Chapter 138: Family Invitation

Amelia's POV

I froze, coffee cup halfway to my lips. Did he just say what I thought he said? My brain struggled to process his words. Alexander Westbrook, the Alpha who'd kept our connection at arm's length, was inviting me to a family dinner—as his mate.

"You want me to meet your family?" I finally managed, setting my cup down before I could spill it. "As in... officially?"

Alexander leaned back in his leather chair, studying me with those penetrating blue eyes. "Is that a problem?"

My mind raced with implications. This wasn't just any invitation—this was Alexander acknowledging our bond in front of his family, the most powerful werewolves in our territory. He was introducing me as his mate.

"I'm just... surprised," I admitted, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. "I didn't think you were ready for that step."

His expression darkened slightly. "I need to remind you that according to the First Law, you don't have the right to refuse."

The formal tone made me pause, then suddenly I found it oddly endearing—his awkward attempt to ensure I'd come. Behind his commanding facade, I glimpsed uncertainty. The mighty Alpha, nervous about my answer.

I couldn't help it—I laughed. A genuine, warm laugh that surprised even me.

"What's so amusing?" he asked, eyebrows drawing together.

"You," I said, shaking my head. "You don't need to cite werewolf law to get me to have dinner with you, Alexander. I'd be happy to go with you... mate."

Something shifted in his expression—relief, perhaps, or satisfaction. He nodded curtly and returned to his documents, but I caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

The workday flew by in a flurry of meetings and paperwork. As evening shadows lengthened across the office, I found myself stealing glances at the clock, anxiety building with each passing hour. At seven o'clock, I gathered some files and returned to Alexander's office. He was still deeply focused on his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard, apparently oblivious to the time.

I approached his desk quietly, then did something I wouldn't have dared weeks ago—I gently placed my hand on his wrist. The slight contact sent a familiar warmth through our bond.

"Mate," I said softly, testing the word. "Don't you want to go to the Pack House? You'll be late."

His eyes flicked to my hand on his wrist before meeting mine. "I have work to finish. And I won't be late."

"Family is more important than work," I said. "You shouldn't sacrifice time with them for business."

Alexander's eyebrow arched. "Is it? Can family provide the power and position that a multi-million-dollar business deal brings?"

I stepped back, shocked at his cold calculus. "Are you seriously comparing family time to business advantages?"

"I'm being realistic," he replied, shutting his laptop. "But you're right about one thing—we should leave now."

He stood and grabbed his suit jacket, his movements fluid and precise. I followed him to the elevator, troubled by his words. The Alexander I was discovering was complex—capable of tenderness one moment and cold pragmatism the next.

The office building's bright fluorescent lights gave way to the softer glow of evening as we crossed the parking garage. Alexander guided me toward his sleek black SUV where James, his personal driver, already stood waiting with the door open. Tall and composed in his crisp uniform, James had the stoic demeanor of someone who'd seen everything and said nothing. Alexander's hand rested lightly against the small of my back, the subtle touch sending a shiver up my spine. As he ushered me into the backseat, I caught a glimpse of his expression—focused, determined, and perhaps a bit tense. James nodded respectfully before closing the door and taking his position behind the wheel.

"Good evening, sir, miss," James said, his voice professionally neutral as he pulled the SUV out of the parking garage. His eyes briefly met mine in the rearview mirror, revealing nothing of his thoughts about my presence beside his employer.

With each mile that passed, my anxiety grew stronger. The last time I'd been to the Pack House was during the Luna Festival—a night that had ended in disaster and humiliation. My hands fidgeted in my lap as memories flooded back: the judgmental stares, Cassandra's smug expression, and my own humiliating collapse.

"You're nervous," Alexander stated, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery.

"The last time I was there wasn't exactly pleasant," I admitted. "Your family doesn't like me."

"That's irrelevant."

"Easy for you to say—you're not the one they look at like something stuck to the bottom of their shoe."

I stared out the window at the passing trees, their silhouettes darkening as twilight deepened into night. Street lights occasionally illuminated the interior of the SUV, casting Alexander's strong profile in alternating light and shadow. I wondered if I'd made a mistake accepting his invitation. The commitment was made, though. No backing out now.

My eyes drifted to Alexander's profile, strong and unreadable in the dim light. As if sensing my gaze, he reached across the seat and took my hand firmly in his.

"It's just a family dinner," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "Whatever happens, I'll be right beside you."

His thumb traced small circles on my skin, and I felt a wave of calm flow through our bond. The gesture was more reassuring than any words could be. In the front seat, James kept his eyes firmly on the road, the perfect picture of discretion.

The SUV turned onto a private road, winding through ancient trees whose branches formed a canopy overhead. As we emerged from the wooded drive, the Pack House came into view—a magnificent stone mansion glowing with warm light against the night sky. My heart rate accelerated as James pulled up to the circular driveway and smoothly stopped the vehicle.

"We've arrived, sir," James announced, already moving to open Alexander's door.

Alexander turned to me before James reached his side. "Remember what I said."

Then James was opening his door, and Alexander stepped out into the cool evening air. A moment later, my door opened as well. I remained frozen in my seat, hands clutching my purse like a lifeline.

"Amelia?" Alexander's voice cut through my spiral of anxiety as he extended his hand to me.

I looked up at him, my fear evident. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You can. And you will."

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand in his and stepped out. The cool night air carried the scent of pine and something distinctly wolf—territory marked by generations of Westbrooks. James closed the door behind me and returned to the driver's seat, the SUV quietly rolling away to park elsewhere.

Alexander walked ahead toward the imposing front doors, then paused when he realized I wasn't following. He turned, his expression questioning.

I gathered every ounce of courage I possessed and walked toward him, chin held high. Whatever awaited me inside, I would face it with dignity.

The heavy oak doors opened before Alexander could reach for them, as if the house itself acknowledged its master's return. The Pack House interior was even more luxurious than I remembered. Gleaming hardwood floors stretched beneath our feet, crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the foyer, and artwork that probably cost more than my mother's house adorned the walls. Alexander guided me through the entrance hall, his hand a steady presence at the small of my back.

We passed a formal dining room where servants were arranging crystal and silver for dinner, then entered a spacious living room. Two people sat on an elegant sofa, engaged in quiet conversation that abruptly ceased when we appeared.

Jonathan Westbrook, Alexander's father, looked every bit the powerful businessman in his tailored suit. Beside him sat Elaine Westbrook, her blonde hair perfectly styled, diamond earrings catching the light as she turned toward us.

The moment they saw me enter alongside their son, both froze. Jonathan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but it was Elaine who rose to her feet, her face contorting with shock and outrage.

"What is this Omega doing here?" she demanded, pointing a manicured finger directly at me.