"Give that back," I said, reaching for my aluminum case.

Luca held my laptop two inches above my reach, his lips curving into a sharp, infuriating smirk. "Sit across from me in the club section, Nora. You get your hard drive back when we reach cruising altitude."

"I have work to finish before we land in Chicago," I snapped. "And I don't need a babysitter."

"Who said anything about babysitting?" Luca asked, spinning the laptop onto the polished cherrywood table between two cream leather recliners. He dropped into one and patted the seat facing him. "Consider it an incentive program."

"You act like an obnoxious teenager," I said, stepping forward.

Before I could grab the computer, a blister pack of small white tablets slid across the folding tray of the aisle seat behind me.

*Clack.*

I stopped.

Adrian stood by the overhead compartment, his dark jacket unbuttoned. He tapped the foil packet with his index finger, his hazel eyes completely calm.

"Sit on the aisle," Adrian said quietly. "Take two with water before the wheels leave the tarmac."

Luca leaned around his chair, scowling. "What is that?"

"Dramamine," Adrian replied without looking at his brother.

"She didn't ask for pills," Luca countered, his voice sharpening. "Stop hovering, Adrian."

"She gets airsick," Adrian stated, his tone flat and even. "Turbulence makes her stomach knot up, and commercial flights between New York and Boston usually wreck her for three hours."

The cabin went utterly still.

My mouth parted, the retort dying on my tongue. "How do you know that?"

"I read your private blog from six years ago," Adrian said, meeting my gaze squarely. "The one you forgot to delete when you joined Hale Biotech. You complained about turboprops twice a month."

Across the cabin, a seatbelt clicked into place with violent force.

Damian sat in the forward executive chair, his broad frame framed by the bulkhead window. His silver eyes were fixed on Adrian, cold and lethal. The air around him practically dropped ten degrees.

"You dug through her college archives," Damian said, his baritone rumbling through the pressurized cabin.

"I did thorough research," Adrian answered, turning his head slightly toward his older brother. "Unlike you, I don't assume intimidation solves everything."

"Enough," Damian commanded.

He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer weight of his Alpha presence rolled down the center aisle, thick and oppressive. The scent of heavy cedar flared off his skin, suffocating the cabin's filtered air.

"Sit down, Nora," Damian said, his eyes shifting to me. "The captain is waiting for runway clearance."

I glanced between the three of them.

Luca watched me like a card player holding four aces, daring me to sit across from him. Adrian stood by the aisle seat, his expression neutral, though his tattooed fingers rested lightly against the leather headrest. And Damian sat like a crowned king demanding homage.

I grabbed the motion sickness tablets off Adrian's tray.

"Thank you," I said to Adrian, keeping my voice clipped.

Then I walked straight past Luca, ignoring his outstretched arm, and dropped into the single captain's chair directly across the aisle from Damian.

Luca’s jaw tightened. "Unbelievable."

"Buckle up, Luca," Adrian muttered, taking the seat behind me with a faint, satisfied tilt of his head.

The twin jet engines whined to life, shaking the floor beneath my soles. I popped two tablets out of the foil, swallowed them dry, and clicked my harness shut.

Damian hadn't looked away. His silver gaze tracked every motion of my throat as I swallowed.

"You're defying me on purpose," Damian said quietly.

"I picked an empty seat," I replied, staring straight ahead at the cockpit door. "Don't flatter yourself."

"You chose to sit beside me."

"I chose to sit where nobody could steal my electronics." I shot Luca a pointed glare across the cabin.

Luca merely picked up my laptop, tapped the closed lid, and winked. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, sweetheart."

The jet surged forward.

G-force pinned my back against the leather as the aircraft tore down the runway. Outside, the gray sprawl of New Jersey vanished beneath thick, bruised storm clouds. The climb was steep, the engines roaring with deafening power.

Then the nose pitched down violently.

*Thump.*

The entire plane dropped twenty feet out of nowhere.

