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Adam Fletcher has been invited to the ball, and nothing will ever be the same again.

2

THE WILLOWBROOK CHRONICLE

Darlings,

Lady Inkwell has been observing the mostfascinatingdevelopments regarding one Mr. Adam Fletcher—you know, that quiet young man who haunts our public library like some sort of literary ghost.

Word has reached my ears that our seemingly unremarkable Mr. Fletcher has received one of those coveted golden invitations to the annual Masquerade Ball at Thornfield Palace. How absolutelyunexpectedthat such an unassuming figure should find himself selected for this most exclusive of gatherings.

But here's where our little tale becomes trulyintriguing, darlings: Reliable sources whisper that Mr. Fletcher, a man who reportedly turns pink at the mere mention of social gatherings has been spotted about town engaged in what can only be described as... preparation. Practice conversations with unknown parties, consultations regarding proper attire, and what my sources describe as "nervous pacing" outside the local boutiques.

It was most uncharacteristic behavior for a beta whose idea of excitement is apparently alphabetizing his music library.

The speculation running through our little town's gossip networks is positivelydelicious: Will our retiring librarian surprise us all by attending this legendary ball? And more tantalizing still, might there be some secret arrangement, some hidden understanding with a companion yet to be revealed?

After all, darlings, even the most bookish among us must occasionally venture beyond the safety of their literary sanctuaries. Perhaps Mr. Fletcher harbors deeper waters than his mild exterior suggests.

Lady Inkwell shall be watching the developments with great interest. Sometimes the most unexpected players create the most entertaining drama.

Yours in delighted speculation,

Lady Inkwell

P.S. - One does hope that if our dear Mr. Fletcher has indeed secured a companion for this venture, she proves worthy of such a momentous occasion. First impressions at a Destiny Ball are, after all, rather permanent.

3

THEO

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Main Street as we leave the courthouse, where Felix just spent two hours trying to explain to the historical society why their cheap renovation ideas would totally wreck a building that's been perfectly fine for over a hundred years. His jaw is still locked showing his frustration, and Marcus isn't much better. He's not good at hiding his emotions, neither of us are, which is why we're known as the beastly pack of town. It's good, it means that people take us seriously, and we're good at our jobs. Marcus runs the biggest construction company in three counties, Felix handles all the architecture and restoration work, and I'm head of security for everything we build.

We've been a pack for five years now, ever since we all ended up in this small town for different reasons and realized we fit together perfectly. Three alphas without an omega, which makes us restless and probably more intimidating than we mean to be. Most packs our size have found their omega by now, but we're still waiting. Still hoping.

Right now, I can see Mrs. Henderson duck behind her café window the second she spots us, and the Miller family literally crosses to the other side of the street to avoid walking past us.People are scared of us, and honestly, I get it. There's something about three big alphas walking together that makes everyone nervous, like we're trouble waiting to happen.

"Fucking cowards," Marcus mutters under his breath, noticing the same avoidance we both see. He's always been good at reading people, probably comes from running a business, though he doesn't really care what most people think of us anyway. At six foot four, Marcus has broad shoulders and the kind of build that comes from actually working construction instead of just managing it. His dark hair and sharp jawline don't help with the intimidation factor.

"Better than fake smiles," I counter as we keep walking down Main. Military training taught me to read people and situations, but five years in Willowbrook has taught me something different: how small town politics actually work. "At least we know where we stand."

"Which is apparently that we're the scary guys," Felix adds, his Italian accent thicker when he's annoyed. "Though, it's kind of nice. No one bothers us while we work." Felix is the pretty one of our pack, if you can call someone pretty when they're six foot two and built like they could throw you through a wall. His olive skin and green eyes might look friendly on someone else, but combined with his size, even his smiles seem dangerous.

We're getting close to the library now, the big old Victorian building that Felix has been working on. Through the tall windows, I can see people inside. The afternoon light makes everything look warm and cozy in there.

I know I'm not helping our reputation either. Years in the military left me with scars and the kind of watchful look that makes people nervous. At six foot three, I'm the middle height of our pack, but my blond hair and blue eyes don't make me look any friendlier when I'm constantly checking for trouble.

"Wait," I say, my attention caught by something in the library.

There they are: Belle Hartwell and Adam Chen. The librarians doing their usual afternoon chocolate thing. I've noticed this routine every time we walk past that they always sit in the same corner like it's their private spot, the way Belle gets all animated when she's talking, how Adam just listens and nods along.

But today, watching from out here, something feels off.

"What are we looking at?" Marcus asks, following where I'm staring.

"Those two," I say, pointing toward the window. "Belle and Adam. Look at how they're sitting."

Felix steps closer to get a better view, automatically checking out their body language. "They're sitting across from each other, not next to each other. Keeping their distance even though they have the whole corner to themselves."