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"Living in your mother's basement negates any potential comic book investment returns," I point out.

"Fair enough," Adam concedes. "Though technically, I live in my parents' backyard, so I'm not sure I have room to judge basement dwellers."

Adam always finds humor in situations that would send other people into spirals of self-doubt. His family's wealth could have made him entitled or out of touch, but instead it seems to have given him a different perspective about what actually matters.

"Your situation is completely different," I tell him firmly. "You have your own space, your own entrance, and your own life. You just happen to share ten acres with people who love you enough to want you nearby."

"And you," Adam says quietly, "have created an entire life from nothing, supporting yourself completely, building a career that actually helps people. That's not something everyone could do, Belle."

"Anyway," I say, clearing my throat and steering us back to safer territory, "we need to figure out what we're doing about these invitations."

"Right. The mysterious golden ticket to the social event of the decade." Adam pulls his invitation from his jacket pocket, studying it in the dim light. "I still can't believe we both got them."

"Have you told your parents yet?"

"God, no. Can you imagine? Mom would immediately assume this means I'm finally ready to 'settle down and give her grandchildren.' She'd probably have my formal wear tailored and a pre-written wedding announcement ready before I could explain that I'm terrified of going to the ball."

I can picture Mrs. Chen's reaction perfectly.

"Or worse than that," I say, covering my face with my hands. "Your mom would start planning the wedding immediately. But not just the wedding, the pre-gender reveal parties for her future grandchildren before you've come back from the ball!"

"Pre-gender reveal parties?" Adam stares at me. "That's actually terrifying."

"She'd invite the whole town and your extended family. Cousins you haven't seen since you were twelve would suddenly be getting save-the-dates. The local hotels would be even more packed than they are when the ball is on!" I gesture wildly. "She'd probably book the community center for six months straight and start interviewing caterers before we even figured out if we actually like each other romantically, once youtellher that we're going together as a couple!"

"Stop," Adam holds up a hand, looking genuinely panicked. "You're giving me actual anxiety. I can see her measuring the main house's spare rooms for nurseries."

"Spare rooms? Plural? Oh, Adam, she'd have the whole house mapped out. This room for the first baby, that room for thesecond, maybe convert the office for twins because 'you never know, and it's better to be prepared.'"

"She'd probably start knitting baby blankets on the drive home from the ball.” Adam's eyes widen.

"Baby blankets? She'd have entire wardrobes completed by Sunday. Color-coded by gender because she'd want to be ready for any possibility. Plus matching outfits for family photos she's already planning to take at Christmas."

We stare at each other in mutual terror.

"Maybe we should just tell her we're going as friends," Adam suggests weakly.

"She'd interpret 'going as friends' as 'in denial about their obvious romantic destiny' and triple her efforts."

"What about you?" Adam asks. "Have you told anyone?"

"Who would I tell? The plants in my apartment? Everyone in town knows thanks to Lady Inkwell and Mrs. Henderson.”

“You could have told me when you found the invitation," Adam says gently, reminding me that I do have one friend. One person to talk to, and I didn’t tell him first. “You didn't have to carry this around alone, Belle."

There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more closely. In the soft light filtering through the library windows, Adam looks older than usual, more serious. Like he's thinking about things beyond our immediate conversation.

"I was scared," I admit. "Still am, honestly."

"Scared of what?"

How do I explain that I'm terrified of being exposed, of having my carefully constructed facade stripped away in front of strangers who might not understand or accept what I really am? How do I tell Adam that the ball's reputation for perfect matching terrifies me because it might force me to confront truths I've been avoiding for over a year?

"Scared of... expectations, I guess. The ball has this reputation for changing people's lives, for facilitating perfect matches. What if I'm not ready for that kind of change? What if I don't want my life to be different?" I ask, and my heart races with every question.

It's partially true, though not the whole truth. My life as it is feels safe, manageable, under my control. The unknown variables that come with the ball, the alphas, the matching ceremonies, the possibility of exposure represent everything I've been trying to avoid.

"But maybe," Adam says thoughtfully, "change isn't always bad. Maybe some things need to change for us to be truly happy."