A sharp gasp ripped from my lungs. My stomach surged into my throat as the cabin rattled violently, the overhead bins groaning under the sudden shear.

The seatbelt cut hard into my hips. Another jolt hit us, tossing the aircraft sideways with sickening speed.

Panic took over before my brain could stop it.

I reached out blindly, desperate for anything solid to anchor me against the drop. My fingers slammed down against the broad armrest across the narrow aisle, closing tight over a thick, muscular forearm.

I gripped Damian’s arm like a lifeline.

The moment my bare fingers pressed against his skin, the cabin disappeared.

It was like grabbing an exposed high-voltage cable.

A blinding rush of heat surged straight through my palm, racing up my arm and striking the center of my chest with terrifying force. The world fractured into pure sensation.

Crushed jasmine and rich black tea exploded from my skin, flooding the cabin in an instant. Beside me, Damian’s cedar scent flared so fiercely it tasted like smoke on the back of my tongue.

The bond didn't just tug—it snapped taut, singing with an unbearable, violent resonance that rattled my ribs.

My head snapped toward him.

Damian wasn't looking at the ceiling or the rattling windows. He was staring at my hand on his forearm, his pupils dilated so wide the silver iris was reduced to a paper-thin ring. His chest heaved once, drawing in the sudden surge of my scent.

Before I could pull away, his massive hand flipped over.

His fingers clamped down around my wrist, locking my hand against his arm like an iron vise.

"Mine," Damian whispered.

The word barely made a sound, but it vibrated straight down into my bones. His thumb stroked the rapid pulse leaping at the inside of my wrist, his grip unyielding, his face hardened by a terrifying wave of naked possessiveness.

Across the aisle, the humor vanished from Luca's face.

His playful smirk dissolved completely, his features turning stark, rigid, and freezing cold. He leaned forward out of his seat, his dark eyes locked on Damian's fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Damian," Luca warned, his voice dead of all warmth. "Let her go."

Behind me, the sound of paper rustling stopped entirely.

Adrian didn't say a word. He sat frozen in his seat, holding a quarterly financial dossier in both hands. His knuckles were bone-white against the paper. For ten agonizing seconds, he didn't breathe. He didn't shift his weight. He didn't turn a single page.

The air inside the jet thickened until it felt flammable.

Rain and sage from Adrian. Burning spice from Luca. Cedar from Damian.

Three rival scents collided in the tight space, crashing against each other in an escalating wave of raw territorial fury. The sheer force of their conflicting dominance pressed down on my temples like iron bands.

They were going to rip this cabin apart right mid-flight.

The realization hit me like ice water.

I braced my heels against the floor and yanked my wrist backward with every ounce of strength I possessed.

The sudden movement tore my skin from Damian's grip. The violent friction sent a shock of heat down my arm as I dragged my hand back to my chest, tucking it against my ribs.

"Don't touch me," I said, my voice shaking with fury.

Damian’s hand remained frozen in mid-air, his fingers curved into an empty claw. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, his silver eyes flashing with dark hunger.

"Nora—" Damian began, his voice gravel-rough.

"I said don't," I snapped, cutting him off.

Luca stood up from his chair, completely ignoring the glowing seatbelt sign above his head. The plane shuddered through another wave of turbulence, but he didn't stumble. He took one step into the aisle, towering over Damian's seat with his jaw clenched tight.

"You crossed a line, Damian," Luca said, his tone dripping with quiet venom.

Adrian finally dropped his dossier onto the tray table with a sharp slap. He unbuckled his belt and rose to his feet, stepping into the narrow space between them.

"Sit back down, Luca," Adrian said, his hazel eyes burning. "Both of you. Before I make you."

"Try it, little brother," Damian growled, rising from his chair to meet them.

The three brothers stood locked in the center aisle, shoulder to shoulder, chests heaving, their presence pushing the cabin to the absolute brink of violence.

And thirty thousand feet in the air, there was nowhere for me to run.

