Chapter 10

(Logan’s POV)

I didn’t plan to attend the Mate Ball. Honestly, even in spite of mother’s incessant nagging, I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid it.

The idea of being surrounded by hopeful-eyed Alphas and fluttering Lunas made my skin itch.

But the envelope sat on my desk for days, taunting me with its gold-embossed seal. Eventually, curiosity—or maybe some buried instinct—won out. I tugged a dark suit from the back of my closet and drove.

I’m barely two steps through the grand arched entrance when Emma materializes beside me like a ghost from my past.

“Logan!” she breathes, smiling with too much familiarity. “Go in with me?”

I hesitate. The polite answer is no, but her hand snakes through the crook of my elbow before I can decline, her perfume thick and cloying. I allow it, though every muscle in my arm tightens. I should have come alone.

Against mother’s unwelcome advice, I intended to come alone.

They didn’t put my name on the guest list.

I hadn’t RSVPed. But I’m an Alpha—my reputation precedes me.

The guard at the door stiffens as he recognizes me and waves me in with a muttered apology.

The ballroom is a masterpiece of elegance: high ceilings glitter with chandeliers, gold and silver accents shimmer off every polished surface, and the scent of roses clings to the air like an enchantment.

We step inside.

Instantly, attention turns. I feel the weight of countless gazes, especially from the unmated women.

They track me with open interest, some bold enough to smile or whisper behind their hands.

Even female Alphas straighten their spines, their auras flaring subtly in challenge or enticement. It’s not ego—it’s fact. I walk like a king because I once ruled beside a queen.

But none of them matter. None of them have mattered since Evelyn.

The chatter around me fades into white noise as I move through the sea of guests.

Emma clings to me like a leech, but I hardly notice her anymore.

My thoughts are a cyclone of frustration.

My Beta still hasn’t found her. There are no leads, and the man who was with her at the mall doesn't have a name.

That moment replays endlessly in my head: her laughing, smiling at someone else. Her eyes were shining with something I hadn’t seen in months, maybe longer.

She used to only look that way for me.

Evelyn was never the type to flirt, never the kind to seek attention.

She was my wife, my Luna.

She stayed in our home, kept her circle tight, and hardly ever went out without me. Always soft-spoken, always there when I needed her.

That version of her is burned into my brain.

So who the hell was that woman at the mall?

Who is she now?

I’m scanning the crowd for the King—planning to make an appearance, shake hands, and disappear—when the atmosphere shifts.

A hum rises across the ballroom.

Murmurs, gasps.

All heads turn toward the grand staircase, toward the entrance, and I follow the collective gaze.

And I freeze.

There she is.

Evelyn.

She descends like a vision, like something sculpted from moonlight and sin.

Her gown clings to her curves with decadent grace, shimmering with every step she takes.

Her long, dark hair spills in soft waves down her back, the color of polished obsidian beneath the lights.

Her lips are painted the color of ripe cherries, and her eyes—gods, those eyes—are bright, sharp, aware, confident, and dangerous.

My pulse spikes. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Around me, voices rise in awe.

“Who is she?”

“She’s stunning…”

“Which family does she belong to?”

“The prince asked her to dance!”

Even royalty noticed her.

Of course they did.

She doesn’t just walk into the room—she claims it.

Every unmated Alpha male in the place is staring.

Watching. Their instincts ignited. I see it happen in real time—the moment they lock onto her as a potential mate.

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

They swarm her like moths to flame—offering drinks, compliments, thinly veiled innuendos. And she smiles.

Not shyly.

Not uncomfortably.

She’s in control. She knows the effect she’s having. She doesn’t fawn, doesn’t flirt outright, but she’s gracious.

Friendly. Distantly charming.

My Evelyn is putting on a show.

For them.

My fury builds, thick and hot in my chest.

Every nerve ending buzzes. This isn’t the Evelyn I knew. This is someone new. Someone radiant.

Untouchable.

Someone who doesn’t need me.

I want to rip every set of eyes off her. Tear every bastard away from her orbit. I want her to look at me—to see the chaos she’s causing in my head. Doesn’t she know what she’s doing?

And then the music starts.

She turns to the man on her right, and they move together onto the dance floor.

The crowd parts like the sea for her.

Her dress flows like molten light, catching every eye. She laughs at something he says, and that sound—it hits me like a punch to the gut. She’s laughing in public. Smiling like she’s free. Happy.

My vision narrows. My breath burns in my throat.

What is the meaning of this?

That should be me with her.

Me, holding her in my arms.

Me, making her smile like that.

She was mine.

Is mine.

I don’t care what the law says.

I don’t care what the gods say. She’s not allowed to look that beautiful for anyone else. She’s not allowed to move on. Not before I say so.

Not like this.

I can’t stay in the shadows anymore. I move.

People sense the shift in the air.

My Alpha presence cracks like lightning through the crowd as I stalk toward her. Conversations falter. Heads turn. Emma scrambles to keep up behind me, her voice a distant murmur I ignore completely.

The stranger steps forward, protective, his jaw tight. “Is there a problem?”

Yes. There’s a huge problem.

But I don’t say that.

I can’t say what I really want to say—not here, not in front of everyone. I clench my fists, jaw locked.

My wolf claws just beneath my skin, snarling, demanding I do something. Take her. Claim her.

Drag her away from all these peacocking bastards and remind her who she belongs to.

She’s mine.

But she looks at me like she doesn’t remember that. Like she’s not afraid of me. Like she doesn’t care what I think.

That hurts worse than a blade to the gut.

The worst part is—I can’t do anything. Not here. Not now. She has every right to be here. To dance. To smile. But I can feel the rage flooding me, thick and bitter. I can taste it.

This is war. She’s making it one.

And she has no idea what she’s started.

Evelyn doesn’t see me at first. She’s still dancing, glowing like some untouchable celestial being. But then her eyes lift—and meet mine.

The moment stretches between us. Her smile falters, just for a beat. Her brother stiffens at her side, sensing the tension.

I reach them in seconds.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, my voice low but laced with venom. The words snap from my tongue like whips.

Evelyn blinks. Unfazed. Her gaze is steady. Cool.

She tilts her head slightly. “Attending a ball, same as you.”

I hear the murmur ripple through the guests again. People are watching us. Watching her. I don’t care. Let them watch.

I turn to the man beside her—anger doesn’t abate.

“And who is he?”