Daddy Alpha, I’m Burning For You

The hotel room in Barcelona smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and the faint salt of the sea drifting through the cracked window. Evelyn Hart sat on the edge of the unmade bed, staring at the half-packed suitcase on the floor. She had been sitting there for twenty minutes, maybe longer. The clothes inside were arranged with care—not the kind of care that came from habit, but the kind that came from planning. She had laid out three swimsuits, two casual dresses, one white linen shirt, and at the very bottom, folded with deliberate precision, a black evening gown that she had bought specifically for this trip.

She told herself she could still cancel. She could call Vivian and say she had food poisoning, or a family emergency, or that she simply changed her mind. It would be easy. Vivian would be disappointed, but Vivian always forgave quickly. And then Evelyn would go back to her ordinary life, to her art history textbooks and her part-time job at the gallery, and the memory of Adrian Blackwood would slowly fade into what it should have always been: a silly, impossible crush.

But she didn't reach for her phone. Instead, she stood up and walked to the mirror above the dresser.

The girl looking back at her was eighteen. She had dark hair that fell past her shoulders, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that people often called "observant" because they didn't want to say "intense." She wore a simple gray T-shirt and jeans, but she knew that in an hour she would change into something more deliberate. She had already practiced the way she would smile when she saw him—not too wide, not too eager, just enough to seem natural.

You're being ridiculous, she told herself. He's your best friend's father. He's forty-three. He probably doesn't even remember your name half the time.

But she knew that wasn't true. She remembered exactly the moment everything changed.

It had been a year ago, at Vivian's family estate in the countryside. A summer party, the kind the Blackwoods threw every August. Evelyn had been invited as Vivian's guest, and she had spent most of the afternoon helping Vivian set up decorations by the pool. The sun had been brutal, and eventually Evelyn had retreated into the shade of the veranda, fanning herself with a napkin.

That was when Adrian had walked out of the pool.

He hadn't been showing off. He hadn't even known anyone was watching. He had simply climbed out, water streaming down his shoulders and chest, and reached for a towel on a nearby chair. His movements were efficient, unhurried—the kind of efficiency that came from years of being in control of everything around him. His dark hair was plastered back, and for a moment he had tilted his head toward the sun, closing his eyes, looking almost peaceful.

Evelyn had felt something crack open inside her chest.

She had known Adrian Blackwood for years. He was Vivian's father, the imposing Alpha who ran a business empire and spoke in a voice that made people sit up straighter. She had always respected him, even been a little afraid of him. But in that moment, she had seen him as something else entirely—a man, not just a father or a CEO. A man with a body that looked like it had been carved by someone who understood exactly what they were doing.

She had dropped her napkin. He had opened his eyes and glanced her way, and for one terrible, wonderful second, their gazes had met. He didn't smile. He didn't acknowledge her with anything more than a brief nod. But Evelyn had felt the weight of that look like a physical touch.

From that day on, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

She had tried, of course. She had gone on dates with boys her age, had thrown herself into her studies, had even considered transferring to a university on the other side of the country. But nothing worked. Every time she saw Vivian, every time she heard Adrian's name mentioned in passing, the feeling came roaring back. It wasn't just attraction anymore. It was obsession.

And now she was about to spend ten days on a yacht with him.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering her thoughts. The screen lit up with Vivian's name and a photo of the two of them at a beach last summer, both laughing, their faces flushed with sun and cheap wine.

Evelyn took a breath and answered. "Hey."

"Ev! Are you ready? Tell me you're ready. I'm already at the marina and it's insane. The yacht is so much bigger than I remembered. Dad had it upgraded, apparently, because he's ridiculous and can't just leave things alone. There's like, a hot tub and a cinema room and—" Vivian's voice was a bright, breathless stream, the kind that made everyone around her feel like they were being pulled into a happy current.

"I'm almost ready," Evelyn said. "Just packing the last few things."

"Almost? Ev, the boat leaves in three hours. I told you to pack yesterday."

"I know, I know. I got distracted." That was true, in a way. She had gotten distracted by the endless loop of scenarios running through her head—scenarios in which she ran into Adrian on deck at sunset, or he asked her to join him for a drink, or he finally looked at her the way she had always secretly wanted him to.