"What do you mean you don't have our reservations?"

Damian’s voice dropped low enough to make the front desk manager visibly flinch.

The brass chandeliers of the Chicago hotel lobby cast sharp shadows across the marble floor. Outside, freezing rain pelted against the revolving doors.

"Mr. Cross, I deeply apologize," the manager stammered, tapping frantically at his terminal. "A system error during the biotech conference rush doubled our block. We have only two bookings available under your corporate account. The Presidential Suite on the penthouse level, and a standard two-bedroom suite on the fourteenth floor."

"Fix it," Damian said flatly. "Clear a floor."

"We can't, sir. Every hotel within eight miles is booked solid for the summit."

Luca rested both elbows on the polished mahogany counter, tilting his head with an amused gleam in his dark eyes. "Well, that simplifies our evening, doesn't it? The penthouse has a massive master bed. We can share, Nora."

"I would rather sleep on the lobby couch wrapped in a coat," I said, stepping between him and the counter. "Give me a keycard to whatever broom closet you have left. I am not sharing a room with any of you."

"You are not sleeping in an open lobby," Damian barked, turning to face me. "Don't be absurd."

"Try stopping me," I replied, crossing my arms. "I'll sit in that leather armchair by the fireplace until dawn. At least the concierge won't corner me against the headboard."

Luca chuckled softly, but the laughter died the moment Damian took a heavy step toward me.

"Nora—" Damian started.

"Step back, Damian," Adrian’s quiet voice sliced through the tension.

Adrian slid a black titanium card across the marble counter toward the trembling manager. He hadn't raised his voice once, yet the manager froze, staring at him.

"Hand over both keys," Adrian instructed calmly.

The manager scrambled to encode two sets of RFID cards. "Right away, Mr. Cross."

Adrian picked up the first card—the gold-trimmed penthouse pass—and turned to me. He extended it between two fingers, his hazel eyes holding mine without a trace of mockery.

"The Presidential Suite has private elevator access, reinforced locks, and an unlisted direct line," Adrian said. "Take it. You stay there alone."

Luca whipped around, staring at his younger brother. "Excuse me? You're putting her on the top floor by herself?"

"She needs to sleep without three Alphas breathing down her neck," Adrian answered, never breaking eye contact with me. "Take the key, Nora."

Damian frowned, his silver eyes flashing with sharp disapproval. "Adrian, leaving her completely unmonitored in a strange city—"

"She isn't our prisoner," Adrian snapped, his tone hardening. "And you nearly broke the plane in half five hours ago. We take the two-bedroom on fourteen. All three of us."

Luca let out a sharp scoff. "Are you insane? Three grown Alphas in a two-bedroom standard? Two of us have to share a room."

"Then you can take the floor," Adrian said. He pushed the gold card into my hand.

The plastic felt warm from his fingertips. A faint trace of rain and crushed sage brushed against my senses, steady and calm.

"Go up," Adrian told me softly. "Lock the deadbolt behind you. Breakfast is at eight in the private dining room downstairs."

I stared at the gold card in my palm, then glanced up at Damian and Luca. Damian’s jaw was set like granite, clearly hating every syllable of the arrangement, but he didn't countermand Adrian's order. Luca looked like he had just been forced to swallow vinegar.

"Fine," I said, pocketing the card. "Don't knock on my door."

I turned on my heel, grabbed my roller bag, and headed straight for the private elevator bank before any of them could change their minds.

***

The quiet of the Presidential Suite had been a relief, but exhaustion still dragged at my limbs when I stepped off the elevator the following morning.

The private dining room on the mezzanine was almost deserted at eight o'clock. Silver chafing dishes gleamed beneath recessed lights, and the faint smell of roasted coffee beans drifted through the air.

At the far corner table by the window sat the three brothers.

I paused just inside the doorway, observing them before they noticed me.

The sight was completely unexpected.

