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There's a pause, then a shaky "Yeah."

I push the door open and step inside, taking in the scene before me. Belle is standing in front of the ornate mirror, her rose gold dress soaked with what smells like champagne punch, her carefully styled hair coming loose, her makeup smudged. She looks like she's been through a war, and the defeat in her posture makes something protective and fierce rise in my chest.

"What happened?" I ask, though I can guess. Palace servers, crowded spaces, accidents waiting to happen.

"Someone spilled drinks on me," she says, not meeting my eyes in the mirror. "My dress is ruined, I smell like a fruit bowl, and my date is too busy falling in love to notice I exist."

The bitterness in her voice makes me want to find Adam Chen and have a very pointed conversation about priorities. But that's not what she needs right now.

"The dress isn't ruined," I say, moving closer to assess the damage. "Stained, maybe, but not ruined. And you smell like vanilla and honey with a hint of champagne. Trust me, there are worse combinations."

She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm saying it because it's true." I meet her eyes in the mirror, noting the exhaustion and frustration written across her face. "But more importantly, you look like you could use some air. How about we step outside for a few minutes?"

She turns to face me, and I can see her trying to read my expression behind my mask. "What, now you're reading minds?"

I can't help but grin at the tartness in her voice. Even defeated and covered in fruit punch, Belle Hartwell has attitude."Lucky guess. You have that look people get when they've had enough of crowds and small talk and being polite."

"And you think taking me to the gardens will help? Are we going to discuss the historical significance of roses and the proper pruning techniques for topiary?"

I laugh, genuinely amused by her assumption. "No, Belle. I just want to talk. In fact, we all do."

"We?" She asks.

"Felix and Theo are waiting outside. We thought it might be time for a conversation that's been a long time coming."

I can see the exact moment when understanding hits her, the way her scent shifts from tired resignation to something sharper and more wary.

"All three of you," she says, and it's not a question.

"All three of us."

She's quiet for a long moment, processing this information. "And if I don't want to have this conversation?"

"Then we'll respect that," I say simply. "But Belle, I think you do want to have it. I think you've been waiting for someone to give you answers instead of more questions."

She stares at me for another beat, then nods slowly. "Okay. But Marcus? No more surprises after this. I don't think I can handle any more surprises tonight."

"I'll do my best," I tell her, though I know I can't promise that. The night is far from over, and there are still revelations to come that she's not ready for.

I'm about to offer her my arm when the bathroom door swings open and two women in elaborate gowns enter, chatting animatedly about the evening's events. They stop short when they see me, their conversation cutting off abruptly.

"Excuse me," one of them says, her voice sharp with disapproval. "This is the ladies' room."

"Women only," the other adds firmly, crossing her arms and giving me a look that could freeze fire. "You need to leave."

Heat rises in my cheeks as I realize how this looks—a masked alpha cornering an obviously distressed omega in a bathroom. "I was just—"

"Leaving," the first woman finishes pointedly. "Now."

Belle steps forward slightly, and I can smell the spike of embarrassment in her scent. "It's okay, he was helping me—"

"Honey, we can help you," the second woman says gently, her tone shifting from hostile to protective as she focuses on Belle. "Are you alright? Do you need us to call security?"

"No, really, I'm fine," Belle assures them quickly, but the women are clearly unconvinced.

"Out," the first woman says to me, pointing toward the door with all the authority of someone who's used to being obeyed. "We'll take care of her."