Chapter 66
Ellie's POV
Walking back to the construction site, I could feel that everything had changed.
Not in a bad way. Actually, I felt... lighter. Like someone had lifted a heavy stone off my shoulders. Jackson walked half a step beside me, a position that was both polite and somehow protective. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the construction dust nets, casting dancing shadows on the gravel path beneath our feet.
"You sure you're okay?" Jackson asked again, his voice carrying that tentative concern.
I turned to look at him and found his expression slightly tense, as if waiting for me to suddenly say "actually, I'm not okay at all." It made me smile despite myself.
"I'm good," I said, my voice firmer this time. "Really. We promised honesty, so I'm telling you—I feel better now than I have in weeks."
His shoulders visibly relaxed, and his mouth curved into a genuine smile. The kind that made him look years younger, no longer the always-cautious Jackson Wilson.
Or rather, Jackson Martinez.
I still needed time to digest that new name, that new identity. But strangely, it didn't make me feel distant from him. Instead... I could sense that familiar pack-mate scent on him even more keenly. Thalia purred low in my chest, no longer wary but... approving?
The ceremony host's voice drifted from ahead, introducing the project's community significance. We quickened our pace, weaving through the crowd to the viewing area.
"We're late," I whispered.
"No one will care," Jackson replied softly. "Their focus is on Isabelle right now."
He was right. On the ceremonial platform covered with red carpet, several decorative gold-plated shovels were arranged in a neat row. Isabelle stood center stage in a tailored white suit, her hair styled in an elegant low bun. Every movement flowed with practiced grace, as if rehearsed countless times. Camera flashes erupted in waves, capturing this "perfect" moment.
I stood in the back row, watching her symbolically lift a shovelful of dirt, her face wearing an appropriate smile. CVU student council representatives, local councilors, and community leaders took turns stepping forward—a flawless PR tableau.
"What's Isabelle to you?" I asked Jackson, keeping my voice low.
"She's my uncle's daughter," he answered, his tone calm with a touch of respect. "The eldest. She has a younger brother too."
My eyes widened. "So she's... the current Alpha's daughter? No wonder her presence was so commanding."
That innate confidence and leadership—you couldn't fake that. I thought of how naturally intimate she'd been when hugging Jackson, and suddenly understood—they'd grown up together.
Jackson nodded, then turned to look at me. Sunlight cast soft shadows across his profile. "You're not less than her."
My heart suddenly hammered.
Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I knew he could definitely hear my racing pulse. I didn't dare turn to face him, just stared ahead at the ceremony, trying desperately to appear composed.
"I..." I had no idea what to say.
The corner of Jackson's mouth lifted in a barely-there smile. "Just stating facts."
Only a fact. But the way he said it made my wolf purr.
The ceremony ended quickly. Staff coordinated via walkie-talkies while the photographer adjusted professional cameras and reflectors. I saw CVU Student Council President Marcus approaching with several members.
"Jackson! Ellie!" He waved us over. "We need you for some photos."
Jackson glanced at me, and I nodded. As a cheerleader and Dance Society member, I was used to these PR activities.
Marcus explained: "The Martinez family agreed to invest in CVU Student Council's community projects to strengthen university connections. So we need photos showcasing 'campus-corporate collaboration.' Your performance represents CVU's artistic achievement—perfect for the group shot."
"Understood," Jackson said, his expression professional and natural. Clearly, he was familiar with how his family operated.
The group photo was arranged quickly. All participants assembled in three rows—front row for main leaders and Martinez family members, middle row for CVU representatives and community leaders, back row for students and staff. Jackson and I were placed at the boundary between middle and back rows, surrounded by other CVU student council members.
"Smile! Look here!" the photographer called out.
I maintained my standard cheerleader smile, but my mind kept replaying Jackson's earlier words. You're not less than her. Why did he say that? Because he sensed my insecurity? Or...
After several shutter clicks, the photographer nodded in satisfaction. People began dispersing, and I relaxed, thinking we were done.
"Wait!" The photographer suddenly lowered his camera, looking at Jackson and me. "Could you two do one more shot, just the two of you?"
I froze.
Isabelle, just descending from the platform, heard this and smiled brilliantly. "I was thinking the same thing. The heart of this collaboration is showcasing the connection between university and community projects. Performance artists are excellent visual symbols. And..." She glanced between Jackson and me. "You two photograph remarkably well together."
Marcus immediately agreed: "This would be great for CVU's publicity."
Jackson caught my eye, and I nodded. Fine, just another photo.
The photographer excitedly readjusted his angle, choosing the construction site sign as our backdrop. "Good, now move closer... no, closer still. You're dance partners, not strangers—relax!"
I automatically straightened my spine, my hands awkwardly hanging at my sides. Jackson stood less than half an arm's length away. I could feel his presence.
The photographer frowned. "Too stiff. How about this..." He addressed Jackson, "Put your arm around her shoulder. Natural, like friends would."
Jackson hesitated for less than a second.
Then he decisively reached out and pulled me against his side.
The weight of his arm settled across my shoulders, warmth seeping through my thin performance outfit. My heart pounded like a drum, the sound thundering in my ears. I was certain Jackson could hear it—damn werewolf hearing.
His body heat, his scent, that familiar pack-mate presence—everything became overwhelmingly vivid in an instant. I stood rigidly, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe.
"Just cooperating for publicity, friend," Jackson's voice came from above, low and calm, tinged with playfulness.
Friend. He emphasized that word deliberately. But his tone made it sound... not quite "just friends."
"Perfect!" The photographer clicked enthusiastically. "Yes, exactly like that! One more—Ellie, you can relax a bit. Maybe turn to look at Jackson?"
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, then turned my head slightly.
Jackson's profile was sharply defined, focused on the camera. But I could feel the subtle tension in his shoulder—he wasn't as relaxed as he appeared either.
The shutter clicked again.
"Wonderful!" the photographer declared. "These shots are going to be fantastic!"
Jackson released his arm, and my shoulder suddenly felt empty. That warmth vanished, replaced by the afternoon's mild chill. I rubbed my arm, trying to dispel the lingering sensation, but that warmth seemed permanently imprinted on my skin.
Friends. We'd agreed to be friends.
So why hadn't my heartbeat returned to normal?