Chapter 28

Elara

I glanced down at my hair, running my fingers through the strands carefully, trying to see what Grace found so offensive about it. Sure, it had been years since I’d had a proper haircut, and my curls might’ve been a little unruly around the ends, but I didn’t think they were ‘awful’ by any stretch of the imagination.

Still, after the morning’s fiasco and Alaric’s warning at the picnic, I decided it wasn’t worth fighting her on this particular point. If she wanted me to get my hair done, I’d let her pay for it. I could at least try to salvage something out of this humiliation—maybe get a trim that would flatter my curls instead of hiding them.

“I’ll go,” I said, forcing a pleasant tone. “Lead the way.”

Grace just sniffed, tossing her head as she turned on her heel. She was clearly expecting me to throw a fit or refuse outright, so my easy agreement might have rattled her plans a bit. Good.

The drive to the salon was mercifully short. Grace didn’t bother with small talk, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes fixed on the road as if she could will the car to go faster. I kept my gaze focused out the window, watching the passing scenery and ignoring the knot in my stomach.

As we drove, I wondered what sort of torture she had picked out for me at this salon—probably instructing the stylist to shave my head just to humiliate me.

When we arrived, I followed Grace inside. A hairdresser approached us with a smile and led me to a chair.

Grace wasted no time. “This is Luna Elara,” she said, pointing at me as if I were a stray cat she had just dragged in. “Her hair is a disaster. Unkempt, trashy curls. She’s my son’s wife, and Luna or not, she must look presentable. Do something about it.”

I stiffened at her words, my jaw clenching. Trashy curls? I stared at the mirror in front of me, meeting my own eyes in the reflection. I didn’t think my curls were trashy. Maybe a bit wild sometimes, but that was part of who I was. Still, I said nothing. Not yet, at least.

The hairdresser nodded, her smile turning slightly brittle. “I see,” she said carefully. “I can certainly tidy things up.”

Grace nodded curtly. “Good. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving me alone with the hairdresser. The hairdresser reached for a comb, but before she started, I cleared my throat.

“I want you to follow my instructions, not hers,” I said as firmly as I could muster.

The hairdresser blinked, pausing. “Excuse me?” she said warily. “Mrs. Donovan—Grace—she’s the Alpha’s mother. I can’t go against her orders.”

I tilted my chin up slightly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “And I am Alpha Alaric’s wife,” I said. “Your Luna. And this is what I want.”

As the hairdresser blinked at me, my heart pounded harder than I cared to admit. I had never really stood up for myself like this before, not in front of staff, and certainly not against someone from a higher class. Being an Omega meant that you pretty much had to take all kinds of shit from people without complaining.

But I was the Luna now, at least for the next six months. I did have the right to speak like this, even if Alaric and I were in a fake marriage.

The hairdresser swallowed, her eyes darting toward the doorway where Grace had disappeared. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head—obey Grace and risk defying the Luna, or obey the Luna and risk the wrath of the Alpha’s mother.

Finally, she nodded. “Yes, Luna,” she said softly. “What would you like?”

I exhaled slowly, relieved. “I want to keep my curls. Add some highlights, something subtle but bright enough to catch the sun. Shape the ends to frame my face better. Oh, and I think I’d like to try those curtain bangs that are in style right now.”

The hairdresser nodded again, and I could see a hint of respect in her eyes now. “Understood,” she said simply, then set to work.

It took a while—cutting, conditioning, adding highlights. I watched in the mirror as my curls transformed from slightly unruly into nice, soft, bouncy waves. And the bangs were a good choice, framing my face perfectly without cutting off my forehead.

When the hairdresser was done, I thanked her quietly and tipped her generously with cash.

I stepped out into the waiting area, bracing myself for Grace’s reaction. The moment she saw me, her face went beet red, her eyes flaring with rage. I could practically see her imagination cooking up some insult or another.

But rather than speaking, I noticed her gaze instead drifting toward the hairdresser’s station where some tools lay neatly arranged. Her eyes landed on a pair of scissors. Before I could say a word, Grace lunged toward them, her hand outstretched as if she planned to hack at my hair herself.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I grabbed Grace’s wrist mid-lunge, my fingers tightening around her with surprising strength. She gasped, dropping the scissors with a clatter.

“No,” I said softly, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremble in my throat. “You won’t do that.”

Grace wrenched her hand away, her eyes blazing. “How dare you—”

I didn’t bother letting her finish. Turning on my heel, I marched toward the cashier, pulling out my wallet. I paid for the service, ignoring Grace’s fiery glare behind me. Then, without giving Grace so much as a second glance, I headed for the door.

Outside, the sun felt warmer on my skin, the air tasted sweeter after my little victory. But as I made my way to the car, my hands started shaking, adrenaline leaving me shaky and breathless.

I couldn’t believe I had just done that. Me, an Omega, forcibly touching the Alpha’s mother?

Hopefully this wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

Climbing into the car, I found Grace already waiting, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She said nothing, just seethed silently as the driver pulled out of the parking lot. The ride back was tense and quiet.

Back at the house, I headed inside without a word, still feeling a little off-kilter from the confrontation. I wondered if Alaric would care that I had defied his mother’s wishes so openly. But I also remembered him telling me not to fight her—well, too late for that. I could only hope he would understand. It was my hair, after all. It wasn’t fair to expect me to chop it just to keep her happy.

But as I stepped into the house with Grace seething on my heels, a distant sound caused us both to pause. The girls were giggling in the living room.

Rounding the corner, I came upon a sight that nearly made me laugh out loud: Alaric sat cross-legged on the floor, his head hung. Zoe and Ella hovered around him, butterfly clips sticking haphazardly out of his hair, and—was that makeup on his cheeks?

I blinked, trying not to grin too wide. Beside me, Grace froze, her mouth simply falling open as if she were too shocked to even insult him just yet.

Alaric turned at the sound of my footsteps, revealing bright streaks of pink blush and a smudge of sparkly lipstick across his mouth. His face instantly turned beet red, even more comical with the blush.

My heart squeezed at the sight—he looked ridiculous, but the sight was also…

Endearing.

The girls whirled around, looking rather proud.

“Isn’t Daddy pretty?!” Zoe exclaimed, grinning.