The cool night air on the terrace was a temporary reprieve. The shock of Kaelen's defense and the rawness of Alban's insult still hung between them, a shared, intimate scar. The -65% approval was a tangible warmth in the chilly air, a fragile bridge built over a chasm of bad history.
It didn't last.
The terrace door slid open with a soft whisper. Valeria Ironwood stepped out, a vision of emerald and confidence against the dark sky. She carried two flutes of champagne, a peace offering in each hand.
"I thought you might need this," she said, her voice a gentle contrast to the ballroom's roar. She offered one flute to Sera, her smile warm and inclusive. She pointedly did not offer one to Kaelen.
Sera, still visibly shaken, accepted it with a murmured "Thank you, Valeria." Her fingers brushed against Valeria's, and she didn't flinch.
Valeria turned her body, subtly excluding Kaelen from the circle, creating a space for just her and Sera. "I meant what I said inside. Alban's behavior was reprehensible. You deserve to be celebrated, not spoken about like chattel." Her gaze was intense, full of a sincerity that felt both genuine and strategically deployed.
Kaelen stood a few feet away, her hands shoved into the pockets of her tuxedo trousers. She watched the exchange, a hot, coiling sensation tightening in her gut. It was an ugly, possessive feeling, watching Valeria offer the comfort and empathy that she, Kaelen, was so incapable of giving. Valeria's words were smooth where hers were sharp, her touch was offered where Kaelen's was always taken or forced.
A low growl almost rumbled in her chest. She stifled it, clenching her jaw.
This is jealousy, a part of her brain whispered, horrified.
The thought was immediately, violently rejected. No. It's not. I have no right to be jealous. I'm not her Alpha. I'm not her anything. I'm just the villain in this story, the placeholder until the heroine saves the day.
She clung to the narrative, the only anchor she had in this swirling storm of unfamiliar emotions. This wasn't her feeling. This was the body's reaction. The biology. The Alpha instinct to guard what it considered its own, even if that ownership was a lie. The Dominion gel on her wrist seemed to hum in agreement, amplifying the primal response.
It's just an Alpha thing, she told herself, the explanation a cold balm on her hot shame. A territorial impulse. It doesn't mean anything.
She forced herself to shrug internally, to mentally step back from the feeling. She was an observer here, a passenger in someone else's story. Her only job was to follow the script until she could find a way out. Getting emotionally invested was a luxury she couldn't afford and a deviation the System would punish.
So, she did nothing. She leaned against the balustrade, affecting an air of bored indifference, and watched Valeria effortlessly do what she could not: be kind.
Valeria was leaning closer to Sera, speaking in a low, confidential tone. "…and if you ever need an escape from all… this," she said, with a slight, dismissive gesture that encompassed the gala, the Blackwood name, and Kaelen herself, "my door is always open. No expectations. Just a safe place to talk."
The offer was a direct shot across Kaelen's bow. It was the heroine's move, perfectly executed.
Sera listened, her expression unreadable. She glanced over Valeria's shoulder, her eyes meeting Kaelen's for a fleeting second. There was a question in them, a confusion that mirrored Kaelen's own inner turmoil.
Then Sera looked back at Valeria and offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll… keep that in mind."
The acceptance, however non-committal, was another twist of the knife. Kaelen pushed off from the railing. The performance was over. The unscripted moment of connection on the terrace was gone, replaced by the familiar narrative: the villain, the victim, and the hero.
"We should go back in," Kaelen said, her voice flat, cutting through their conversation. "Father will be expecting us for the auction pledge."
Valeria straightened up, her smile never wavering, though her eyes cooled when they landed on Kaelen. "Of course. Wouldn't want to keep the great Magnus Blackwood waiting." The sarcasm was delicate, perfectly weighted.
Sera set her unfinished champagne down on the balustrade. The moment of vulnerability was sealed shut, the actress's mask slipping back into place. "Yes. Let's go."
Kaelen offered her arm, a gesture now feeling hollow and scripted. Sera took it, her touch light and impersonal.
As they walked back into the overwhelming noise and light of the gala, Kaelen made a vow to herself. She would bury this… this Alpha thing. She would rationalize it, ignore it, and lock it away. It was a biological glitch, a side effect of the Dominion and the circumstances. It wasn't real.
But as she felt the weight of Sera's hand on her arm and saw Valeria watching them from across the room with a predator's patience, she knew it was a vow that would be almost impossible to keep. The script was getting harder to follow, and her own heart, or maybe just her glands, were starting to ad-lib.