Chapter 77
Violet's POV:
Linda's pale face stared back at me from the bathroom mirror, her reflection ghostly under the fluorescent lights. "Nothing," she said, her voice flat and hollow. "We knew each other before, but not well."
I watched her carefully, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the sink edge until her knuckles went white. Running into familiar faces was inevitable, but the raw pain in Linda's eyes when she'd seen Evan suggested something far more complicated than a casual acquaintance.
"Silver Ridge isn't that big," I said quietly, giving her an out. "We're bound to run into people we know."
Linda nodded once, sharply, then turned toward the shower without another word. I lay down on the hotel bed, pulling out my phone to text Evan, but stopped myself halfway through typing. What would I even ask? It wasn't my business, and honestly, I had enough complications in my own life without diving into theirs.
I forced myself to focus on work emails instead, responding to Patricia's questions about tomorrow's meeting and reviewing the presentation one more time. By the time I heard the shower turn off, my eyelids were heavy. I mumbled a goodnight when Linda emerged, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, and fell asleep almost immediately.
---
The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me awake at six in the morning. I fumbled for it on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. My father's name flashed across it, followed by a wall of text messages that made my stomach sink.
Your mother's been called to Moonstone territory. Border dispute needs immediate Council intervention. Can't make Harrison's sixtieth birthday celebration tonight. Need you to represent the family. Gift already sent to venue. Don't embarrass us.
I sat up slowly, my mind racing through the implications. Harrison was one of the most influential businessmen in the werewolf community, with connections spanning multiple packs and territories. His birthday celebration wasn't just a party, it was a political event where alliances were reinforced and deals were made. As Marcus Goldcrest's daughter, my presence carried weight whether I liked it or not.
The problem was the morning sickness. I'd barely made it through last night's dinner without vomiting in front of important clients. How was I supposed to survive an entire afternoon of rich food and strong perfumes without exposing my condition?
I called my father, but the line went straight to voicemail. Probably already dealing with the Moonstone situation. I tried again, then gave up and rolled out of bed, my hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach.
Linda's bed was already empty, a note on the pillow in neat handwriting: Went to see an old friend. See you later. – L
I crumpled the note in my fist, suddenly feeling very alone in this unfamiliar city. I tried calling my father three more times while getting dressed, but he never picked up. The emergency gift he'd mentioned had been sent directly to the venue, but there was no invitation in my name. That meant I'd have to talk my way past security.
---
By the time I arrived at Riverside Manor, the venue for Harrison's celebration, I was already exhausted. The sprawling estate sat on the outskirts of G City, surrounded by manicured gardens and a private lake that sparkled in the afternoon sun. Luxury vehicles lined the circular driveway, and elegantly dressed guests filtered through the main entrance in steady streams.
I approached the security checkpoint with my shoulders back and my chin high, channeling every ounce of Alpha's daughter confidence I possessed. The guard, a young Beta with nervous eyes, checked his tablet and frowned.
"I'm sorry, Miss Goldcrest, but I don't see your name on the guest list."
"My father, Marcus Goldcrest of Wildfire Pack, sent a gift," I said smoothly. "There must have been a communication error. Perhaps you could check with Mr. Harrison directly?"
The guard shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between following protocol and potentially offending the daughter of a powerful Alpha. Before he could respond, the low rumble of an engine behind me made my entire body go rigid.
I knew that sound.
The black SUV rolled to a stop directly behind my rental car, effectively blocking me in. The driver's door opened, and Daemon Blackwood stepped out looking every inch the Alpha heir in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
His blood-red eyes found mine immediately, and something unreadable flickered across his face. "Need help?" he asked, his voice carrying just far enough for the security guard to hear.
Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to maintain the distance we'd finally established after the rejection ceremony. But I was stuck, my father was unreachable, and Harrison's celebration was too important to miss.
"That would be appreciated," I said through gritted teeth.
Daemon reached into his jacket and produced an invitation card, the heavy cardstock embossed with gold lettering. He held it up for the guard to see. "Daemon Blackwood."
The guard's entire demeanor changed as his spine straightened. "Mr. Blackwood. Please."
Daemon's hand closed around my wrist before I could process what was happening, guiding me through the entrance.
"We're together," he said firmly when another staff member glanced at us questioningly.
I wanted to yank my hand away, but we were surrounded by werewolf elite who would read too much into any public disagreement, so I forced myself to walk beside him with my head high and my expression neutral.
---
The main ballroom was already packed with guests, the air thick with expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and the underlying musk of dominant wolves. Crystal chandeliers cast dancing light across marble floors, and waiters circulated with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres that made my stomach turn just looking at them.
Harrison himself spotted us almost immediately, his weathered face breaking into a broad smile as he made his way through the crowd. He was in his sixties but moved with the easy confidence of a man who'd built an empire through cunning and connections.
"Daemon! You made it!" He clasped Daemon's hand in both of his, then his sharp eyes moved to me. "And this must be—wait, aren't you Marcus's daughter? I've seen your photos. Beautiful girl, though you rarely make public appearances. What a lovely surprise!"
"Thank you, Mr. Harrison," I said, inclining my head respectfully. "My father sends his regrets. Pack business called him away, but he wanted to ensure the family was represented at your celebration."
Harrison waved off the explanation. "Marcus has always been reliable, even when he can't attend personally. I'm glad you're here." He glanced between Daemon and me with knowing eyes. "Known Daemon for about three years now through his father. Good business relationship we've built."
Harrison's wife, Marlene, appeared at his elbow with practiced timing. She was elegant in a navy dress, her silver hair swept up in a classic style. "You must be Violet," she said warmly, taking my hand. "Marcus has spoken so highly of you over the years."
