Nova – First Person POV
By the time I got back to my dorm, my heart was still in my throat. Dinner. At the Blackwoods. With the principal. With Damien's family.
Kill me now.
Tessa was already sprawled across my bed like she owned it, flipping through my tiny excuse for a wardrobe. Clothes were flying everywhere. She held up a wrinkled T-shirt with a unicorn on it and made a face like I'd just committed a war crime.
I was glad Serena was out with her friends so she would have another reason to hate me, especially the reason being over a dinner I didn't want to attend.
"Nova. No. Absolutely not. Do you want Damien Blackwood to think you're twelve?"
I groaned and flopped face-first into my pillow. "Who said I care what Damien Blackwood thinks?"
Tessa gasped dramatically, clutching the unicorn shirt to her chest like I'd just said I didn't believe in oxygen. "Excuse me? The Damien Blackwood? One of the hottest guys in school—no, scratch that, the hottest—and you're about to sit at the same dinner table as him. Nova, I'd sell my kidney to be in your shoes right now."
I peeked at her through my hair. "You can have them. My shoes. My spot. My seat at dinner. Hell, take my whole identity."
"Don't joke like that," she scolded, tossing the unicorn shirt aside and pulling out my black skirt. "Ooh. This. Pair it with that white top. Simple but killer. You'll look like 'innocent good girl' with just enough edge."
I groaned again. "Why am I even stressing? The four kings weren't even in school today. You said it yourself, they're probably on some secret mission. That means no Damien. No Kieran. No problem."
Tessa froze mid-pose, holding my skirt in one hand, her grin spreading like wildfire. "Or… it means they'll come back right before dinner. Imagine it, Nova—you walking in, Damien sitting across the table, all broody and mysterious, and you in this outfit? He won't know what hit him."
I sat up and shot her my deadliest glare. "Stop. Right now. I don't like him."
She raised a brow, her smirk knowing. "Uh-huh. Sure. That's why you're practically hyperventilating just at the thought of seeing him."
"I am not hyperventilating," I snapped. "This is… normal breathing. Totally normal." My voice cracked on the last word.
Tessa cackled like she'd just won the lottery.
I buried my face back in the pillow and mumbled, "It's not even about Damien. It's about not embarrassing myself in front of the principal and the Alpha of the pack. Damien doesn't even matter."
"Sweetheart," Tessa said, patting my head like I was a lost puppy, "Damien Blackwood always matters."
I groaned louder.
The next half hour was pure chaos. Tessa threw outfits at me like we were in a fashion montage, except there was no upbeat music, just me panicking over whether my top made me look like a wannabe librarian or a funeral crasher. At one point, she tried to curl my hair, nearly burned my ear, and declared that "pain is beauty."
By the time the principal's driver honked outside, I was a nervous wreck. Tessa fanned me like I was about to faint at my own wedding.
"You'll survive," she promised, grinning. "Just keep reminding yourself: this is history in the making. The first omega to ever eat dinner with the Blackwoods."
"Yeah, history in the making," I muttered. "Or my public execution. Same difference."
Then the knock came—three sharp raps on my door.
The principal herself.
I scrambled to grab my bag, almost tripping on my skirt in the process, and hurried out with her. She didn't waste time with small talk, just ushered me into the sleek black car waiting outside. The leather seats swallowed me whole.
"Breathe, Nova," she said calmly, folding her hands in her lap like this was just another Tuesday. "You don't have to say much tonight. Listen. Learn. Absorb. Leave the rest to me."
Easy for her to say. She wasn't about to walk into Damien Blackwood's house.
The car pulled up to the mansion, and my stomach did a nosedive. The place wasn't just big—it was monstrous. A castle disguised as a modern home, glowing with warm lights and sharp edges, as if the building itself was alive and watching me.
My palms were slick with sweat. My heart thudded so hard I swore the driver could hear it.
And then the front doors opened.
The grand hall stretched before me, chandeliers dripping crystal, marble floors gleaming like mirrors, voices echoing faintly from deeper inside.
My chest tightened. My legs refused to move.
Because all I could think was—
Please, moon goddess. Don't let Damien be here.
The Blackwood mansion wasn't just a house—it was a kingdom carved from stone. Everything about it screamed power. The high-arched ceilings, the gilded frames holding grim-faced ancestors, the massive chandeliers that glittered like cages of ice. I felt small walking behind the principal, like an intruder being escorted through holy ground.
The butler pulled open the double doors to the dining hall, and the air shifted.
At the head of the impossibly long table sat Alpha Blackwood himself. He wasn't just a man—he was presence. Broad shoulders, an aura that made the air thick, eyes as sharp as steel. He didn't even need to speak; the weight of him demanded respect.
