"Are you listening?"
Lord Jethro's question snapped Grey out of his thoughts, the thoughts he hadn't been able to stop, no matter how many times he reminded himself that Lord Jethro could hear them.
"Yes," Grey said flatly.
It was a lie.
He hadn't heard a single word since he sat back down in the chair. His body had been present, but his mind had drifted far away, tangled in everything that had just been said and everything that had been taken back.
Before Lord Jethro could speak again, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," he said.
A maid entered, carrying a tray. On it were two glasses and familiar bottles- Lord Jethro's preferred soft drink.
And Grey's.
It wasn't strange that it was Lord Jethro's favorite. The maids must know him well enough to know what he liked and what he didn't.
They had probably memorized his habits long before Grey ever stepped into the palace.
But his own favorite?
That made Grey pause.
He had never asked for it. Never mentioned it, never ordered it. How did they know what he liked?
He told himself he was overthinking. The maid could have chosen anything at random. It just happened to be that one.
Coincidence, nothing more.
She placed the tray down and poured the drink into both glasses before stepping back quietly, and walked out of the office.
Lord Jethro picked his up almost immediately, as though he had been waiting for it without realizing it.
Grey didn't hesitate either. Only when the cool liquid hit his throat did he realize how long they had been in that office without eating anything.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, and realized it was already seven in the evening.
They hadn't taken a break, hours had slipped by without him noticing, and now the hunger he'd been ignoring surfaced all at once.
One glass turned into another. Then another.
Only after setting his glass down did Lord Jethro pause, his brows drawing together slightly.
He hadn't asked for this. The maids never brought food or even drinks into his office unless he sent for them.
The thought lingered for only a moment before he brushed it aside and reached for the file on the table, returning to work as if nothing had happened.
Grey drank more slowly, stopping after his second glass. Whatever had been weighing on him earlier felt duller now, pushed aside by the brief sense of relief spreading through him.
He straightened in his seat, he told himself that he was ready to finally focus.
For a moment, he even wondered if hunger had been the problem all along. Maybe he had just needed something familiar. Because now he felt refreshed. More alert. As if new energy had settled into him.
But the feeling didn't last, he flinched when a sharp and intense heat suddenly rushed through him.
It came without warning, settling deep under his skin. Grey stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the armrest.
"If you're feeling hot," Lord Jethro said, "why don't you remove the jacket instead of sweating like that? When I said dress decently, I didn't mean you weren't allowed to remove it." His voice trailed off at the end.
Grey barely registered the words. He wiped at his forehead, surprised to feel damp skin. He took the jacket off, but it didn't help.
Lord Jethro stood, taking off his own trench coat, his forehead started glistening too, when he walked, his movements looked less smooth than usual, he crossed the room to switch on the fan. Cool air rushed through the office, sharp and cold against Grey's flushed skin.
But it still did nothing, the heat only intensified.
Grey swallowed hard.
What was happening to him?
Was this… heat?
The thought struck him with a jolt. His cycle always came in August. It was predictable. This wasn't the time.
Unless...
Unless the thoughts he'd been having about Lord Jethro had triggered it.
That possibility made his stomach turn.
He knew what his heat cycle did to him, and he hated it with every fiber of his being. This office was dangerous for him because he was so close to a man.
He had heard other omegas talk about heat before. About the overwhelming urge to mate. About wanting women, craving contact, dominance.
But it had never been like that for him.
Grey had come to accept, reluctantly, that everything about him was different. No matter how much he despised it, no matter how much he tried to suppress it, his body followed its own rules.
When his heat came, what he wanted wasn't what others described.
He didn't crave a woman, he didn't want to dominate anyone.
He wanted to be touched, to be dominated.
He wanted the weight of a man's arms around him, the kind of strength that left no room for resistance. The need was always overwhelming, draining him until his whole body felt weak.
And now...
Now that need was building faster than it ever had before.
Grey pushed his chair back and stood.
He couldn't stay here. He would not let this happen in front of Lord Jethro.
He forced his body steady and headed for the door, though his steps betrayed him, uneven and uncertain. Each movement felt heavier than the last, his skin too tight, his breath shallow.
He reached the door and grabbed the handle, but it didn't move.
He frowned and tried again, twisting harder.
Nothing.
A flicker of irritation sparked, quickly turning into anger as the heat inside him surged again. He yanked the handle once more, his grip tightening.
But the door didn't open.
"Who fucking locked it?" he snapped.
The words left his mouth unconsciously as he tried harder.