We made small talk for a few more minutes before other guests claimed their attention. The moment they moved away, I tried to put distance between myself and Daemon, but his hand on my lower back tightened, holding me in place.
The combined scents of the room—heavy perfume, seafood canapés, rich sauces—were making my stomach churn. I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray, not to drink but to have something to hold, something to focus on that wasn't the overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Are you alright?" Daemon's voice had lost its edge, replaced by something that almost sounded like concern. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing air through my nose in slow, controlled breaths. "Just warm in here."
His hand moved higher on my back, and I felt the familiar warmth of an Alpha's calming touch seeping through the fabric of my dress. My body responded instinctively, some of the nausea easing despite my mind's protest.
I shifted my weight deliberately, driving the heel of my stiletto down onto Daemon's instep with just enough force to make my point. His jaw tightened fractionally, but he didn't move his hand or otherwise acknowledge the warning.
Across the room, I noticed a young woman watching us with undisguised interest. She was probably mid-twenties, dressed in an emerald gown that screamed money, her eyes fixed on Daemon with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"That's Iris," Daemon murmured, following my gaze. "Harrison's daughter."
---
I barely made it through the next hour. The formal lunch was a nightmare of rich foods and overpowering smells. I pushed food around my plate, taking tiny bites when absolutely necessary, and excused myself twice to the bathroom where I hung over the toilet trying not to vomit.
The second time, I was washing my hands at the sink when I heard voices approaching. I ducked into a stall just as the door opened.
"I still don't understand why Father insists we be polite to her." Iris's voice was sharp with irritation. "Everyone knows Daemon ended things. Why is she even here?"
"Because her father is Marcus Goldcrest, and your father values that alliance." Marlene's tone was patient but firm. "Whatever happened between her and Daemon is their business. You will treat her with respect."
"But Daemon's free now," Iris pressed. "He hasn't announced it publicly, but the mark is gone. I checked. Why shouldn't I—"
"Because until he confirms it himself, you act like nothing has changed," Marlene interrupted. "And even if he does, throwing yourself at him will only make you look desperate. Have some dignity, Iris."
Their voices faded as they left. I emerged from the stall slowly, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror.
When I returned to the ballroom, Iris was standing close to Daemon, laughing at something he'd said. Her hand rested on his arm with casual intimacy.
I walked past them without stopping, heading for the exit. I'd done my duty. I'd represented my family. I was done.
---
The afternoon sun was harsh after the dim elegance of the ballroom. I stood in the circular driveway, pulling out my phone to call a rideshare, when Daemon's SUV pulled up beside me.
"Get in," he said through the open window. "I'll drive you back."
"I can get my own ride."
"Get in the car, Violet."
I should have refused. Should have maintained the boundaries we'd supposedly established. But I was exhausted, my stomach was still churning, and the thought of making small talk with a stranger for the twenty-minute drive back to the hotel made me want to cry.
"Fine," I said, climbing into the passenger seat.
We drove in silence for the first few minutes. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city roll past.
"Why didn't you tell people?" The question came out before I could stop it. "About the rejection."
Daemon's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I told the people who matter."
"Like who? Celeste?"
His jaw clenched. "Yes. I told Celeste. And my parents. And Evan. Beyond that, I don't owe anyone an explanation."
"So you're just going to let people think we're still together?" I turned to look at him directly. "Or are you keeping it vague so you can have it both ways—freedom to pursue whoever you want while still having people think the Goldcrest-Blackwood alliance is intact?"
"That's not—" He stopped himself, visibly forcing calm. "Think whatever you want, Violet. I'm not having this argument again."
"Iris likes you," I said bluntly. "Your ambiguity is giving her hope. Or is that the point? Keep your options open now that you're free to chase your precious Celeste?"
"Manage your own business," he snapped, his control finally cracking. "And stay out of mine."
"Gladly." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Just making sure your future Luna knows what she's signing up for. Wouldn't want her to end up disappointed like I was."
The muscle in his jaw jumped, but he said nothing. We drove the rest of the way in hostile silence.
When we pulled up to the hotel, I reached for the door handle immediately. "Thanks for the ride."
I was halfway to the entrance when I heard my name called. "Violet!"
Linda was walking toward me from the street, carrying shopping bags filled with fruit. She looked more relaxed than she had last night, some of the tension gone from her shoulders.
"I bought some fruit," she said, holding up the bags. "Do you want any?"
I shook my head, glancing back to see if Daemon had left. He hadn't. He was standing beside his SUV, and when Linda followed my gaze, her entire body went rigid.
The expression on her face was nothing like the controlled pain from last night. This was raw, visceral hatred mixed with something that looked almost like fear. Her hands clenched around the bag handles so tightly I heard the plastic crinkle.
Daemon's reaction was equally telling. His entire posture changed, his blood-red eyes fixed on Linda with an intensity that made the air feel heavy.
"Linda," he said quietly. "It's been a long time."
"Violet, he's also your friend?" Linda ignored him completely, turning to me instead. Her voice shook slightly despite her attempt at control.
I hesitated, then decided honesty was simpler. "Not a friend. My ex."
The moment the words left my mouth, Linda's expression shifted. The hatred in her eyes intensified, and now some of that anger seemed directed at me. She looked between us, her face going pale then flushing with emotion.
"Your ex," she repeated flatly.
Then, before I could process what was happening, Linda dropped her shopping bags and crossed the distance to Daemon in three long strides. Her hand came up fast and hard, the crack of her palm against his cheek echoing in the quiet street like a gunshot.