In the hours before dinner, the house stayed hushed, each tick of the clock tightening the knot in her stomach like a soldier waiting for the signal. Elena stepped back into her suite and spotted a dress spread across the bed, its fabric catching a sliver of afternoon light. It wasn't there earlier; the spot was empty, like a table cleared after dinner. Seeing it—that quiet, presumptuous gesture—lit a quick spark of her old anger, sharp as the snap of dry twigs.safeThe dress showed his sharp eye for style and hinted at what he meant to do, its deep green catching the light like leaves after rain. The floor-length gown swept the ground, its heavy silk the color of deep ocean water catching the light like a midnight sky. The cut looked plain enough—long sleeves, a high neck—but the fit traced every curve like a whisper, suggesting the shape beneath while keeping it hidden. The dress carried a quiet power, an easy elegance, and the kind of presence that claimed the room the moment she stepped in. The dress belonged to a queen, heavy with deep crimson silk that caught the light. She stepped inside, cool silk whispering over her skin, and the woman staring back from the mirror felt like someone she'd never met. She carried herself with quiet grace, every movement smooth, as if she'd stepped straight from a palace of glass and steel where the light always caught on polished floors. For a moment, Elena's chest tightened with grief for the girl in scuffed, dirt-speckled sneakers. Then she steeled herself, the way you might grip a cold doorknob on a winter morning. That girl had been hurt, her hands still trembling. The woman staring back at her—a stranger with steady eyes—was a spy. She wore this dress every day, the fabric soft from countless washes. Damien showed up at her door right at eight, then froze on the threshold, one hand still hanging in the cool night air. His golden eyes lingered on her, tracing from the crown of her head down to the gown's hem, and a deep, warm rumble rose from his chest. His gaze burned with a raw, possessive hunger that seemed to press against her skin like warm fingertips. He stepped out in a perfectly cut black suit, and beside him, they seemed every inch a king with his queen, a dark prince claiming his prize."You are… breathtaking," he said, his voice a low growl. "You are… breathtaking," he murmured, his voice rough like gravel in the dark."They are waiting."
Her hand felt small and fragile as she placed it on the hard muscle of his forearm. He held out his arm, warm through the sleeve, for her to take. They waited, and her small, fragile hand rested on the solid curve of his forearm. She followed as he guided her out of the suite and into a formal dining room, its long table gleaming under a crystal chandelier she'd never noticed before. A sleek obsidian table stretched out for five, its surface glinting with silver and crystal beneath a modern chandelier that glittered like a skyful of trapped stars. Three people stood waiting, and the low murmur of voices died the instant they stepped inside. She spotted Marcus, and he answered with a small nod, the kind you might give in a quiet library. The other two were fresh faces, still figuring out where to stand."My inner circle," Damien announced, his voice filling the room with authority. A tall woman with a mane of fiery red hair and ice-blue eyes fixed her with a look that could cut glass."My Beta, Marcus, whom you've met. The other was an older man, silver hair catching the light, his face sharp with intelligence and a polite smile that never touched the cool, measuring gaze in his eyes."My inner circle," Damien said, his voice ringing through the room like a struck bell. His hand slid from her arm to the small of her back, firm and sure, steering her as if down a narrow path. You've met my Beta, Marcus—the one with the steady gaze. Anya—our head of security and the one who makes trouble vanish with a single sharp look."And my chief counsel, Elias." Elena nodded to each person in turn, offered a quiet greeting, and tucked the names away in her mind like notes in a leather-bound book. Marcus, our steady ally who always shows up when the rain starts. Elias, the politician with a sharp gaze and a voice that carried across the room. Anya—the one who stands across from me, eyes sharp as broken glass. Anya swept her gaze over Elena, cold and sharp as frost, the look daring her to respond. They sat together—Damien at the head, Elena in the place of honor to his right, her fingers resting lightly on the polished oak."The northern territory," Elias mentioned, "has been… uncooperative." "The latest shipment is secure," Anya reported, her eyes flicking to Elena, "despite some... The meal began as silent staff glided in, setting plates down without a word, then slipping away as quietly as candle smoke. The food was exquisite, rich with the scent of fresh herbs, yet Elena hardly noticed a bite."It must be quite an adjustment, Ms. Carter. Every nerve in her body thrummed as she caught the faint shift in voices and the tight pull of tension hanging in the air. They tiptoed through a minefield of pack business, every word wrapped in smooth, polished corporate talk."The northern territory," Elias said, "has been… uncooperative." Anya added, her gaze darting toward Elena, "The latest shipment's safe, though we hit a few… snags."Each remark landed like a challenge, and the quick flick of an eye felt like a verdict."She is certainly beautiful, Alpha," Anya said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness as she addressed Damien, though her cold eyes were fixed on Elena. "It's just a shame, isn't it? Elias asked her a question, his voice soft as velvet but edged with something sharper. That's got to be a big change for you, Ms. Carter."The Alpha's world isn't easy," Elena replied, her voice steady as a cool breeze. Anya was the one who finally cracked the thin veneer of civility, like snapping a brittle twig. She placed her wine glass on the table with a sharp click, and the sudden sound snapped every gaze her way. Her lips curled into a smirk, sharp as a blade."She's certainly beautiful, Alpha," Anya said, her voice honeyed but sharp enough to cut, speaking to Damien while her icy gaze stayed locked on Elena. Such a shame, really—like watching a bright balloon slip into the clouds. She doesn't carry a drop of real blood.