Chapter 2: Proximity

Chapter Two: Proximity

Ronan insisted on clearing the penthouse himself.

Elliot watched from the doorway of his study as the alpha moved through the space with quiet efficiency checking windows, testing locks, mapping sightlines like the apartment was a battlefield instead of a luxury residence. There was nothing showy about it. No posturing. Just habit.

The kind you didn’t unlearn.

“You’ve already had a private security sweep,” Elliot said.

“Yes,” Ronan replied. “By people who work for you.”

“And that’s a problem?”

Ronan paused at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “It’s a variable.”

Elliot studied him. Up close, Ronan Hale was all restraint broad shoulders held deliberately still, movements measured, jaw set like he was always biting back words. He looked less like a bodyguard and more like a man accustomed to standing between others and consequences.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Elliot observed.

“I trust systems,” Ronan said. “People change.”

That sounded learned.

Ronan finished his circuit and nodded once. “I’ll take the room adjacent to yours.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t authorize”

“Your threats aren’t theoretical,” Ronan cut in. “Distance is risk.”

Elliot bristled, then forced himself to relax. This was why he’d hired an external alpha. Someone who didn’t defer to his authority when safety was involved.

“Fine,” Elliot said. “Temporary.”

“Everything is,” Ronan replied.

The first problem appeared an hour later.

Elliot was reviewing financial projections when heat curled low in his abdomen unwelcome, sharp, wrong. His suppressor pulsed faintly at his neck.

Too early.

He ignored it. He always did.

But the room felt warmer. The air heavier. His scent crept past its chemical cage, subtle but undeniable.

A knock sounded at the door.

Ronan stepped in and froze.

He didn’t need to say anything. Elliot saw it in the way his shoulders locked, the way his breathing shifted, the way his gaze flicked instinctively to Elliot’s neck.

“How long?” Ronan asked.

Elliot swallowed. “It’s nothing.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Elliot exhaled slowly. “An hour. Maybe less.”

Ronan cursed under his breath.

“I’m fine,” Elliot snapped. “I don’t need—”

Ronan lifted a hand. Not touching. Never touching. Just a boundary.

“Sit,” he said.

The command was quiet. Controlled. It scraped against Elliot’s pride and something deeper, more treacherous.

Elliot sat.

Ronan moved to the opposite side of the room, increasing distance even as his senses stayed locked on Elliot like a tether.

“I’m calling your doctor,” Ronan said.

“No.”

“You don’t get to veto medical protocol.”

“I don’t get heats this early,” Elliot said through clenched teeth. “This is stress.”

Ronan’s jaw tightened.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said.

Elliot looked up sharply. “With omegas?”

“With people,” Ronan corrected. “Bodies break patterns under pressure.”

He didn’t elaborate. Elliot noticed he never did.

Silence stretched between them, thick with scent and unspoken tension. Elliot focused on breathing evenly, on keeping his pheromones contained. Losing control now would be catastrophic.

Ronan watched him with an intensity that felt like weight.

“You do this alone?” Ronan asked.

Elliot scoffed. “I’ve done everything alone.”

Ronan’s mouth tightened. “That’s not an answer.”

Elliot didn’t reply.

For a moment, Ronan looked… tired. Not physically. Something older. Something earned.

“My father used to say,” Ronan said quietly, “that responsibility doesn’t care how much you can carry. It only cares when you drop it.”

Elliot studied him. “You sound like someone who’s dropped things.”

Ronan didn’t deny it.

Instead, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen—and stiffened.

“What is it?” Elliot asked.

Ronan hesitated. Then turned the phone so Elliot could see.

A secure message. One line.

We know he’s an omega.

We know you’re with him.

Elliot’s suppressor flared again warning orange now.

Ronan’s voice was steady when he spoke. Too steady.

“They’re escalating fast,” he said. “This isn’t just about your company anymore.”

Elliot’s pulse hammered. “Then what is it about?”

Ronan met his gaze, alpha control tightening like a coiled wire.

“Pressure,” he said. “And seeing who breaks first.”

The lights dimmed suddenly as the penthouse security system shifted into alert mode.

Elliot’s scent spiked heat cresting, control slipping.

Ronan took one involuntary step forward.

Then stopped.

Because the contract said no touch.

Because the past said don’t stay.

Because Elliot Voss was looking at him like the last safe thing in a collapsing room.

“Ronan,” Elliot said, voice tight, controlled, dangerous.

“My suppressor is failing.”

And somewhere inside Ronan, every rule he’d built his life on began to crack.