# Chapter 8: Emmeline Eight days ago, I was on the brink of something primal, lost in a whirlwind of instinct and ecstasy. Yet, less than four days since, that overwhelming drive had frayed into something completely unexpected. I had collapsed, drained not just from feverish physicality but from dehydration. The doctors had delivered a shocking verdict: I wouldn't be experiencing those primal urges for at least a year, and—more bewildering still—I was pregnant. And not just pregnant—pregnant with the child of my boss. Yesterday marked the end of my confinement in the sterile, unforgiving walls of the hospital. I emerged, fragile and weary, clutching a bag filled with prescriptions, a body still tethered to weakness, and a pile of pamphlets on pregnancy that felt more like ominous warnings than helpful guides. Today? Today had spiraled into a battle of consciousness as I lay in my nest, fighting to succumb to the heavy embrace of sleep. My body screamed for rest but my mind, treacherous and relentless, wouldn't relent. Each time I shut my eyes, waves of nausea crashed against my stomach, and the very essence of my nest felt wrong, foreign. Then, to make matters worse—a ceaseless buzz broke the tense silence. For the fourth time in barely ten minutes, my phone vibrated insistently, demanding attention. I groaned, sinking my face deeper into the soft pillows that offered little comfort. The rattling buzz reverberated through my skull like an annoying drumbeat. I knew who it was—my brother. Always worried, ever concerned. His incessant messages—a testament to his care—did little to quell my annoyance. My growing impatience made me contemplate the absurd idea of smothering myself with my pillow, just to prove a point. Reluctantly, I fished my phone from its hiding place beneath the pillow, and true to form, multiple notifications from Evander flooded my screen within seconds. **Evander:** Are you alive? If you don’t answer within five minutes, I’m sending Isaac over. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Guilt clawed at me; I hated putting him through this anxiety. **Evander:** You agreed to this—so stop cursing me. Rolling my eyes, I typed a response that would surely provoke an eye roll in return, but I couldn't suppress a tiny smile at the thought of my brother's grumpy face. **Emmeline:** The number you’ve tried to reach is no longer receiving messages from their overbearing, barely-older, twin brother. **Evander:** Haha. You’re hilarious. Excuse me for being scared. **Emmeline:** Excuse me for wanting more than five minutes for each nap. **Evander:** Fair point. What are your plans for this afternoon? If you let me know, I’ll try to back off a little. With a deep breath, I stifled a groan. What I really wanted was to slip into a haze of heat where my instincts could reign, to escape this labyrinth of thought tormenting me. Yet, sinking into self-pity was hardly an option, especially knowing no alpha would find me appealing in my current state, lying in a puddle of my own disgrace. **Evander:** I’m just worried, little star. It’s killing me not being there for you today. **Emmeline:** I know. I need to go grocery shopping, there's hardly anything in the house. I hesitated, each word weighing heavy as I opted not to blame him and Isaac for devouring my sparse stores. I hadn't anticipated my confinement, and the few items that remained had fallen victim to my brother and his insatiable assistant. **Evander:** Do you think that’s safe? What if you ordered in? I can pick it up after this meeting and put it away for you. **Emmeline:** Nope. It’s dangerously appealing. I might die in the chocolate aisle. **Evander:** Okay, I can feel your sarcasm from here. I’ll send Isaac to come pick you up, so he can carry the bags into the house for you. **Emmeline:** Don’t you dare. I can drive myself. A smirk danced on my lips as I bantered back, feeling momentarily lightened by our exchanges. My brother cared—so much it almost stung. **Evander:** Isaac or I cancel my meetings and come myself. Muttering his words in a feeble imitation, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of mock irritation. **Emmeline:** I hope your business fails. **Evander:** Me, too. Then I’d have all day to cater to your every need. In fact, I might just quit now so I can do that for the rest of my life. Thanks, sis—you’ve just given me the best idea. **Emmeline:** Isaac it is. We both know if you tried to spend that much time with me, I’d end up in jail for murder. **Evander:** You’d cry if I got blood on you. I’m not concerned for my death, little star. **Emmeline:** Dick. **Evander:** Isaac’s leaving now to come get you. A grin tugged at my lips, warmth radiating through me despite the shadows looming large over my heart. Even when apart, my brother managed to coax a smile from me. What a gift he was in my life. **Emmeline:** Love you, bro. **Evander:** I love you too, little star. Text me when you’re nearly done, and I’ll make sure Isaac is back to pick you up. Do not over-extend yourself. Do not get too much. Do not carry anything heavy. With an exaggerated roll of my eyes, I tossed my phone onto my makeshift nest as he continued to send threats and rules like a worried mother