Seraphina’s POV
When I agreed to let this man prove himself to , I never signed up for sleep deprivation. Yet here he was again, shaking awake before dawn had even broken properly. This ti his grand plan involved dragging into town.
The morning sky held barely a blush of color, soft pastels bleeding across the horizon. My eyelids felt like lead weights, and the cold morning air cut straight through my thin nightgown like a blade.
"Couldn’t this wait until a civilized hour?" I muttered, my words slurred with exhaustion and irritation. The bastard was actually enjoying himself, chuckling at my obvious misery.
"Quit being dramatic. It’s a surprise," he said, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. We clearly had vastly different definitions of what constituted a pleasant surprise. Mine involved staying horizontal under warm blankets, preferably with coffee delivered to my bedside.
He guided toward his car, that intimidating black machine that always seed to throb with barely contained energy. I slumped into the passenger seat, muttering complaints under my breath. The journey passed in relative silence, nothing but the engine’s steady rumble and the whisper of wind through branches outside. Despite my exhaustion, a tiny spark of intrigue began to chip away at my resentnt. What on earth could justify this ungodly hour?
When the sky had lightened enough to see clearly, we arrived at our destination: the shopping center. But sothing was off. As we cruised through the vast parking lot, I realized it was completely deserted. The main entrances were sealed shut, and not a single person was visible anywhere. My eyebrows climbed toward my hairline.
Julian killed the engine and faced , wearing an expression of genuine satisfaction. "Welco to your private shopping experience, Seraphina."
The words hit like a physical blow.
My mouth fell open. "You actually closed the entire mall?"
He gave a single nod, his eyes dancing with mischief. "The whole thing. Just for you. No crowds pushing past you, no judgntal stares. Nothing but you and whatever catches your eye."
I gaped at him, struggling to comprehend what I was hearing. This was Julian, the Alpha who lived and breathed pack responsibilities and territorial concerns, doing sothing this extravagant? For ? A wave of emotion crashed over , washing away every trace of my earlier irritation.
"Julian," I whispered, my throat suddenly tight, "I can’t believe you did this."
His hand ca up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the touch gentle and deliberate. "Don’t overthink it. Just let yourself have fun. These past three years, you’ve been dressing like you thought everyone expected. Playing the perfect luna role. But I notice how different you look when you slip into those soft pants and baggy sweaters at ho. There’s this light in your eyes that I don’t see nearly enough."
His observation stunned completely. He’d been watching? Actually paying attention to those small monts? I thought about my wardrobe, all those rigid dresses and structured blazers. They made feel like I was wearing a costu, pretending to be soone I wasn’t. I’d always longed to experint with different looks, to find my own voice through clothing, but the constant pressure of appearance standards had paralyzed . I’d never found the courage to develop any real personal style.
"I’ve wanted to try so many different things," I admitted quietly. "But I was terrified of what people would say."
Warmth blood in my chest like a flower opening to sunlight. This wasn’t just about shopping; it was about him truly seeing , the person hiding beneath all those expectations, and caring enough to want happy. Without overthinking it, I threw my arms around him and held on tight. "Thank you, Julian. You have no idea what this ans to ."
He returned my embrace, solid and reassuring against . Then he pulled back with that familiar mischievous gleam returning to his eyes. "This generosity doesn’t co free, you know."
My stomach dropped slightly. "What’s the catch?"
His grin widened. "You’re going to be my personal fashion model. Every outfit gets a private showing, and I get final approval on what looks best."
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, though I was fighting back a smile. "Fine, but I’m doing this under protest."
The hours that followed were pure magic. We wandered through the echoing, empty corridors of the mall, and I discovered that Julian had an unexpectedly keen eye for style. He offered thoughtful complints and suggested combinations I never would have considered. I experinted with everything from flowing bohemian dresses to rebellious leather jackets, from cozy knit sweaters to sharp business attire. For the first ti in years, I felt free to breathe, to express myself without fear.
We laughed until our sides ached, struck ridiculous poses, and sohow the heavy history between us seed to lift like morning fog.
After exhausting the shopping possibilities, we ventured into the neighboring human settlent. The air carried an autumn bite, and the unfamiliar rhythms of human life provided a refreshing change from pack politics. We discovered a charming little cafe with tables set outside and settled in with steaming coffee and fresh pastries.
Conversation flowed effortlessly between us, natural as breathing. Julian shared more mories from his younger days, painting pictures of a life I was only beginning to understand.
Sothing held back from reciprocating with my own childhood stories. I’m not ready to shatter whatever assumptions he’s made about my early years. Maybe soday I’ll find the strength to tell him the truth about how different my upbringing really was.
As the afternoon sun began its descent, stretching shadows across the cobblestone street, Julian’s phone vibrated against the table. He checked the screen, and his relaxed expression imdiately hardened into sothing much more serious.
"What’s wrong?" I asked, dread already forming in my stomach.
His eyes t mine, grave and focused. "It’s Roxanne. She’s fallen ill."
Naturally.
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