The Blackwood Charity Gala was a spectacle of obscene wealth and power. The grand ballroom shimmered under countless crystal chandeliers, the air thick with the cloying mix of expensive perfume, Alpha dominance, and the subtle, sweet undercurrent of Omega allure. Every major player in the city was there, a sea of diamonds and designer black tie.
Kaelen moved through it like a shark, her hand a firm, possessive weight on the small of Sera's back just as the script dictated. Sera was flawless, a vision of serene elegance, her smile a practiced, beautiful curve that never reached her eyes. They worked the room as a unit, a perfectly coordinated display of cold power and breathtaking beauty. They exchanged scripted pleasantries, accepted hollow congratulations, and projected an image of unshakeable unity.
Kaelen's father watched them from across the room, his expression one of grim satisfaction. Cassian's smirk was a permanent fixture, a silent promise of future torment. Lilith offered a civil, indifferent nod.
And then there was Valeria Ironwood.
She stood near the champagne fountain, surrounded by a circle of admirers. She wore a stunning gown of deep emerald green that contrasted sharply with the sea of black and navy, a deliberate statement. Her gaze tracked Kaelen and Sera with the calm, analytical focus of a predator. She didn't approach. She just watched, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.
The first hour passed in a tense, performative blur. Kaelen began to believe they might actually survive the night.
They were cornered near a towering ice sculpture by Alban Vesper, Sera's uncle. His face was flushed with free champagne and self-importance.
"Seraphina, my dear! You look… well," he said, his eyes sliding over her with a lecherous appreciation that made Kaelen's skin crawl. "Quite the transformation from the little girl running around the old labs, eh?" He laughed, a booming, unpleasant sound. "Though I suppose we all have to grow up and learn our place eventually. Especially the Omegas of the family. Found your place quite nicely, haven't you? Tucked under a Blackwood wing."
The insult was veiled in avuncular condescension, but it was a direct blow to Sera's family pride, her lost legacy, and her personal autonomy. The smile on Sera's face froze, becoming a brittle, terrifying mask. The hand resting on Kaelen's arm tightened infinitesimally.
Target distress escalating.
Kaelen felt the System's warning like a static shock. But she didn't need it. The urge to protect was her own.
Before she could speak, Alban plowed on, emboldened by the silence. "Of course, it's a shame about the swimsuit line. Heard there was a… complication with the shoot. Something about a mark? Can't have the merchandise damaged, can we?" He had the gall to wink.
That was it. The line was crossed. Sera's composure cracked, a flicker of raw humiliation and fury in her eyes. A few nearby guests had stopped their conversations, ears practically twitching at the scandalous gossip.
Kaelen moved. She didn't step forward aggressively; instead, she shifted slightly, placing her body more squarely between Sera and her uncle. Her movement was subtle but unmistakable a shield.
"Alban," Kaelen said, her voice a low, conversational chill that cut through the din of the party. "The only complication I'm aware of is the disappointing performance of Vesper Pharmaceuticals this quarter. Perhaps your time would be better spent focusing on your company's stability rather than my fiancée's photoshoot schedule."
The air around them went cold. Alban's jaw dropped, his bluster evaporating under the direct, public evisceration. He spluttered, searching for a retort and finding none.
Kaelen didn't wait for one. She turned her back on him, a deliberate, ultimate dismissal. She looked down at Sera, whose wide eyes were fixed on her, the frozen smile gone, replaced by sheer, unvarnished shock.
Leaning in, Kaelen did something entirely off-script. She brought Sera's hand the one that had been on her arm to her lips and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her knuckles. It wasn't a lover's kiss. It was a pledge. A promise of protection.
"She's mine," Kaelen said, her voice pitched just for Sera, but loud enough for the eavesdroppers to hear, "is flawless. And it's mine. Let's get some air."
She didn't wait for a response. She simply turned, tucking Sera's hand firmly into the crook of her elbow, and guided her away from the stunned circle of onlookers, leaving a humiliated Alban Vesper in their wake.
They were halfway to the terrace when a smooth, appraising voice stopped them.
"Well. That was… unexpectedly decisive."
Valeria Ironwood stood before them, blocking their path. Her emerald eyes were alight with interest, flicking from Kaelen's protective grip to Sera's still-shocked face.
"It seems even a Blackwood can display a hint of gallantry when their property is insulted," Valeria continued, her smile sharp. She focused on Sera, her expression shifting to one of genuine, warm concern. "Seraphina, are you quite alright? That was uncalled for. Some people have no sense of decorum."
The contrast was masterful. Where Kaelen had been cold and possessive, Valeria was warm and empathetic. She was positioning herself as the compassionate savior, while framing Kaelen's defense as nothing more than territorial Alpha posturing.
Sera, still reeling, looked between them the woman who had publicly claimed her as property to defend her, and the woman who offered sympathetic words. The conflict was clear on her face.
Kaelen felt a hot spike of jealousy, sharper than any System warning. Valeria was stealing the moment, twisting it to her advantage.
"She's fine," Kaelen said, her voice colder than before. "We were just leaving."
Valeria's smile didn't falter. "Of course. Don't let me keep you." Her eyes held Sera's for a beat too long, a silent message passing between them before she gracefully moved aside.
Kaelen practically marched Sera out onto the deserted, moonlit terrace. The cool night air was a shock after the stifling heat of the ballroom. She dropped Sera's arm, turning to face her.
"Are you okay?" The question was rough, stripped of its performative edge.
Sera was breathing deeply, her hands braced on the stone balustrade. She didn't look at Kaelen. She stared out at the city, her profile illuminated by the distant lights.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, wondering. "You called me 'yours'."
Kaelen's breath hitched. "It was the only language he understands. The only thing that would shut him up."
Sera turned her head then, her gaze meeting Kaelen's. The hatred was gone. The anger was gone. In its place was a deep, profound confusion. And something else. Something that looked like the first, fragile hint of respect.
Seraphina Vesper. Approximate Approval: -65%
The number glowed in the night air between them. They had faced the wolves together, and the fortress wall had not just crumbled; a gate had swung open.
But as Kaelen looked over Sera's shoulder, back into the glittering ballroom, she saw Valeria Ironwood watching them, her expression one of thoughtful, calculating interest. The heroine had seen the crack in the villain's armor. And she was already planning how to widen it.