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I look at Belle, trying to communicate with my eyes that this conversation isn't over, that I'll be waiting for her. She nods slightly, understanding.

"I'll be right outside," I tell her quietly, then address the two women. "She's had an accident with some drinks. If you could help her..."

"We've got this," one of them says firmly, already moving toward Belle with the kind of immediate female solidarity that I've seen before. "Go."

I reluctantly head toward the door, but before I leave, I turn back to Belle. "When you're ready, we'll be in the gardens. Near the garden house."

She nods again, and I can see something in her expression that might be relief mixed with anticipation.

As I step out into the corridor, I can already hear the women inside fussing over Belle, offering hair pins and makeuptouch-ups and the kind of practical help that women seem to instinctively provide for each other.

I lean against the wall outside the bathroom, close enough that I can hear the murmur of voices but far enough away that I'm not obviously lurking. My phone buzzes with a text from Felix:

Found a quiet spot in the gardens. How did it go?

Still in progress, I text back. She'll meet us outside when she's ready.

And if she doesn't come?

I stare at that question for a long moment before typing back:

Then we wait. However long it takes.

Because that's what you do for your omega, even when she doesn't know she's yours yet. You wait, and you hope, and you prove that you're worth the risk.

Even if it takes all night.

Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door finally opens. Belle emerges looking significantly better than when she went in with her hair re-pinned into something resembling its original style, her makeup has been touched up, and while her dress is still stained, it's no longer dripping. The two women who helped her nod approvingly at their handiwork before heading back toward the ballroom.

Belle looks around the corridor until she spots me leaning against the wall where I said I'd wait. There's something different in her posture now as if she’s more determined.

"Thank you," she says simply as she approaches. "For waiting."

"I told you I would," I reply, straightening up. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Those women were incredibly kind. They had emergency sewing kits and stain removal pens and about six different types of makeup in their purses." She smooths down her skirt with nervous hands. "They also gave me some very pointed advice about not trusting strange alphas in bathrooms."

"Smart women!”

"They are." She takes a deep breath, and I can smell the way her scent has shifted to still nervous, but more resolved. "So. The gardens?"

I offer her my arm, and after only a moment's hesitation, she takes it. Her hand is small and warm through the fabric of my tuxedo, and the contact sends electricity shooting through my nervous system. Even through her gloves, even with the scent of spilled champagne still clinging to her dress, she feels perfect against me.

We walk through the palace corridors in relative silence, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors. I can feel the tension radiating off her, the way she's holding herself carefully, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. But she doesn't pull away from me, doesn't try to put distance between us, and I take that as a good sign.

The gardens at Thornfield Palace are spectacular at night, with strategically placed lighting that illuminates the carefully manicured paths without destroying the magical atmosphere. Moonlight filters through ancient oak trees, casting shadows across flower beds that smell of jasmine and night-bloomingcereus. It's romantic and peaceful and exactly the kind of place where difficult conversations can happen without feeling confrontational.

Felix and Theo are waiting near the garden house, a small stone structure that was once used for storing gardening tools but has been converted into a charming retreat space. They both straighten when they see us approaching, and I can smell the way their scents shift with anticipation and something that might be nervousness.

Belle stops walking when she spots them, her hand tightening slightly on my arm. "So this is really happening."

"This is really happening," I confirm.

But before we can reach Felix and Theo, movement from the garden house catches our attention. The door opens, and an omega emerges, followed by four alphas. They're all slightly disheveled, their formal wear rumpled and their hair mussed, and the scent that hits us is unmistakable.

They've been knotted. Recently and thoroughly, if the satisfied purrs coming from the alphas and the blissful expression on the omega's face are any indication.

Belle's scent spikes with something sharp and unexpected that it takes me a moment to identify. Jealousy. She's jealous of the omega who just spent time with multiple alphas, who experienced the kind of pleasure and connection that Belle has been denying herself.