Chapter 26
Kara
His lips move. Soundless across the distance, but I've learned to read lips from years of trying to understand conversations I wasn't supposed to hear.
Kara.
My name. My real name.
Not Carrot. Not debt-girl. Not any of the cruel nicknames.
Just... Kara.
My knees buckle.
Hands catch me—Theodore, one of the Gamma servers, holding my elbow with surprising gentleness.
"Hey, you okay?" His voice is low, concerned.
I nod frantically, pulling away. "Fine. I'm fine."
Liar. You're not fine. You're falling apart.
I turn and flee toward the kitchen, abandoning my post, abandoning the tray, abandoning any pretense that I can handle this.
I can't. I can't do this. I can't stand here and serve drinks while they stare at me like—like—
Like they want to devour me.
---
I make it to the storage hallway—the narrow corridor that connects the kitchen to the service areas—before my legs give out completely.
My back hits the cold wall. I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor, hands covering my face, trying to breathe through the panic that's crushing my chest.
"Kara?"
I look up through my fingers.
Sophia and Emma stand there, each holding a small plate with chocolate mousse. They're both dressed beautifully—Sophia in emerald green, Emma in sapphire blue—but their expressions are pure concern.
Emma crouches down, careful not to spill the dessert. She offers me one of the plates.
"We stole these from the dessert table," she says softly. "Chocolate mousse. Your favorite, right? I remember you always stared at it in the cafeteria but never took any."
The kindness breaks something in me.
A crack in the armor I've built over ten years.
I take the plate with shaking hands. "Thank you."
My voice comes out hoarse. Broken.
Sophia sits beside me on the floor, not caring that her expensive dress is going to get dirty. She takes a bite of her own mousse and makes an exaggerated sound of pleasure.
"Mmm. The chef outdid himself this year. This is orgasmic."
Despite everything, I almost laugh.
"Are you okay?" Emma asks, her eyes searching my face. "We saw what happened out there. The Alphas... the way they were staring at you..." She pauses. "It was intense."
Intense. That's one word for it.
Terrifying. That's another.
"I don't know," I admit, stabbing my spoon into the mousse. "I don't know if I'm okay."
"They broke up with their girlfriends," Emma says quietly, watching my face. "Last night. All three of them. Lillian, Jade, and Nina confronted us earlier. They were crying. Asking about you."
My stomach drops like I've been pushed off a cliff.
"What did you tell them?"
"Nothing." Emma shrugs. "Because I don't know anything. But Kara... if they did break up with those girls because of you—"
"Then they're bigger assholes than I thought," I finish bitterly, shoving mousse into my mouth.
Sophia's laugh is surprised. Delighted.
"Fair," she says. "Very fair."
We sit there in silence for a moment, eating stolen dessert in a service hallway while a party rages beyond the walls.
"The whole party is talking about you," Emma says finally. "Some of it's gossip. Some of it's mean. But some of them are saying things like 'she looks beautiful' and 'she's worked so hard.' You're not just... the debt-girl anymore, Kara. People are actually seeing you."
Seeing me.
Like I'm suddenly worth looking at because I'm wearing a pretty dress and three Alphas want to fuck me.
But I don't say that out loud. Because Emma and Sophia are trying to help.
And right now, they're the only ones who are.
My hand drifts to the small snow wolf pendant at my throat—the gift they gave me. The only gift I've received today that didn't feel like charity or obligation or payment for services rendered.
"Thank you," I say again, looking between them. "Really. For everything. The clothes, the makeup, the... the friendship. I know I'm not—"
"Don't," Sophia interrupts firmly. "Don't you dare say you're not worth it. You are worth it, Kara. And anyone who can't see that is a fucking idiot."
My eyes burn.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry and ruin this makeup.
"If you need somewhere to hide after this party," Sophia continues, "my house. My guest room. It's yours. No questions asked."
The offer makes my throat tight.
Friends. I have friends. Real friends who would let me hide in their houses.
It shouldn't feel revolutionary. But it does.
"Kara!" Margaret's sharp voice echoes down the hall like a whip crack. "Luna needs you back in the main hall immediately! The Alphas are about to give their acceptance speech!"
Of course they are. Of course I have to go stand there and watch them become official Alphas while my body screams at me to submit.
I stand, brushing mousse crumbs from my borrowed dress. Force myself back into Kara-the-Servant mode—spine straight, face blank, emotions locked down tight.
"I have to go," I tell Sophia and Emma.
"We'll be right there if you need us," Emma promises, squeezing my hand.
---
The applause thunders through the main hall as Alpha Marcus finishes his transfer-of-power speech. My hands grip the silver tray so hard the metal edge cuts into my palms.
Breathe. Just breathe. Finish this shift. Get out.
But I can feel their eyes on me. Three sets of pale blue eyes tracking my every movement like wolves circling wounded prey.
The chandelier lights flare back to full brightness. Guests surge forward to congratulate the newly coronated Alphas—Asher, Blake, and Cole Sterling, now the official leaders of Silver Frost Pack at twenty years old.
I edge toward the kitchen entrance, balancing the half-empty tray of champagne flutes. My silver dress catches the light with every step. Too bright. Too visible.
Stupid. Should've worn black. Should've stayed invisible.
But it's too late for that. It's been too late since I walked into this ballroom wearing Sophia and Emma's borrowed confidence.
"Excuse me," I murmur to a cluster of Beta families blocking my path. They part without looking at me—still just the help, despite the dress, despite everything.
I'm three steps from the service corridor when I feel it.
The air pressure changes. Shifts.
A wall of scent slams into me from behind—cold ebony and tobacco smoke, sharp gunpowder and leather, crisp peppermint and ozone. The three scents twine together into something overwhelming, suffocating, claiming.
My wolf surges up with a joyful howl: Home. Pack. Ours.
My human mind screams: Run.
I freeze mid-step.
"Going somewhere, Kara?"
Asher's voice. Low, controlled, carrying the unmistakable weight of an Alpha command even without the formal tone.