Luca sat slouched in an armchair, dark purple circles bruising the skin under his eyes. His collar was rumpled, his hair unstyled, and his fingers gripped a double espresso like it was a survival tool.

Across from him, Damian sat rigidly upright in a crisp charcoal suit, reading the Financial Times on a tablet, looking like an immovable statue.

Adrian sat on the bench beside them, nursing a cup of black coffee with a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips.

"I am never traveling with you again," Luca croaked, slamming his tiny porcelain cup down onto the saucer. "Never. In thirty years, I have never experienced psychological warfare like last night."

Damian didn't look up from his screen. "Drink your coffee and shut up, Luca."

"You vibrated the drywall!" Luca hissed, leaning across the linen tablecloth. "The headboard hit the plaster every four seconds! I had to pull a pillow over my face, and I could still hear you sawing through oak trees!"

"I do not snore," Damian said, his voice flat, icy, and utterly indifferent.

"You sound like a diesel generator running out of oil," Luca shot back, running a hand down his tired face. "Adrian, tell him. Tell this stubborn block of concrete what he did to our eardrums."

Damian finally lowered his tablet, fixing Adrian with a cold, warning glare. "Adrian."

Adrian took a slow sip of his black coffee. He set the mug down without making a sound, glanced at Damian's stony expression, and spoke two words:

"You do."

Luca threw his hands in the air. "Thank you! He does! You had the king suite, Adrian slept on the tiny living room sofa, and I was trapped in the adjoining room listening to you rattle the light fixtures!"

"You're both exaggerating," Damian muttered, his cheek twitching slightly as he lifted his cup.

"I recorded six minutes of audio on my phone," Adrian added mildly, tapping his breast pocket. "Would you like me to play it through the speaker system?"

Damian’s jaw tightened so hard I could hear his teeth click from ten feet away. "Delete it."

"Make me," Adrian murmured, leaning back with a dry, wicked glint in his eye.

A short, breathy sound escaped my throat before I could choke it back.

I couldn't help it.

The sheer absurdity of the moment shattered the heavy armor I had worn since yesterday morning. These were the Cross brothers—predators of Wall Street, ruthless corporate raiders who destroyed multinational conglomerates before breakfast. And here they were, bickering over bad sleep and loud breathing like miserable college roommates stuffed into a dorm.

The corners of my lips curved upward. A soft, genuine smile broke across my face, accompanied by a quiet chuckle that slipped out into the still air of the dining room.

The instant the sound left my lips, the bickering stopped dead.

All three brothers froze simultaneously.

Luca’s hand stopped mid-air. Adrian went perfectly still. Damian slowly turned his head away from his tablet, his silver eyes locking onto me.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

None of them moved. None of them blinked.

Luca stared at me with his mouth slightly parted, the exhaustion completely wiped from his features, replaced by a raw, stunned stillness. Adrian’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table, his hazel gaze darkening with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. And Damian—tall, brutal, untouchable Damian—stared directly at my face, his broad chest rising and falling in one shallow shudder.

Then I noticed it.

The rims of their eyes had flushed a faint, distinct red.

It wasn't fury. It wasn't the violent territorial claim from the airplane. It was something raw, exposed, and deeply shaken, as if seeing me smile had struck them directly between the ribs with the force of a sledgehammer.

My breath trapped in my throat.

My smile vanished instantly, my walls slamming back into place with a sickening thud.

I took a half-step backward toward the doorway, clutching my leather portfolio against my stomach like a shield.

"Sit down, Nora," Damian said.

His voice didn't have its usual iron bite. It was strained, gravelly, and laced with an ache so heavy it made the air between us turn thick.

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed violently in my jacket pocket.

The screen lit up with an incoming call from an unlisted Manhattan exchange.

I pulled it out and tapped the screen.

"Nora?" Evan Hale's voice echoed through the speaker, frantic and desperate. "Don't sign anything with Cross. Serena pulled her money, and the board is calling an emergency vote. You need to come home."