She was told she was too much for one man. She's exactly right for three.

Alina Torres has been taking suppressants for four years. She's careful. Controlled. She moves into a fourth-floor walkup with a broken elevator and three Alpha neighbors across the hall and tells herself she's fine.

She is not fine.

Eli is the quiet one—cedar and paper, steady hands, an artist who sees too much. Kade is the wall—six-six, tattooed, a firefighter who takes up every room he enters and every inch of the doorframe when he leans. Nate is the one who holds the line—patient, controlled, the kind of Alpha who asks permission and waits until she means it.

The suppressants fail at two in the morning.

Alina doesn't close her door. She opens it. All three of them walk through.

Three Alphas. One Omega who spent four years telling herself she didn't need anyone. A pack bond that forms whether she's ready or not. She's been managing alone for so long she's forgotten what it feels like to be exactly, completely, devastatingly enough.

Why choose? She doesn't have to.