All Chapters of Heat Clause: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

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 l

Chapter Four: Controlled BreachThe alarm cut off mid-tone.That was worse than it continuing.Ronan reacted instantly. He moved Elliot without touching skin gripping the back of the chair, hauling it several feet away from the open center of the room and into the shadowed angle between two reinforced walls. It was fast, efficient, impersonal.Necessary.“Stay,” Ronan said.Elliot laughed breathlessly. “You’re really enjoying that word.”Ronan ignored him. He was already in motion, pulling an earpiece from his pocket, activating a secure channel that hadn’t been used in years.“Hale,” he said. “Code Gray. Building breach. I need eyes.”Static. Then a voice, low and familiar.“Thought you retired,” someone said.“Thought you’d learned not to ask questions,” Ronan replied. “I need external cams and floor access. Now.”A pause. Then: “Sending.”Ronan’s tablet lit up with live feeds. The intruders were good clean movements, coordinated, not amateurs chasing money. Three men. Possibly four

Chapter Six: Aftershock The sirens arrived too late to matter. They wailed somewhere below the penthouse, distant and impersonal, like an apology from a system that had already failed. Ronan ignored them. His focus was narrowed to the weight in his arms, the slow, uneven rise and fall of Elliot’s chest against his own. Elliot was burning but quieter now. No longer flaring, no longer spiraling. Just simmering, heat contained by proximity and exhaustion. Ronan hated how effective it was. He eased Elliot down onto the couch, careful, controlled, like he was handling something fragile instead of one of the most powerful men in the city. Elliot protested weakly, fingers tightening in Ronan’s shirt. “Don’t,” Elliot murmured. “Don’t move away.” The words weren’t a command. They weren’t even confident. They were honest. Ronan stilled. For a long moment, he stayed crouched in front of Elliot, forearms braced on his thighs, close enough that Elliot could still feel him could still anc