On his left sat his wife. Elegant, poised… and somehow suffocating. Her beauty was polished but brittle, like porcelain that might shatter into knives. Her smile was the kind people used at funerals—cold, polite, final.
But it was the girl beside her that made my heart stutter.
She wasn't a child. She was my age. Her dark hair gleamed under the chandelier, her eyes carrying the same storm-gray as Damien's, but sharper, more calculating. And she was looking at me like I'd just stolen her crown.
I quickly noted she looked nothing like Damien, except the gray eyes.
Wait. What?
Damien had a sister? No one had ever mentioned her—not once. I'd heard people whisper he was an only child. So who was she?
My stomach twisted. Great. Another mystery. Another person who already seemed to hate me for simply existing.
"Welcome," Alpha Blackwood's voice rolled through the hall, deep and commanding.
I bowed my head quickly. "Alpha Blackwood."
His gaze was unreadable, his tone neutral. He didn't sneer, didn't soften. Just studied me like I was an equation waiting to be solved.
"Thank you for the invite Alpha Blackwood,"The principal said as she took her seat beside him, slipping into conversation like this was routine. "Your son continues to excel, Alpha. Damien is at the very top of his class—the best the academy has ever had."
My chest tightened. She had to bring him up.
I glanced sideways, and that's when I caught it.
The wife's face faltered. Only for a second. Her smile froze, her fingers tightening around her wine glass, eyes narrowing before smoothing back into their polished veneer.
And the girl—Damien's sister?—snorted. Loud enough to cut.
"Of course. It's always Damien this, Damien that. Doesn't anyone here ever get tired of worshipping him like he's the second coming?"She whispered.
Her words dripped venom.
The air thinned. My head snapped toward her. Did she really just say that?
The Alpha's gaze cut like a blade, landing on her with a weight that should've pinned her to her chair.
The wife's hand brushed against her daughter's arm in a subtle warning, but the girl didn't back down. She rolled her eyes, leaned back, and stabbed a piece of food like it had personally offended her.
The principal didn't miss a beat. "It's rare to see a student with such power and discipline at his age. He was born for greatness."
The wife's mask cracked again. A twitch at her jaw. Nails scraping faint crescents against her glass stem. She hated hearing Damien praised. Hated it.
Why?
I was still trying to piece it together when the Alpha turned his full, heavy attention on me.
"You're a Sinclair."
My throat closed. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
"Yes, Alpha," I managed, my voice trembling.
"Tell me about your family."
My hand shot out for my glass of tea. Anything to stall. Anything to keep my voice steady. But my nerves betrayed me. The glass slipped from my fingers, toppled onto my lap, and drenched my dress in cold tea.
"Fuck!" I yelped before I could stop myself.
The table went dead silent.
The wife's lips curved into the faintest cruel smile, like she'd been waiting for me to fall flat on my face. The girl outright laughed, hand over her mouth, eyes glittering with amusement.
Heat scorched my face. I bolted to my feet, stammering, "Excuse me—I'll just—I need the restroom."
Then I fled, cheeks burning, dignity in tatters.
---
The hallway was mercifully empty. I cornered a maid and whispered for directions to the nearest bathroom. She pointed without expression, and I practically sprinted there, muttering curses under my breath.
The mirror greeted me with my own wrecked reflection. My hair a mess from nerves, my dress stained, my hands trembling as I dabbed frantically with water and paper towels. Some of the tea came out. Most didn't.
I groaned. "Great. Perfect. Couldn't have asked for a better way to impress the Alpha of one of the most powerful packs in the country."
For a moment, I stared at myself. The wide eyes, the flushed cheeks. I didn't look like the girl who had survived every rumor since stepping into this school. I looked like prey.
There was no way I was going back in there. Not like this.
I decided to just find the principal, make some excuse about leaving early, and salvage what little pride I had left.
But as I turned out of the bathroom, something caught my eye.
A door. Slightly ajar.
Normally, I wouldn't care. But light spilled out from inside, warm and soft, and curiosity tugged harder than my good sense. I hesitated—then pushed the door open wider.
The room wasn't like the rest of the house. It wasn't polished or cold. It was alive. Canvases lined the walls, some finished, some half-done. Bold strokes, messy edges, colors that screamed emotions no words could hold.
I stepped inside, breath catching.
One painting in particular pulled me forward. Abstract, dark, chaotic… but there was something about it that felt familiar. Like I'd seen it before, somewhere deep in the marrow of me.
My hand lifted unconsciously, fingers hovering just shy of the paint.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Sharp. Familiar.
"What are you doing here?"
I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Damien.