"Well, hurry up," Vivian said. "Oh, and I got you the best room. It's right next to Dad's suite, which, I know, sounds weird, but it's actually the nicest one after his. You'll have a balcony and everything."

Evelyn's hand tightened on the phone. "Next to his?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, he's barely ever in his room. He spends all his time working or staring dramatically at the horizon. You know how he is." Vivian laughed. "Anyway, I figured you'd appreciate the privacy. The other rooms are all clustered together with the rest of the group, and you're more of a 'needs quiet time' person."

Evelyn forced her voice to stay steady. "That's... nice of you. Thanks, Viv."

"Obviously! What are friends for? Okay, I have to go—Noah is waving at me from the dock. Text me when you're in the taxi!"

"Will do."

"Love you!"

"Love you too."

Evelyn hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment. Her heart was pounding. Next to his suite. Vivian had unknowingly put her right next to him, in a space where she would hear every door closing, every footstep, every late-night phone call.

She set the phone down and returned to her suitcase.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the top layer of clothes—the plain shorts and T-shirts, the practical linen dresses—and set them aside on the bed. Underneath lay the items she had chosen with far more intention: a black bikini that she had never worn in public, a silk slip dress the color of wine, and the black evening gown with the deep neckline that she had bought from a vintage store three months ago, telling herself it was for "formal occasions."

She packed them all carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles, then added a few more items that seemed ordinary but were carefully selected: a white cotton sundress that she knew looked particularly good on her, a pair of delicate gold earrings that caught the light, and a thin scarf that she could drape around her shoulders to seem effortlessly elegant.

Then she closed the suitcase, zipped it, and sat on it to compress the contents.

She looked in the mirror again. This time, she tried on the expression she would use when she saw Adrian for the first time. Not too eager. Not too calculated. Just a natural, pleasant smile.

But her reflection looked like someone who was planning something dangerous.

It's just a trip, she told herself. You're just going to be on a boat for ten days. You can keep yourself under control. You're not going to do anything stupid.

She didn't believe herself.

The taxi ride to the marina was a blur of sunny streets, palm trees, and the occasional glimpse of blue water between buildings. Evelyn sat in the back seat, her suitcase wedged beside her, and watched the city slide by. Her stomach churned with nerves, but underneath the nerves was something else—an electric anticipation that made her fingers tingle.

She had prepared for this. She had thought about every possible scenario, every way the conversation could go, every expression she might see on his face. She knew that he was a man who valued control, who hated surprises, who built his life around order and predictability. She also knew that he was a man who had looked at her on that summer day with something that wasn't quite indifference.

Maybe she was reading too much into a single glance. Maybe she was just a teenager with a crush and a talent for self-delusion.

But she had to know.

The taxi pulled into the marina, and Evelyn paid the driver with trembling hands. She stepped out onto the sun-baked concrete and immediately saw the yacht—a massive white vessel that gleamed against the blue water like a private planet. It was even more impressive than she had imagined, with multiple decks, sleek lines, and a name in gold letters across the stern: Blackwood's Legacy.

And standing near the gangway, talking to a uniformed crew member, was Adrian.

He hadn't noticed her yet. He was dressed in a simple navy polo and dark trousers, the kind of clothes that looked expensive without trying. His posture was straight, his shoulders broad, and even from this distance Evelyn could see the way he commanded attention—the way the crew member nodded attentively, the way other people on the dock glanced his way and then quickly looked down.

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat.

She picked up her suitcase and started walking toward him, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure everyone around her could hear it. She practiced her smile, her pace, the way she would hold her shoulders. She tried to look like she belonged, like she was just another guest arriving for a vacation.

But inside, she was screaming.

This is it, she thought. This is the moment.

Adrian turned slightly, and his eyes found her.

For just a second, his expression didn't change. He was looking at her the way he looked at anyone—assessing, measuring, filing her away under a mental category. But then something flickered in his gaze. A pause. A tightening of his jaw.

He recognized her.

And Evelyn knew, with a certainty that felt like both triumph and terror, that this trip was never going to be just a vacation.