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It figures she's been acting like I'm not a Beaumont for most of my life, but now, she wants to remindmeof that fact since it's finally convenient for her.
My heart is pounding beneath the delicate lace of my bodice as the four alphas of the Blackwood pack rise in unison. Damien steps forward, his movements fluid and precise as he pulls out my chair, the perfect picture of gentlemanly grace. Andyet, there's something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that belies the polished facade.
As I thank him and settle into my seat, I feel their gazes on me, heavy and assessing. It's a far cry from the cool indifference they displayed at our last meeting, and for a moment, I allow myself to wonder if perhaps I misjudged them. If there's more to this pack than our first encounter led me to believe.
But before I can dwell on that thought, Carl Blackwood is rising to his feet, his glass held aloft. "Friends, family, esteemed guests," he begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom with the ease of a born orator. "Thank you all for joining us on this momentous occasion."
The weight of expectation settles over the room like a thick fog. I'm not the only one who knows why we're all gathered here. An alliance between two powerful coalitions will have ripple effects that benefit more than just our families.
My father reaches over to put a hand on my shoulder, the first fatherly gesture I can remember in ages, but it does little to quell the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
"Tonight is a special night for the Blackwood family," Carl continues, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. "A night of new beginnings, of alliances forged and futures secured."
My breath catches in my throat, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass.
This is it.
The moment I've been simultaneously dreading and anticipating for weeks.
"And so, without further ado, I'd like to invite my son to share a few words," the older Blackwood finishes, turning to Damien with an approving nod.
The four young alphas rise to their feet, their powerful frames towering over the assembled guests. But it's Damien whosteps forward first, his piercing gaze locking with mine across the table.
For a moment, the world seems to fall away, the chatter of the crowd fading to a distant hum as I stare into those fathomless blue eyes. And in that instant, I see it—the flicker of resignation, the weariness that mirrors my own.
He doesn't want this any more than I do.
That realization hits me like a physical blow and his behavior at the last dinner makes a little more sense. All this time, I'd assumed the Blackwood pack were the ones orchestrating this farce, that they were the ones who stood to benefit from tying themselves to the Beaumont name.
But looking at Damien now, I can see the truth written plainly on his face. He's just as trapped as I am. Just as bound by duty and expectation.
It's a strangely comforting thought, even as it fills me with a fresh wave of dread. Because if neither of us wants this, then what hope do we have of making it work? Of forging a true partnership, a real bond?
I force myself to take a deep breath, to push down the rising panic and focus on the moment at hand. I can worry about the future later. For now, I have a role to play.
Despite his obvious reservations—obvious to me, at least—Damien's voice rings out clear and strong, echoing through the ballroom. "The Blackwood pack has an announcement to make."
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests before settling on me. There's an intensity in his eyes that makes my breath catch, a sense of gravity that belies the polished veneer of this whole affair.
"We have chosen an omega to court."
My heart pounds in my ears, a dizzying mix of anticipation and dread. I know what's coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud makes it real in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
I guess at least I don't have to worry about them turning me down in front of everyone. That should be a relief. So why do I feel like I've just been ensnared in a hunter's trap?
"Evangeline Beaumont," Damien declares, his voice softening ever so slightly on my name. "We wish to court you, to claim you as our own."
The room erupts in a flurry of gasps and murmurs, but I barely register the reaction. All I can focus on is the sight of the four alphas sinking to their knees before me, their powerful bodies lowered in a gesture of supplication that does nothing to erase the real power dynamic between us.
It's just a formality. Window dressing, really.
And then Damien is reaching into his pocket, producing a small, flat velvet box. He opens it with a reverence that borders on religious, revealing a collar nestled within the plush folds.
It's breathtaking. A band of the finest gold, supple and smooth, with a delicate pink diamond glittering at the center. It's almost as if it was crafted specifically to match the hue of my dress, the very embodiment of femininity and submission.
A collar is a traditional marker of a pack's intent to claim an omega. A symbol of protection—or possession, depending on your point of view—in lieu of an eventual mating mark. Even then, some omegas continue to wear them after.
"Evangeline Beaumont," Damien repeats, his voice low and fervent. "Will you accept our courtship? Will you consent to be our omega?"
