(Evelyn's POV)

The dinner shifted into its open social hour. The Southern Territory guest beside me had been good company all evening - a soft-spoken Omega who studied herbal medicine and had spent the last twenty minutes asking careful, intelligent questions about pack law and contract disputes.

"So if a smaller pack's healer guild signs an exclusivity clause with a larger distributor," she was saying, "they're essentially surrendering their independent sourcing rights entirely?"

"Depends on the wording." I turned my water glass in my fingers. "If the clause specifies 'primary supplier' rather than 'sole supplier,' there's room to negotiate. Most guild representatives don't catch the distinction until it's too late."

She leaned forward, genuinely interested. "That's exactly what happened to our guild three years ago-"

The sound of shattering glass cut through the room.

I looked toward the head table.

Celeste had knocked over her wine glass. Deep red liquid spread across the white tablecloth and ran down the edge of the table, soaking into the champagne-colored fabric of her skirt. She made a small sound - barely a gasp, perfectly pitched - and half the hall turned to look.

Lucian was on his feet before the glass stopped rolling.

He reached past a nearby server and pulled the cloth napkin from the man's arm. Then he crouched down in front of Celeste, one hand raised to shield her knees, the other moving upward along the hem of her skirt, blotting at the wine stain with quick, practiced strokes.

The whole motion took maybe four seconds. It looked like something he'd done before.

Vivienne was already calling for Martha to fetch a spare change of clothes. The entire head table reorganized itself around Celeste like iron filings around a magnet.

"It's nothing, I just slipped." Celeste's voice was soft and apologetic. She rested one hand lightly on Lucian's shoulder. "You don't have to stay down there. You'll get your trousers dirty."

Lucian didn't stand up.

He looked up at her from where he crouched.Anxiety. He was genuinely anxious for her.

Two years ago, at a summer barbecue, a grill rack had tipped over and caught my forearm. I had a burn mark for two weeks. Lucian had handed me a paper napkin and said, "Be more careful."

Now he was kneeling on the floor of a formal gala, blotting wine from another woman's skirt, in front of every senior member of Thornwood Pack.

The woman from the Southern Territory glanced at the head table, then back at me. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

I picked up my sparkling water and took a slow sip.

I excused myself a few minutes later, crossing the hall toward the restrooms. The corridor was quiet, the noise of the gala muffled behind the heavy doors.

I was three steps from the restroom entrance when the voices reached me through the gap in the door.

"- did you see that red dress? What is she trying to prove? Competing with Celeste?" I recognized the first voice. Victoria.

"Competing with what?" A second woman, her tone dismissive. "Fine, she's better-looking. Everyone can see that. But so what? Celeste's family and Thornwood Pack go back generations. Vivienne treats her like a daughter." A pause. "And Evelyn? An Omega with no pack, no family connections. She can't even get into Lucian's inner social circle."

"Pretty face and nothing behind it." A third voice. "Celeste has bloodlines and resources. She could crush her without trying."

"At the end of the day - a substitute is a substitute. Sooner or later, you throw them out."

Laughter.

I pushed open the door.

The hinges made a single quiet sound.

Every voice in the room died instantly, as if someone had pressed a hand over three mouths at once. Victoria was frozen mid-motion, her lipstick hovering an inch from her face. The other two women stood rigid against the counter, the color draining from their cheeks in real time.

I stood in the doorway and let my gaze move from left to right, resting on each face for exactly one second.

"Why did you stop?" I smiled at them. "Are you afraid of me? An Omega with no pack?"

No one answered.

Victoria's lipstick cap slipped from her fingers and clattered against the marble counter, rolling in a small circle before it stopped.

I walked to the mirror. In the mirror, three faces arranged themselves behind mine in a row - pale, rigid, and wearing the exact same expression.

I was just about to speak when the three women started jostling each other toward the side door, none of them willing to stay in that room.

Victoria had experienced my sharp tongue before, and she knew that whatever I said next would cut deeper than anything they had just said.

I didn't pay any more attention to the three of them. After returning to the hall and saying goodbye to the guests from the Southern Territory, I left the banquet.

The next morning, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown number. No message. Just a photo.

I looked at it.

A bed. Lucian and Celeste, both bare from the waist up. His head was buried against her chest. Her fingers were threaded through his hair.

Celeste's face was turned toward the camera. A satisfied smile played across her face.

I looked at the photo for three seconds. Then I locked my screen and set the phone back on the nightstand.

I got up and walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open.

I started folding clothes. I simply reached for the first stack of sweaters and began to work through them methodically, folding each one into a neat square and placing it into the open suitcase on the bed.

The door opened behind me.

Lucian came in wearing last night's shirt and a different pair of trousers. His collar was slightly open. Near the edge of the chin was a faint smudge-a vivid pink lipstick mark.Not my shade.

Below his collarbone, half-hidden by the shirt's open neck, was a bruise. Faint purple. The shirt covered most of it.

He looked at the suitcase on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing." I didn't look up. I picked up a knit cardigan and folded it in half. "I'm going back to the Northern Territory for a few days. To see my father."

He stepped closer. "Little Wolf, stop lying," he said, his voice low and firm. "I know you don't want to go back to see Dad. You're just angry because you're jealous."

Jealousy? I let out a cold laugh. I admit I've harbored such an ugly emotion, but it vanished the moment I saw that nude photo. A bastard who disrespects love-even the moon goddess wouldn't forgive him.

Perhaps he thought he'd said the right thing, so he leaned closer and stroked my hair."You were hurt," he said. "I understand that. So tell me what you want. I'll get it for you." A pause. "Just stop - " he gestured vaguely at the suitcase, at me, at all of it - "doing this."

I finally looked at him. He stood there with a self-satisfied, magnanimous expression on his face, as if he had done me some great favor.

I let out a short, quiet sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

"Keep your gifts," I said. "And spare me the sentiment."

I turned back to the suitcase and reached for the next sweater.

"While we're being honest," I said, smoothing the fabric flat, "why don't you tell me what exactly Celeste is to you."