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"Think she'll actually show up?" Theo asks as we pull into our driveway.

"She'll be there," Felix says with quiet certainty that carries the weight of prophecy. "She's stronger than she thinks she is. She just needed alphas strong enough to remind her."

I hope he's right. Seraphina deserves a chance at happiness, at connection, at remembering what it feels like to be protected and valued and claimed by people who understand her worth.

But even if she doesn't come to the ball, even if fear or guilt convinces her to hide again, we've planted a seed. We've shown her that there are alphas willing to fight for her, that isolation isn't her only option.

Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes that's everything.

Later that evening, as I'm getting ready for bed, I can't shake the feeling that today was the first move in a game I haven't fully understood yet. Not just because we might have convinced Seraphina to attend the ball, though that success feels like claiming territory that's been disputed for too long.

As I settle into bed, staring up at the ceiling of the room Felix designed to catch the morning light just right, I find myself thinking about fate and coincidence and the inevitable ways that alphas claim what belongs to them.

This year is going to be different. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my alpha instincts are already preparing for something significant.

I just hope everyone else is ready for what's coming.

Because ready or not, some things are inevitable. And three alphas who've learned to hunt together are a force that very few things can resist.

The ball is going to be perfect. And after that, everything else will fall into place exactly the way it's supposed to.

The way I'm going to make sure it does.

7

BELLE

It's that time of day again. I set up a different display on the corner, so when Adam returns from the bathroom, it's all ready. I topped up on my suppressants as I headed to the back to get the chocolate muffins. I really outdid myself last night when I made Choc-o-pan, and the thing which took all of my time, Adam’s all time favorite too. It's something I can nail sometimes, but when it goes wrong, it's absolutely horrible. I'm pretty proud of the way they turned out, considering I baked eight and four made it to this afternoon. Adam's lucky these four made it here.

Last night, I was nervous. Today, even worse. So I did what I usually do. When I'm nervous, I tend to bake something spectacular, something that will take me until the end of the night. After cleaning everything up, all I do is curl up in bed and sleep.

“You received an invite and you never told me," Adam says as he pinches me, his fingers finding the soft flesh of my upper arm with surprising accuracy.

"Ouch, that hurt!" I yelp, pulling away and rubbing the spot where his fingers made contact. The sting is sharp but brief, more shocking than painful.

"Good!" he snaps, his usually gentle demeanor crackling with betrayal. His dark eyes flash with hurt, and for a moment he looks like he's about to turn around and storm away out of here. The tension radiates from his normally relaxed shoulders, making him appear taller and more imposing than usual.

When I see that wounded expression cross his features, it’s the same look he used to get when kids would tease him about his stutter in elementary school. I do the one thing that I know Adam can't resist, the weapon I've been perfecting for years.

"Chocolate fondant!" he exclaims, eyes widening as he clasps his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his voice as it echoes faintly through the quiet corners of the library. The sound bounces off the tall Victorian windows and gets absorbed by the thousands of books surrounding us.

Anger evaporates like morning mist as excitement flushes across the round face, soft around the edges in that trusting way. Hesitation makes those large, capable hands which have been shaped by years of heavy books and library ladders. They hover over the plate like it might disappear.

I set the perfectly crafted chocolate fondant down in front of him with a knowing smile, watching as his pupils dilate slightly at the sight of the dark, glossy exterior that promises molten chocolate inside. Then I add the finishing touch, the detail that I know will completely destroy his resolve.

"Lavender ice cream," I say softly, placing the small scoop beside the warm cake with theatrical precision.

He lets out a low, dramatic gasp, like he's just been handed the crown jewels. "You didn't."

I nod, feeling a surge of satisfaction as his grin stretches so wide it nearly closes his eyes, transforming his face from hurt to pure joy in the space of a heartbeat.

Just then, the familiar creak of the library's heavy oak door signals someone entering. We both glance up simultaneously,our heads turning toward the sound like synchronized dancers. It's Marissa from circulation, wrapped in a soft lavender cardigan that stretches over her seven-month pregnant belly, moving with that particular careful grace that expectant mothers develop. She's scanning the room with the focused intensity of a bloodhound, her nose practically twitching as she follows the scent of sugar and chocolate that wafts from our table.

Adam stiffens slightly, his protective instincts kicking in as he recognizes a potential threat to his dessert. He leans toward me and whispers behind his hand, his breath warm against my ear, "I'm not sharing with her."

It's as if he remembers why he pinched me in the first place. "Lady Inkwell. I had to find out fromherthat you had an invite. Really, Belle? After all we've been through. Bullies at school. My parents. Okay, my Mum trying to match us..."

It's as if at that point I remember that the bullies were nothing compared to Adam's mom forcing us to get together. She was convinced that I was an omega and had found a couple of packs, then invited them all to dinner one night. Let's just say a room full of ten alphas at a dinner table was never a good idea.