had refused to fade. Embarrassment flooded me again—hot, suffocating, the kind that made me want to crawl under the covers and disappear forever.

*He caught you. He saw you. He heard you say you wanted him. What if he thinks you’re obsessed? What if he looks at you now and sees only the “wrong kind of beautiful” omega the pack always whispers about?*

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. The memory of his voice—low, rough, still edged with gravel from sex—haunting me. “Serena.” How long have you been standing there? Then that dark, satisfied rumble when I admitted I was jealous. Good. The word had sent electricity straight between my legs even as shame burned my face.

I had spent years convincing myself my crush was hopeless, pathetic, impossible. I had hidden my curves behind oversized clothes, joked about them, told Rose to shut up whenever she praised them. Now he had seen me naked in the most vulnerable way possible—my hand between my thighs, my scent thick with want—and instead of disgust, his eyes had flared with something far more dangerous: hunger.

“Never again,” I whispered to the empty room. “I swear on everything, Rose. Never again.”

*You’re lying to yourself,* she purred. *You’re still wet just thinking about him.*

“Shut up!” I hissed, but my voice cracked. A soft knock at the door made me jump so hard I nearly fell off the bed.

My heart slammed against my ribs. For one terrifying, mortifying second, I thought it was Dominic—maybe he’d come to “talk” about last night, or worse, to demand an explanation. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat flooding my cheeks and lower. I could already picture his broad shoulders filling the doorway, that black shirt hugging every hard inch of him, those storm-gray eyes raking over my flushed face and the way my shirt clung to my curves.

*Please don’t be him. Please.*

Then Amelia’s bright, cheerful voice cut through the door. “Serena? Are you awake? I can hear you groaning from the hallway. Rise and shine, birthday leftover—breakfast in twenty!”

Relief crashed over me so hard my shoulders sagged. I released a shaky breath and called out, “Yes! Coming! Just… give me a minute!”

Her footsteps retreated down the hall, light and familiar.

I scrambled out of bed, heart still racing, and headed for the bathroom. The hot shower helped—steaming water pounding my skin like it could wash away the shame of last night—but nothing touched the memory of Dominic’s voice saying my name in that low, rough growl. I scrubbed until my skin was pink, trying to scrub away the phantom press of his hand on my hip, the way his scent had wrapped around me in the study even after he’d finished with Lydia.

*He was still half-hard under those trousers,* Rose whispered. *You know he was.*

I shut the thought down and focused on drying off. I had no clean clothes here, so I raided Amelia’s closet and pulled on a pair of soft black leggings that stretched tight across my wider thighs and the generous curve of my ass, paired with an oversized cream sweater that at least hid the soft roll of my stomach. My hair I twisted into a messy bun, no makeup. Armor, I told myself. Just armor.

When I finally forced myself downstairs, the kitchen smelled of fresh coffee, bacon, and cinnamon rolls that made my stomach growl despite the knot of nerves still tied there. Morning light poured through the tall windows, turning everything golden. Amelia sat at the island in pajamas, scrolling her phone with a grin. And leaning against the counter with a black mug in one large, capable hand—

Dominic.