chapter 80
Tori's POV:
Despite my efforts to appear composed, I couldn't stop the slight trembling in my hands.
The aftershocks of my partial shift rippled through my body, bringing back flashes of Silver Fang. Those days of confinement and abuse—I never wanted to experience anything like that again.
Elizabeth approached with measured steps, her posture regal yet approachable. I braced myself for condemnation, for the inevitable reminder that an Omega should never display such aggression in public, especially not in the hallowed halls of the Grayson estate.
Instead, she stopped directly in front of me, her eyes—the same piercing blue as her son's—studied me with unexpected warmth.
"My dear," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly across the now-silent gathering, "if protecting yourself in a threatening situation is wrong, then I'm afraid I don't know what right is anymore."
My breath caught in my throat. I watched in stunned silence as Elizabeth gently placed her hand on my shoulder—a gesture of support that would be visible to every guest in attendance.
It was like watching a weather vane spin in a sudden wind change.
The same guests who moments ago had been whispering about the "unstable Omega" and my "inappropriate display" suddenly adopted thoughtful expressions.
"She showed remarkable restraint, really," commented a woman in an emerald dress who, just minutes earlier, had been eyeing me with distaste.
"I've always found Garrett's behavior problematic," added a gray-haired male who had previously been nodding along to Garrett's accusations. "Approaching an unclaimed young female like that? In this day and age? Completely unacceptable."
"Did you notice she didn't fully shift? That level of control in someone so young is impressive," remarked another, as if they'd been admiring my self-discipline all along.
Inside, a bitter laugh threatened to escape.
How quickly they changed their tune when Elizabeth had spoken. A single sentence from her lips outweighed anything I might have said in my defense.
Yet beneath my cynicism, I couldn't deny the flood of relief washing through me. Elizabeth's intervention had done what no amount of my explanations could have accomplished.
The security team worked with swift efficiency, flanking Garrett as he continued to sputter protests. His face had turned an alarming shade of red, but whatever threats or objections he intended to voice died on his lips as the imposing guards escorted him firmly toward the exit.
"Thank you for your protection, Ms. Grayson," I said quietly, using the formal term of respect.
Elizabeth gently patted my shoulder, her eyes studying me with a curious intensity.
"I believe you, child. I can see you're not the type to cause trouble without reason."
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on my partially shifted features.
"Though I must say, I'm puzzled by your wolf coloring. That silver-white hue is quite unusual." Her voice lowered. "Hannah's genetics wouldn't produce such a trait. If I may ask, who was your father?"
I lowered my eyes, an old familiar ache resurfacing.
"I've never met him. My grandmother told me he abandoned Hannah when she was pregnant with me." I swallowed hard. "It's why she... why she resents me so much. "
Something softened in Elizabeth's expression—a flicker of genuine compassion.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said, her voice gentle. "No child should bear the weight of their parents' choices."
I straightened my shoulders slightly. "It's all right. I've made peace with it."
The lie came easier after years of practice. "I should find Morgan now. I've already caused enough disruption to your evening."
Elizabeth's eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary, as if searching for something beyond my words.
"You haven't disrupted anything, Tori." She stepped back with graceful dignity. "Go find your friend. And remember, you're welcome in this house."
I nodded respectfully before turning away, strangely warmed by her words despite the evening's chaos.
With the drama concluded, the party gradually resumed its rhythm.
Champagne flowed, conversation hummed, and the incident began to fade into the evening's background—just another piece of gossip to be dissected later in private homes.
I slipped away from the center of attention, scanning the room for Morgan.
I found her in a quiet corner, slumped in a plush chair, her head tilted at an awkward angle. Beside her on a small table sat an empty plate with chocolate wrappers scattered around it.
"Morgan?" I gently shook her shoulder. "Morgan, wake up."
She stirred sluggishly, her eyes opening to reveal unfocused pupils. The sweet, rich scent of alcohol-infused chocolate clung to her breath.
"Tori?" she mumbled, blinking rapidly. "Did I miss something?"
"Just a small confrontation that almost ended with me being thrown out," I replied dryly. "Come on, I think we should head back to the dorms. You've had enough excitement for one night."
Morgan struggled to sit upright, her movements clumsy as she pushed herself up.
"The chocolate... I didn't realize they had liquor in them. So many... so good..."
I couldn't help but smile at her innocent mishap.
"That's what those little signs saying 'alcoholic confections' were trying to tell you."
As I helped Morgan to her feet, steadying her with one arm around her waist, a sudden shift in the room's energy made me look up.
The crowd near the entrance had fallen silent, then erupted into hushed, excited whispers. Heads turned, bodies angled toward the main doors.
Two figures stood in the entrance—one immediately recognizable even from across the room.
Alpha Lucas, commanding and imposing in a perfectly tailored black suit, his blue eyes surveying the gathering with cool detachment.
Beside him stood a woman of breathtaking beauty. Tall and graceful, with flowing auburn hair and the confident posture of someone born to privilege.
"They look perfect together," someone nearby whispered, not bothering to lower their voice. "The Council will be pleased."
"About time he chose someone suitable," another replied.
An unexpected sourness rose in my throat at their words. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange tightness in my chest.
Morgan, who had been leaning heavily against me, suddenly straightened. Her glazed eyes focused on the pair, widening with recognition.
"Oh," she breathed, swaying slightly.
"That's her. That's Vivienne Blackwood." She clutched my arm tighter, her words slurred but urgent.
"She's said to be Lucas's white moonlight—the one he's always wanted. Megan considers her the number one rival for his attention. She absolutely hates Vivienne ."
The words hit me with unexpected force, like a physical blow to my chest.