"It wasn't a bad idea at all. If you hadn't come, how would I have met you?" he said smoothly....why did such words have an effect on me? I didn't even know how to respond.
He parted his lips like he was about to say something else, but the sudden vibration of his phone cut him off. I watched him slip it out of his pocket and lift it to his ear without a word, his face tightening with seriousness as he listened.
"I'm really sorry, something has come up and I have to leave," he finally said, his tone clipped but still polite.
I just nodded, unable to say anything else, and I watched him walk away. I didn't bother trying to make an acquaintance—why would I? He hadn't even asked for my name, and in three days time, I would be married. Tonight was just… a night. A fleeting one.
Turning back toward the glittering skyline, I rested my elbows on the cool glass of the balcony, my head leaning against my hands. I lost track of time staring out at the city before finally pulling myself back inside.
The club was still buzzing, just as I had left it, but then I heard my name cutting through the noise. Vivian. She was stumbling toward me, relief flashing across her face.
"Oh, thank God—you're here! I couldn't find you anywhere," she blurted, and I could smell the alcohol on her.
She was definitely drunk, but she was trying hard to act sober. I looped my arm around her to steady her swaying frame and guided her toward a less crowded corner.
"Where were you?" she slurred.
"I just needed some fresh air. And look at you—I leave for a few minutes and you're already a mess," I scolded, taking most of her weight against me.
"We're going home. Right now."
She didn't argue.
This time, I took the keys. I helped her into the passenger seat before circling around to the driver's side. My phone vibrated again— My stepmom. The screen lit up with her name, showing more than ten missed calls. My stomach twisted. I let it ring until it stopped, knowing I'd have to deal with the fallout later.
The drive was quiet except for Vivian's soft murmurs. About thirty minutes later, I pulled into her apartment complex. Unlike me, she had her own place. I steadied her again, her arm slung around my shoulders, and led her into the elevator. Minutes later, I had her safely inside her apartment, the city noise fading behind the shut door.
I helped her onto the couch, and she slumped down with a dramatic sigh.
"Oh, what would I do without you," she muttered, her words slurred.
"Probably choke on your own shoe," I replied dryly, rolling my eyes as I headed toward the kitchen.
I quickly threw together a glass of warm water mixed with honey and lemon—one of those little tricks that sometimes helped with nausea. Returning to her side, I coaxed her into drinking it, steadying the glass in her hands. She made a face but gulped it down anyway.
Not long after, I helped her to her bedroom and fished out her nightclothes from the drawer. "Do you need help changing?" I asked, trying to keep my tone patient.
She shot me a glare, wobbling as she pulled her shirt over her head. "I'm drunk, not five years old," she huffed.
"Such an ungrateful girl," I muttered with amusement, watching her struggle with her pajama top. Somehow, she managed it, and the moment her head hit the pillow, she was out cold.
I stood there for a moment, watching her peaceful face, a smile tugging at my lips, before quietly retreating to the living room.
Picking up my phone, I finally gathered the courage to dial my mother's number. She answered on the first ring.
"Why the hell were you not picking up my calls, Ella?!"
Her voice was sharp enough to make me pull the phone away from my ear. She wasn't just angry...she was livid. As always. Mostly because I had snuck out without her permission, something she treated like a criminal offense.
She had spent years monitoring my every move while her own daughter lived freely, shielded by a kind of affection I had never tasted.
Growing up under the same roof with her had been a slow kind of torment, and with a father who danced to her strings, I had learned early that complaining was pointless.
"I'm at Vivian's place, and my phone was on silent. I didn'trealize you were calling," I explained, keeping my voice as level as possible.
There was a pause before she responded curtly, "I'm sending Javier to pick you up."
The line went dead.
I released a long sigh before heading back to Vivian's room. She was fast asleep, softly snoring, blissfully unaware of the meltdown erupting on my side of the world. I went to her closet, pulled out a decent set of clothes, and quickly changed before Javier arrived. When he texted that he was downstairs, I slipped out quietly and got into the car.
By the time we reached the house, dread had already settled in the pit of my stomach. I stepped into the living room and found Janet standing there, arms crossed, fury simmering in her eyes. I rarely called her "Mom"—only when Dad was around. It was not like she took me as a daughter either.
She stormed toward me, and before I could react, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek.
My face whipped to the side, stinging.
"So that's what you do now?" she hissed. "Running to that little whore's house at this hour? Do you have any idea how that makes YOU look? How it makes this family look?"
I swallowed hard, jaw tightening, refusing to give her the satisfaction of tears.
"And why would I care about that?!" I snapped, my palm pressed against the cheek that was still burning from her slap. Janet took a step toward me, her hand lifting like she was ready to strike again, and I immediately backed away, putting space between us.
She looked just about ready to lunge when Angela, who had been lounging on the couch scrolling through her phone, finally looked up.
"Mom, stop," she said lazily, barely glancing my way. "Don't mess up her face. Alpha Vincent might not be pleased after paying so much for her."
The words hit harder than the slap.
For a moment, everything inside me seemed to sink.
This was my reality.
My family stood to gain so much from this marriage, and the worst part was that the man I was marrying was practically a ghost. His pack kept everything under tight secrecy. No face, no background. Not even a photo. And that terrified me. What if he was much older? What if he was cruel? What if he was worse than the life I was living now?
I swallowed hard, forcing down the ache in my throat. The tears burning behind my eyes begged for escape, but I refused to let them fall...not in front of them.
Instead of standing there and letting them see how much they were breaking me, I stepped past Janet, and headed towards the stairs.