"He's a wastrel," Aunt Evie hissed, her breath searing against my ear. "A man who spends his nights drinking and carousing, chasing anything in skirts—or trousers, for that matter."

"Is that so?"  I muttered, my gaze driftin' back to Eamon, loungin' there like a cat baskin' by the hearth, all effortless charm and wicked smiles. 

Aye, I could see why he set them on edge, why Aunt Evie curled her lip at the very mention of his name. 

He was laughing now, at some jest only he seemed to know, eyes alight with mischief. 

But it wasn't just him that kept my focus—it was the man at his side. 

The one Eamon had leaned into as if sharing some secret meant only for the two of them.

My pulse quickened, that odd sense of awareness cracklin' through me once more, sharper now, more demandin'. 

It was him—

—the Alpha who had ignited somethin' deep in my bones the moment I'd stepped into the room. 

Even from this distance, I could feel the pull. The way his very presence seemed to shift the air around us.

A chill ghosted down my spine.

Not from fear, no—not quite.

More like... anticipation. 

A spark of somethin' hot and electric flickered to life in my veins, windin' tighter and tighter with every breath, every heartbeat.

It was as if the very air between us vibrated, hummin' with an energy that whispered of somethin' inevitable.

"His type is all the same," Aunt Evie droned on, blind to how my gaze drifted back, drawn to him. "They'll smile and flatter and promise the moon, but when it comes to anything of substance, anything real, they disappear like smoke. Mark my words, Keir, stay away from him."

But I wasn't listenin'—not truly. 

How could I, when every nerve in my body was tuned to him—to the Alpha standin' there, oblivious to my presence as he smirked at whatever Eamon was saying?

Who was he?

I turned to meet my aunt's gaze, my eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "I have no intention of sharing his bed," I replied softly. Not Eamon's bed, at least. "But I appreciate the warning, Aunt."

Her mouth tightened, the corners pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. "Good."

"I will not embarrass you or the family," I assured her, letting my tone drip with that false sincerity she craved. "I'm grateful you decided to sponsor my season. It means more than I can say."

Lies. 

Empty, hollow lies, but I fed them to her all the same. 

That's what she wanted, wasn't it? 

Gratitude. Subservience. A proper little Omega who knew his place, who'd nod and bow and fall into line, just like all the rest.

Aunt Evie's gaze remained hard, her eyes boring into mine, searching for the slightest hint of rebellion. "You're a bit old for a coming-out season," she reminded me smugly.

Twenty-five and unmated. 

Practically ancient by society's standards.

I should've been flattered, really—to have them all so damned concerned about my status, my prospects, as if the absence of a ring on my finger or a mark on my neck somehow diminished my worth. 

"I'm well aware of my age, Aunt Evie," I replied, my tone light, almost playful. "But I assure you, I don't feel a day over twenty-four."

Her face didn't so much as twitch.

"Given your... unique situation," she sneered on, her voice thick with condescension, "I suppose exceptions could be made. At least you have a pretty face—that's the one decent thing my sister managed to pass on to you."

The jab landed, but I merely smiled, letting it slide over me like water off a duck's back. There was no point in reacting, no point in giving her the satisfaction.

"My father always doted on Amelia," she sniffed, voice dripping with disdain, "She could do no wrong in his eyes. Everyone fawned over her—spoiled her rotten, they did. Always the golden child, while the rest of us had to scrape and claw for every bit of attention."

Jealousy. 

That's all it was. 

She was a bitter, old woman, steeped in envy and regret, still chokin' on the shadow cast by a sister who'd outshone her in every way that mattered. 

"I barely remember my mother," I admitted quietly.

"Well, you're lucky for that," she sniffed again, turning her nose up as if the very mention of Amelia left a sour taste on her tongue.

She was the lucky one. 

Lucky I'd been taught to hold my tongue, to respect my elders—even when they spat their bitterness like venom. It'd been taught to me from I was a wee child, and God help me, I'd never struggled more to keep it in check.

Every instinct screamed at me to lash out, to tear into her for the way she spoke about my mother as if Amelia were nothin' more than a blemish on her perfect, wretched life. 

But I knew better. 

I knew what she didn't—the truth buried in my mother's journals, hidden beneath the floorboards in my room, their pages heavy with her pain, her unspoken suffering, and all she'd endured.

"She was selfish," Aunt Evie continued, oblivious. "Always thinking only of herself, her whims. Never a thought for the rest of us for the family name. And now you, Keir—you have the chance to redeem that name, to undo some of the damage she left in her wake."

I swallowed the retort, searing the back of my throat. "I won't disappoint you."

"See that you don't," she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "I've invested far too much in you to watch it squandered on foolish notions or… unseemly desires."

Her words faded into the background, meldin' with the endless drone of introductions and pointless chatter. Faces came and went, names exchanged and forgotten in the blink of an eye. I nodded when expected, murmured the polite phrases expected, but my mind... my mind had already wandered—pulled back to him.

The Alpha. 

That Alpha.

And his scent—Christ, that scent—it clung to the air, rich and dark, like smoke and earth and something raw, something untamed that slipped down my throat and lodged itself in my lungs, curling deep into my chest until it felt as though I was drowning in it. 

Every instinct screamed at me to run. 

To tear myself away from him, this room, and whatever twisted pull had dug its claws into my skin.

He'd wrapped himself around me, stakin' his claim, carvin' out a place in my mind without utterin' a single damned word. 

And the worst part? God help me, some part of me welcomed it.

"Keir," Aunt Evie hissed, her voice slicing through the haze, yanking me back to the present. I blinked, realizing I'd let the silence linger a beat too long, let my mask slip for a moment.

"Apologies, Lady Fenton," I responded smoothly, shifting my full attention to her with a practiced smile. "I was momentarily distracted by the beauty of your gown. The embroidery is truly exquisite."

The lie flowed effortlessly, and Lady Fenton's laugh followed, soft and indulgent, clearly appeased by the flattery. Aunt Evie's grip on my arm eased, but the hard glint in her eyes never wavered.

She watched me closely, waiting for me to slip up and embarrass her in front of these people.

I wouldn't. I couldn't afford to.

Not yet, at least. I needed her—them—for now.

The Alpha would be a problem—a distraction.

I needed to keep my head clear and my focus sharp. I'd worked too damned hard, planned every detail with meticulous precision, to let myself be thrown off course now. 

Whatever this was—whatever strange, magnetic pull this Alpha had over me—it was a weakness I couldn't afford, an indulgence I wouldn't allow.

Not now.