Chapter 258

Chapter 258
Isabella

Despite Richard's comforting presence and my bone-deep exhaustion, sleep continued to elude me. Kevin's words about my phone being hacked kept replaying in my mind, accompanied by the unsettling question: who would do such a thing? Who could hate me so much that they'd go to such lengths?

I ran through everyone who could possibly have had access to my phone in my mind. The coffee shop staff? Possible, but unlikely. I always locked my phone in my locker during shifts, and I was the only one who knew the combination. Jacob, my unfriendly coworker, might try to mess with me, but he didn't strike me as having enough technical knowledge to install sophisticated spyware. Besides, I'd never given him my phone. He'd never even asked to use it.

What about the staff at Howl? Again, possible but improbable. My phone was usually in my purse behind the bar, and I rarely left it unattended. Besides, most of them barely acknowledged my existence, let alone cared enough about me to stalk me.

The only place I consistently left my phone unattended was at Erotic Paradise, where phones were required to be checked at the entrance to protect privacy—the irony of which didn't escape me now. Privacy, my ass. More like giving that bitch Diana an opportunity to mess with me.

My thoughts circled back to Diana, with her contemptuous glances and barely disguised hatred. She'd disliked me from the moment I walked into the club, before I'd even opened my mouth. Could she be helping the stalker? Or was she the stalker herself?

But why? I wondered, frustration mounting. What the hell had I ever done to her?

The answer came almost immediately: I'd gotten the attention of the three Alphas she obviously craved. I'd seen the way she looked at them, especially Michael. The hunger in her eyes whenever he walked into the club. How she practically undressed him with her eyes, raking her gaze over every inch of his body as if mentally outlining his physique for later fantasies.

If Diana was behind this, her motive would be simple jealousy. She wanted what I had—the attention and protection of three powerful Alphas. And she was willing to go to any lengths to get it. Crazy bitch.

The theory made sense, but something about it felt off. Would Diana really risk losing her job at the club for petty revenge? And did she have the technical skills to install spyware? She didn't strike me as particularly tech-savvy. Then again, she could have had help. Or paid someone.

I woke up between Richard and Michael, feeling disoriented as I lay in the dimly lit bedroom. My body felt wrong—simultaneously hot and cold, as if trapped in a feverish dream. My head ached terribly, and despite the sweat soaking my skin, I couldn't stop shivering with chills.

Through the fog of discomfort, I became aware of my position—one leg draped over Richard's thigh, the other wedged between his legs, while Michael pressed against my back, his arm heavy across my waist. Their body heat was both comforting and suffocating.

Fuck, I felt awful. But I didn't want to move away from them either. What the hell was wrong with me?

Part of me wanted to break free from this heat that seemed to intensify my fever, but another part clung desperately to the security they provided. Even sick as a dog, I pathetically craved their touch, their protection. The contradiction in my own desires was maddening.

The room suddenly tilted, spinning before my eyes like a carnival ride. My stomach lurched violently as a wave of nausea hit me.

Oh shit. I was going to throw up. Fuck fuck fuck.

I disentangled myself from the sleeping Alphas and staggered toward the bathroom, one hand clamped firmly over my mouth. My legs felt like jelly, barely cooperating as I stumbled across the room. I banged into the doorframe before finally making it to the toilet, dropping to my knees just in time as everything in my stomach came up.

I dry-heaved until there was nothing left, then painfully continued to heave as my body still tried to expel whatever was making me feel so wretched. When the spasms finally subsided, I collapsed against the cold marble wall, grateful for its cooling touch against my heated skin.

God, this was humiliating. They would have heard me. They would see me like this—weak, sick, pitiful.

The bathroom continued spinning around me, and I closed my eyes, trying to make it stop.

"Moon goddess, how are you feeling, little wolf?" Richard's deep voice, full of Alpha concern, came from the doorway.

I forced my eyes open to see Richard and Michael standing there, their faces etched with worry. Michael's eyes flashed gold in the dim light, his brow furrowed with concern.

Great. Just fucking great. My vomiting performance had an audience.

"Should I carry you back to bed?" Richard asked, already moving toward me.

I shook my head weakly. "No, not yet. I might throw up again."

Richard nodded, kneeling beside me while Michael crouched on my other side. They gently repositioned me to sit between them, my back against Richard's chest. His hand pressed against my forehead, and I heard him suck in a breath.

"Damn, you're burning up," he murmured anxiously.

"Michael, get me some cold washcloths and water," Richard instructed. Michael immediately left to retrieve the items.

Richard massaged small circles on my wrist, pressing what felt like pressure points. "This helps with nausea," he explained softly. "My mother used to do this when I was sick."

The gentle confession caught me off guard. Richard rarely talked about his family.

He was being so gentle. I didn't deserve to be cared for like this. Especially after being so bitchy to them lately.

My stomach turned again, and I lunged forward, barely making it to the toilet before another violent round of vomiting began. Richard was right there, one hand gathering my hair, the other steadying me.

This was so embarrassing. No one should see me like this, especially him.

When I finished, I leaned back against him, exhausted and mortified. But when I looked up at him, his amber eyes held only concern—no disgust at the sounds I'd made or the mess I'd created.

Why wasn't he repulsed? I was repulsive right now. I was a complete mess.

"Here," he said gently, taking a wet washcloth from Michael who had returned. He wiped my mouth with incredible tenderness, then placed another cool cloth on my forehead. The cooling relief made me sigh.

"Kevin's up too," Michael informed us. "He's brewing some ginger tea that supposedly helps."

"Small sips," Michael instructed as he handed me a glass of water. "Don't upset your stomach again."

I drank cautiously, afraid of triggering another round of vomiting.

Michael returned with a thermometer. "We need to check your temperature."

"Don't worry, it's new," Kevin assured from the doorway, his large frame filling the entrance. He held a steaming mug that smelled strongly of ginger and honey.

Michael placed the thermometer in my mouth, and we waited in silence. When it beeped, he checked it and frowned, showing it to Richard.

"Too high," Richard muttered. "Michael, get the fever reducers from the medicine cabinet."

Richard continued to hold me, his strong arms providing support as I drifted in and out of lucidity. The cold cloths on my forehead were constantly replaced, and they encouraged me to take small sips of water and Kevin's ginger tea.