Chapter 13

Isabella

Back at my apartment, I uncorked the wine and poured a generous glass. My plan was simple: find something mindless to watch, drink until my nerves settled, and hopefully sleep without dreams of amber-eyed men with commanding voices.

Like that dream where I was kneeling, soaking wet below, while he... I shook my head, trying to banish the memory. Since my birthday, these dreams had been haunting me, leaving me wet and aching every time I woke up.

Just as I settled onto my mattress, my phone precariously balanced on my knees ready to play a movie, my ringtone shattered the silence. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but considering it might be work-related, I answered.

"Hello?" I said cautiously.

"Hello, is this Isabella Hart?" A voice smooth as velvet responded, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine straight to my core. My nipples immediately hardened beneath my shirt.

"Yes, this is she." My wolf suddenly became alert, pressing against my consciousness with unusual interest. That voice... where have I heard it before?

"This is Richard Morgan. I own Erotic Paradise."

I caught my breath. The club owner? Why would he be calling me? I struggled to find my voice. "Can I help you with something?"

"I'd like to personally invite you to join Erotic Paradise." His tone carried absolute authority, the voice of someone unaccustomed to rejection.

I sat frozen, forgetting the wine in my hand, my inner wolf nearly howling with excitement. My God, is this some kind of joke? My thighs instinctively pressed together as heat bloomed between them.

"I can tell you're surprised," he continued after my prolonged silence. "Do you understand what my personal invitation means?"

"N-no," I managed to say, hating how my voice trembled. My free hand unconsciously moved to my chest, feeling the hardened peak beneath my shirt.

"It means you'll receive full membership privileges at Erotic Paradise for four months, without restrictions. Typically, as an Omega, you'd need sponsorship from a higher-ranking wolf to enter, but with my direct invitation, you'll move freely as any high-ranking wolf would."

My thoughts raced while my body responded with embarrassing eagerness to his voice. My underwear was already damp. Calm down, Isabella. This can't be real.

"But... why me? What do you get out of this?" I forced myself to ask, trying to sound less affected than I was.

"There are no strings attached, Isabella." His voice softened slightly, an unexpected gentleness beneath the authority that made my wolf whimper in response. "You made quite an impression at my club. Violet mentioned you've just come of age and are experiencing unusual reactions. Erotic Paradise was established to help werewolves understand their nature, and I believe you could benefit from what we offer."

Pride made me hesitate. "I appreciate your consideration, but as a low-ranking Omega—"

"Status isn't the only thing that matters in my club," he interrupted. "I value a wolf's essence and potential. When I spoke with Violet after the open night, she told me about your situation, mentioned your coming-of-age reactions were particularly unique. Frankly, Isabella, I'm intrigued by you and curious to see what you might discover at Erotic Paradise."

Oh god, they were talking about me? About my... reactions? Mortification battled with arousal as I imagined them discussing how wet I'd gotten just being in the club.

His interest seemed genuine, making my defenses begin to crumble. "That sounds better, thank you."

We exchanged more details—my email address, basic information—and then the call ended. I sat stunned, the wine glass forgotten in my hand, trying to process what had just happened.

The owner of the most exclusive werewolf establishment in Silver Moon City personally invited me?

My first instinct was to refuse. Nothing came without a price, especially not for Omegas. But the opportunity to explore my coming-of-age reactions in a controlled environment was tempting. Where else could I safely learn what was happening to my body?

Maybe I can finally understand why I get so wet around certain males, why I wake up grinding against my sheets every morning.

Within minutes, my email notification chimed. The message from Richard Morgan contained a formal invitation on Erotic Paradise letterhead, complete with a silver moon and wolf emblem. I read eagerly:

Erotic Paradise was established to provide a safe environment for werewolves to explore their nature, especially during crucial transitions like coming-of-age. All members must sign our pack confidentiality oath upon entry.

Club Rules:

1\. Consent is pack law—all wolves' boundaries must be respected

2\. Members must exercise exceptional control during coming-of-age phases

3\. No dominant auras or physical contact without explicit consent

4\. Male and female wolf interactions require boundary negotiation

5\. Contact pack guardians with any concerns

Special note: As Richard Morgan's personal invitee, Isabella Hart will receive additional attention and guidance.

I stared at the screen, rereading the invitation several times. This felt like a golden ticket—an opportunity to access a perfect, elegant, and safe werewolf gathering that would otherwise remain forever beyond my reach.

Is this how it feels when your life completely changes? I wondered, feeling as though I stood at a crossroads with one path suddenly illuminated by moonlight.

The formal invitation to Erotic Paradise glowed against the dark background of my inbox, the silver moon and wolf emblem at the top catching my eye each time I scrolled back to the beginning.

Membership: $100,000 value. Waived entirely.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. The rational part of my brain screamed that this was too good to be true—why would the owner of the most exclusive werewolf club in Silver Moon City personally invite a low-ranking Omega like me? The suspicious part wondered what he really wanted in return.

But my body was practically buzzing with excitement at the prospect.

Since my eighteenth coming-of-age ceremony last week, I'd been experiencing intense physical symptoms—random waves of heat washing over my skin, dampness between my thighs appearing without warning, my nipples hardening painfully at the slightest provocation. It was like puberty all over again, but a thousand times more intense.

I closed my eyes, recalling Richard Morgan's voice from our phone call. Smooth as velvet yet commanding—a deep, masculine tone that resonated through my entire body. Just thinking about it sent another pulse of heat through my core, my body responding instantly.

I got up from my rickety desk chair and paced around my tiny apartment, thinking. The logical choice would be to accept—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to access a place where I might find answers. But my pride bristled at the thought of accepting charity, especially from someone as successful and powerful as the club owner.

I've worked so hard to be independent. Accepting handouts feels like a step backward.

On the other hand, no amount of hard work would ever earn me $100,000 for a club membership. This wasn't just a handout—it was a door being opened that would otherwise remain forever closed to someone like me.

If I was being completely honest with myself, there was something else—a primal curiosity about Richard Morgan himself. The memory of his voice and the way my body had reacted to it stirred something deep within me.

I sat back down at my laptop, decision still unmade.

"I need some time to think about this," I muttered to myself, closing the email without responding. "If I decide by the weekend, I can check out Erotic Paradise then. I don't have work that day."

The weekend. Two days to decide if I want to step fully into a world I barely understand, to embrace whatever these new sensations are pushing me toward.