CHAPTER 31: THE WARMTH I DIDN’T FIGHT.

Every omega experiences heats, and I was no exception — though lately, I’d been acting like I was above biology. Between Louis’ scandal, Charles’ chaos, and my inability to sleep like a normal person, I’d practically forgotten to take care of myself.

Big mistake.

It started subtly — the warmth, the restlessness, the way my skin felt too tight for my own body. At first, I blamed it on stress. After all, what else could explain nearly burning my tongue on my own coffee and still drinking it like nothing happened?

By midday, I knew it wasn’t stress. My temperature spiked, my patience evaporated, and every little sound grated on me. Even Charles’ humming — which usually made me roll my eyes fondly — suddenly made me want to throw a pillow at him.

"Why are you humming?" I snapped, pacing the living room.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. "Because it’s morning?"

"Well, stop sounding so cheerful about it."

He raised a brow. "You okay, Alistair? You look... flushed."

"Flushed? I’m fine." I was not fine. My pulse was betraying me, my shirt felt like it was made of fire, and I could smell everything — him, the coffee, the faint citrus of his cologne. It was unbearable.

Charles tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait..." he said slowly, as if a lightbulb had just flickered on. "Is it—?"

"No." I cut him off before he could say it. "Don’t."

He grinned — the kind of grin that could cause international incidents. "Oh, it is."

"Charles, I swear—"

"Hey, hey, relax," he said, hands raised in mock surrender, though that mischievous glint in his eyes said he was anything but sorry. "It’s a natural thing. Perfectly normal for an omega."

"Don’t say that word like it’s a weather forecast."

He laughed — that low, genuine laugh that made my chest ache in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge. "You really should take better care of yourself, you know. You look like you’re about to melt."

I groaned, sinking onto the couch, pressing my palms to my eyes. "Don’t remind me."

He moved closer — too close — and the warmth rolling off him didn’t help. "You need rest," he said softly, tone shifting from teasing to something gentler. "And maybe something cold to drink. Or ice. Or both."

I peeked at him between my fingers. "Are you offering to babysit me?"

He smiled. "No, but if you want me to I will "

"Tch, so immature."

His laughter filled the space again, and despite the heat simmering through me, I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. It was absurd — sitting here, trying not to combust while he fussed over me like some self-appointed caretaker.

But somewhere between his laughter and the steady way he looked at me — not judging, not mocking — I felt something loosen in my chest.

Maybe it was my heat talking, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, I let him stay close.

And for once, I didn’t fight the warmth.

---

Charles was an Alpha — that fact had never mattered much to me before. But right now, it mattered.

Because I was in heat.

The scent of his pheromones — faint but impossible to ignore, buried beneath the citrus and spice of his cologne — hit me like a slow burn. My body reacted before my brain could reason with it, traitorous and eager.

I stiffened, pretending to scroll through my phone like I wasn’t seconds away from losing all composure. But who was I kidding? Charles was standing right there, and his attention was sharper than a knife.

His voice dropped, quieter than usual. "...Alistair?"

I swallowed hard. "What?"

He didn’t answer immediately — just watched me, head tilted, eyes flicking briefly to my flushed face.

"You should rest." he stated pinching his nose while glaring the back of my neck awkwardly. "Your pheromones are literally everywhere ."

I glared, even though my ears were burning. "Oh, really? Maybe you’re just too observant."

He chuckled softly, taking a step closer — and that tiny movement made every nerve in me scream.

"I mean, it’s kind of hard not to notice, not when you’re blushing intensely, taking deeper breaths and sweating when it’s not hot at all ."

I scoffed, voice cracking in betrayal. "I’m fine. Totally fine."

"Sure," he said lightly. "And I’m a pacifist."

The laugh that escaped him was warm, teasing — but there was something else underneath it too. Something that made my pulse quicken in ways I didn’t want to think about.

He crouched down slightly, lowering himself to meet my eyes. "Hey. You don’t have to act like you’re made of steel all the time. It’s okay to—"

"Don’t say it," I cut in sharply. "If you say need help or let me take care of you, I will throw this mug."

He smiled. "That’d be pretty impressive, considering you can barely lift your arms and even if you could we both know it wouldn’t be for anything decent."

My mouth opened — but nothing came out. He wasn’t wrong.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The tension was ridiculous — heavy, electric, but also kind of absurd.

Finally, he sighed and reached over, pressing a cold water bottle into my hand with some suppressants. "Drink. Before you actually set the house on fire."

I stared at the bottle, then at him. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Maybe," he said, grinning. "But only because it’s you."

My heart stuttered, heat flaring all over again — and not just because of the fever.

I took the suppressants, the cool water sliding down my throat like relief itself. Slowly, my breathing steadied. The haze in my mind began to lift, and the restless heat that had crawled beneath my skin finally started to fade.

Charles watched me the entire time — not hovering, not smirking for once, just watching. When I finally looked up, he smiled — soft, genuine, the kind of smile that didn’t demand anything in return.

And that was the problem.

Because somewhere between the teasing and the quiet, my heart had started to split itself in two — one half still tangled in the ghost of Louis, the other drawn helplessly toward the warmth sitting right beside me.

I wanted to tell myself it was just the heat. That these feelings were fake, chemical, temporary.

But then Charles laughed softly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from my face — and my heart betrayed me all over again.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me like I was something fragile he didn’t want to break.

"Feeling better?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. "Yeah... a little."

"Good," he said, leaning back, stretching his arms like he hadn’t just messed up my emotional equilibrium completely.

"These only last for a short while so it’s either you continue taking them for as long as your heat lasts or you take care of it yourself." He said holding up his middle and index fingers.

I gave a weak scoff. "You sound like a perverted old man."

He grinned licking the fingers he held up, "I’m kidding." He said laughing loudly.

That earned him a pillow to the shoulder — and a laugh that felt too light for the storm in my chest.

But even as I laughed with him, a thought crept in, quiet and sharp: What happens if my heart stops choosing Louis first?