hen, indifferent to the disarray my little act of defiance had wrought. Let it bounce—I was too worn out, too weak to care, and somehow, there was a catharsis in that recklessness. The previous days in the hospital had been nothing short of hell; mere survival had been my sole goal. The doctors had reluctantly released me, knowing that I could maintain fluids, yet still faced the harsh reality of adapting my body to the unforgiving role ahead. Evander didn’t want me navigating this journey alone; he yearned to be the uncle who could offer support. Yet, a part of me felt the crushing weight of guilt and trepidation. His reminders echoed incessantly, a soundtrack of doubt reminding me of the fragility of my situation. “Excuse me, can you help me, please?” A male voice cut sharply through my reverie, drawing me away from the products I had been half-heartedly inspecting. I straightened slowly, feeling a fresh wave of dizziness wash over me. Isaac had dropped me off at the store about half an hour prior, but it hadn’t taken long for me to realize his concern masked a deeper connection to Evander’s worry. He had left the moment I’d nearly succumbed to nausea, overwhelmed by his intoxicating scent. Inside the store, the fluorescent lights assaulted my senses, too bright and too loud; the sterility of the environment felt invasive. Each step I took sent faint ripples of pain through my joints. Everything screamed discomfort as I maneuvered through the aisles—the tang of artificial lemon bleach battling with the comforting, flaky aroma of fresh-baked goods. My scent glands ached for something familiar in this cacophony, but I was too weak to advocate for myself. At least, here in the stationery aisle, I could allow myself a brief reprieve. “Which of these looks better?” I heard again, a question piercing my haze of uncertainty. Drawn by an unseen force, my gaze shifted to the end of the aisle, landing on a striking figure—a tall man clad in a long brown coat and Italian leather loafers, clearly out of place amidst the grocery crowd. There was something about his presence that captivated me, even as I failed to fully take in his face. “I don’t know, sir,” the shop assistant replied with a bored yawn, turning back to the shelves. “You might know more if you paid attention to what I was showing you,” the intriguing man muttered with a hint of annoyance and swagger as he moved back toward the planners. In that moment, something within my omega stirred. Maybe it was the thrill of recognition clouded by my own state of vulnerability. I called out, unable to stifle the push of confidence within me, “Do you need help?” He turned sharply toward me, and I froze, the realization crashing over me in waves. My breath hitched. There he was—Oscar Remington, CFO of Opus Media, and quite embarrassingly, the star of too many of my fantasies before everything spiraled out of control. His piercing grey eyes met mine, a familiar intensity sparking recognition. "What department? You're pretty, but far too short to be a model," he remarked bluntly, his words sending a mix of surprise and bewilderment through me. When had he ever looked at me so closely, so boldly? I swallowed hard to suppress a grin. “I work at Opus Media. We’ve crossed paths a few times.” The fluorescence above flickered dramatically as Oscar’s gaze scrutinized me like I was a complex equation he needed to solve. “You’ve recently been promoted to Creative Operations—£70k a year, not bad for someone at your skill level, but you could’ve negotiated higher.” His unwavering confidence brought a frown to my lips. “You know my salary?” “I’m the CFO. It’s my job to know the numbers,” he replied, shrugging as if that bit of corporate knowledge was as commonplace as sipping coffee. “Oh, clearly,” I said, sarcasm coating each word as I acknowledged the awkwardness of this encounter. “Do you shop here?” he asked, his attention drifting to my shopping cart. “Clearly.” As if on cue, he seized my trolley and altered our course, sliding the bag meant for his sister onto the front. “I feel since you’ve helped me, I should help you.” A flutter of my heart sent adrenaline coursing through me, but I couldn’t allow it. “That’s just—no. You really don’t have to.” Yet, he tightened his grip on the trolley, a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Where to, Emmeline?” Unable to fight the undeniable impulse to surrender, I found myself directing him to the bakery aisle, every step forward feeling both exhilarating and confounding. The presence of an alpha at my side felt strange but reassuring as he matched my pace, moving fluidly and instinctively in sync with me. With each question Oscar posed, I felt my tension unwind; I allowed myself to relish this connection blossoming within the confines of mundane grocery shopping. For the first time in days, the oppressive weight of loneliness began to lift, making room for something hopeful to flourish. Even though I wasn’t ready—and despite the mountains of complications lying ahead—this unexpected bond, fraught with tension and possibility, awakened a flicker of something I thought I'd long buried. I let myself dream of moments filled with ease and acceptance, even if only for a brief, stolen second.