(Evelyn's POV)

Lucian had never once invited me to a Thornwood Pack event.

Three years. Not a single formal dinner, not one public appearance. I was the woman who kept his life running smoothly from behind closed doors - the one who was never introduced, never acknowledged, never named.

So when his call came that afternoon, I almost didn't answer.

"The charity gala tonight." His voice was flat, businesslike. "Come. I need you to entertain some guests from the Southern Territory. They brought their partners. Someone needs to keep them company."

Not an invitation. An assignment.

"Of course," I said.

I hung up and opened my wardrobe.

All the way in the back, behind three years of deep navy and charcoal grey and muted black, I found it. Red. A deep, rich crimson that caught the light like a live coal. Fitted through the waist, floor-length, with a neckline that was elegant without apology.

I'd bought it before I ever met Lucian. Back when my wardrobe was full of colors like this - red, fuchsia, wine, the bolder the better.

Then one evening, maybe six months in, Lucian had glanced at a photo of me from before and said, almost as an afterthought, "Women with restraint are more refined."

I'd packed every bright dress into the back of the closet the following week.

Last night, I'd taken the scissors and cut out every tag.

I put on the red dress.

The gala was already in full swing when I arrived. The foyer of Thornwood Pack's main hall glittered with chandeliers and the low hum of polished conversation. Core pack members clustered in familiar constellations - Betas and their mates, senior advisors, business allies.

I found the Southern Territory guests exactly where Lucian said they'd be. I introduced myself, smiled at the right moments, guided their partners through the exhibition wing, explained the charity auction pieces with just enough detail to seem knowledgeable without being tedious.

Lucian appeared at my elbow twenty minutes later. He looked at me and his brow drew together.

"Why are you wearing that color?" he said, low enough that only I could hear. "It's too loud."

Around us, a cluster of senior pack members were exchanging pleasantries. They all turned their gazes toward him, and he immediately shut his mouth.

I smiled pleasantly at the nearest elder and said nothing.

The formal dinner began.

Everyone filed into the main hall, preparing to take their seats for the meal. I led the guests from the Southern Territory to their places.

Just then Lucian walked in, with a woman on his arm.

The woman beside him had soft brown hair and doe-like eyes and the particular kind of delicate appearance that made people instinctively want to protect her.

Lucian's hand rested at the small of her back as he guided her toward the head table. The Alpha family's table. He pulled out a chair for her.

The Luna's chair.

I had been in this pack for three years and I had never once sat at that table.

I stopped awkwardly in my tracks as I walked toward the main table. Thornwood Pack's Beta appeared at my side a moment later, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of acute discomfort.

"Miss Storm," he started, "about your seating arrangement-"

"It's fine," I said. "I'll find somewhere."

I spared him the awkwardness and crossed the room to a secondary table near the exit. Comfortable enough. Good sightlines. Easy to leave from.

Around me, the whispers began almost immediately.

"Who is that woman with Lucian?"

"Celeste. Celeste Wade. His first love, apparently."

"She's back? Then what about-" A pause. "What about Evelyn?"

"Evelyn who? She was never formally introduced. She doesn't really count, does she?"

I picked up my water glass and took a slow, measured sip. Zoe was very still inside me.

The dinner courses came and went. I ate. I made polite conversation with the people at my table, none of whom I knew well, all of whom were pleasant enough. I laughed at the right moments. I did not look at the head table more than twice.

At the intermission, I slipped into the corridor that connected the main hall to the garden terrace. I needed two minutes of silence.

I didn't get them.

She was already there, waiting.

Celeste Wade stood in the corridor with her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression arranged into something warm and curious and just slightly pitying.

"You must be Evelyn." Her voice was soft. Practiced. "Lucian has mentioned you."

I stopped walking.

"He says you've helped him with so much." She tilted her head, the picture of gentle sincerity. "All the day-to-day things. Managing the household, the schedules. He said you were very..." She paused, as if searching for precisely the right word. "Attentive."

Attentive.

The way she said it, it landed like a compliment for a particularly capable housekeeper.

"I'm glad he noticed," I said.

Celeste reached into her small clutch and produced her phone. She turned the screen toward me. An old photograph - her and Lucian, years ago, somewhere warm and sun-drenched.

"Has anyone ever told you?" She smiled. "We actually look a little alike. Isn't that interesting?" She tilted her head again. "Lucian must just have a type."

I looked at the photo.

Then I looked at her.

I let my gaze move over her the way I would review evidence - methodically, without hurry. She was pretty. Soft features, gentle eyes, the kind of face that photographed well.

She was also half a head shorter than me. Narrower through the shoulders. Rounder in the jaw.

I raised my eyes to meet hers directly.

"Like each other?" I said. "Miss Wade, I don't mean to be unkind, but I'm half a head taller than you, I have sharper bone structure, and I've been told my features are considerably more defined." I kept my voice light, almost conversational. "If Lucian has a type, then by your own logic, what he has in front of him right now is an upgrade."

"Put away that hypocritical expression of yours. We both know exactly what's going on." Celeste's face changed as she realized I was a tough nut to crack.

I let the pause sit for exactly one beat.

"You might want to think carefully," I added, "about which one of us is actually the stand-in."