38
~Elara’s POV
He smiled a little, stepping closer. "You look beautiful, Elara."
Sothing tightened in my chest. "Thank you."
He offered his hand. "Shall we?"
I followed him out. The mansion hallways felt quieter than usual, the lights soft, his hand warm around mine.
In the car, he closed the door gently and turned to . "By the way," he said, as he started the engine, "I know you’re worried about the marriage being secret."
I nodded slowly. "I just... I don’t want pictures going around. Or rumors. I don’t want to cause trouble."
His lips curved. "You won’t. The club we’re going to... it’s a masked club."
I blinked. "Masked?"
He reached into the car’s safe and pulled out two elegant masks—one a deep silver, the other a smooth black with subtle patterns.
He handed the silver one. "Wear this."
His voice softened. "You’ll be fine with ."
Imdiately we stepped into the masked club, sothing in the air shifted. Maybe it was the lights, low and moody, or the way the music thumped softly beneath my ribs... but mostly, it was the way everyone turned.
Every head. Every masked face.
People paused mid-conversation, mid–laugh, mid–step. It was almost eerie, the way the room froze for a mont. Like soone had pressed pause on a movie. Even the air felt heavier, expectant. I could feel the weight of eyes settling on us, sharp and curious, slipping under my skin like cold water.
Then the whispers began.
Soft at first... then bolder.
"Is that Alpha Darlon?"
"I think it’s him!"
"That’s him..."
"Alpha of all alphas..."
"Who is she...?"
"Is that the wife no one has seen...?"
Each word pricked at . I know people stare, I know people talk, but hearing it, hearing them, made my stomach twist. I felt myself shrinking, almost physically, like my shoulders were curling in without my permission. It’s this old habit I have... when people look too closely, I start to fold into myself.
But Darlon didn’t let .
He didn’t loosen his grip, not even a little. His fingers were warm around mine, firm, unwavering. He leaned down slightly, just enough that his breath brushed my ear.
"Ignore them," he said, voice low.
I almost laughed. Ignore them? Sure. Easy for him. He was built for attention. He wore power like a tailored suit, smooth, effortless, intimidating. No matter where he went, people parted for him.
For ... the attention felt like a spotlight I never asked for.
But he didn’t give ti to think too hard. His hand stayed locked around mine as he guided us forward.
The crowd shifted, clearing a path as he moved. No one dared step too close. So bowed their heads. So tilted their masks slightly in respect. So kept whispering, trying to peek beneath the mask I wore, like I was so secret they needed to unravel.
He walked with that unshakeable confidence of his, shoulders relaxed, strides controlled, and the mont we reached the roped-off section, a guard pulled the velvet aside so smoothly it almost looked rehearsed.
The VIP area was quieter. Softer. The music lowered into a hum instead of a roar. Golden lights glowed against the glass table, where two glasses sat waiting, like the club itself had anticipated his arrival.
He guided into the booth, his hand on the small of my back this ti. It was barely a touch, but my whole body reacted like it didn’t know what to do with that kind of gentleness.
He pushed the drink with the stronger scent, alcohol, toward himself and nudged the wine in my direction.
"Take this," he said.
I looked at it, then at him. "I can handle the other one," I murmured before my brain caught up.
His eyes narrowed just slightly.
"No," he said softly, but with that firm, solid tone he uses when he’s not allowing argunts.
The kind of tone that made alphas twice his size step aside.
A tiny spark lit in my chest, this silly, hopeful spark that whispered maybe he was being protective. Maybe it ant he cared. Maybe...
But another voice inside was louder. Colder. The voice that reminded exactly who I was. Soone forgettable. Soone who hid under loose clothes and avoided mirrors. Soone below him, beneath him, far from the type of woman powerful alphas chose.
So I lowered my gaze and nodded.
Part of wanted to speak. Ask him why he was doing any of this. Ask him what he wanted. But my words stayed stuck sowhere between my throat and my fear.
Before I could compose myself, he rose to his feet again with that sa graceful certainty.
He extended a hand toward .
"Dance with ."
My heart tripped. "Here? Right now?" I whispered.
He only lifted an eyebrow.
So I placed my hand in his, and his fingers closed around mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t pull or rush . He just guided, steady and sure, and I followed because... honestly, what else could I do?
The mont we stepped onto the dance floor, the crowd reacted.
People stepped back instantly.
All of them.
Like he carried an invisible boundary that no one dared cross.
Phones lifted.
Masks turned in our direction.
Whispers rolled through the room like a quiet wave.
I felt small again, the sa shrinking feeling in my chest. Too exposed. Too watched. Like every flaw I tried to hide was suddenly under a giant spotlight. My palms went clammy, my stomach tightened, and for a second, I almost pulled away.
But Darlon didn’t let .
He drew closer, not tight, just enough to steady . His hand rested at my waist, warm, firm, grounding. My other hand stayed in his, and he began to lead us into the music. Slow steps. Gentle turns. Nothing dramatic, nothing flashy, but sohow it still drew every eye in the room.
He guided everything.
The rhythm.
The direction.
Even my breathing, without aning to.
And despite the nerves crawling under my skin, despite how overwheld I felt, a tiny, traitorous part of ward at the way he held on. Like he wanted there. Like he wasn’t ashad to be seen with .
But after a few minutes, too many for soone who rarely danced at all, my legs started to ache. I shifted without thinking. A small movent. Barely noticeable.
Except he noticed.
He ended the song.
Just like that.
A signal to the DJ, a subtle motion, and the music cut off mid-flow.
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd.
He didn’t care.
He simply slipped his hand back into mine and guided off the dance floor, ignoring every stare, every murmur, every cara.
Back at the VIP seats, I tried to relax, but my heartbeat was still too loud. We drank quietly, well, I drank quietly. He kept watching with that unreadable look he wore so often, the one that made wonder what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at .
At so point... I don’t know when... I reached for a glass without looking. The wrong one. His. The alcohol burned imdiately, shocking my tongue.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
And suddenly, everything tilted.
The lights got softer. The seat felt warr. My heartbeat sounded like it was humming under my skin, and I tried to blink it away, but the room didn’t obey.
"I think..." I whispered, not sure why my voice betrayed . "I think I feel... sothing."
My cheeks turned warm. My fingers tingled. And the ground didn’t feel exactly steady under anymore.
That was when Darlon leaned closer.
"Elara," he said, quiet but firm.
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