Ava's gaze finally landed on the throne—and to her surprise, the king wasn't there yet.
"He'll be here soon," she whispered to herself. "I haven't felt any… any draw. My wolf hasn't responded. But still… I can't feel him near. That means… he's definitely my mate."
Even though it was a whisper, it was just loud enough for Ariana to catch. She stayed silent, her mind elsewhere. Right now, all she could think about was how badly she needed to pee. That was it. Nothing else mattered.
Just as her father turned to chat with one of his friends, Ariana took the opportunity. She stepped forward and lightly tapped his shoulder.
To her surprise, he turned with a smile on his lips.
It stunned her.
Knowing her father, smiles didn't come without a reason.
Then it clicked. Of course. They were in public. He didn't want to further damage his already battered image.
And then, even more to her surprise, he said softly and respectfully, "What may I do for you, my dear daughter?"
Ariana's eyes widened.
But then came the look. That pointed one that said: Fix your face.
And that was the thing—Ariana was never good at hiding her expressions.
Still, she tried. She moved quickly, hand trembling slightly as she raised it politely. Eyes were beginning to turn toward her. She needed to be fast. As they looked at her, some eyes already seemed to say she was mute—so many judgmental gazes.
"F-Father," her hands trembled. "I-I need to pee," she finished quickly.
Mr. Brentford's smile remained on his lips as he leaned in, murmuring through clenched teeth—just soft enough that only she could hear (though he feared someone might still be able to read his lips), "Move down the hall. The last door is the women's restroom. Be fast about it. And don't do anything foolish."
As always, only his image mattered.
Ariana quietly opened the large door as she slipped into the empty hallway. She walked slowly, her eyes darting around—only then noticing how silent it was. Too silent. The only loud sounds were her footsteps and the soft swish of her gown as she moved.
Was this really the way to the bathroom?
Why so quiet?
Something felt off. No one else had entered here—not that she'd expect a rush to the restroom the moment guests arrived. Still, this part of the palace seemed untouched.
She pressed forward, eyes roaming the large space.
The hallway was well-lit—almost unnaturally so. The lights glowed warmly from each side, casting gentle halos on the walls. Only paintings adorned the corridor—dozens of them—each grand in its own right.
Yet out of all the ornate, gold-framed portraits, only one truly caught Ariana's eye.
It was small. Tucked almost inconspicuously among the towering artwork. The kind you might overlook due to the better ones around it.
She stepped closer.
The image was mystical. A tiny wolf stood alone in the middle of a vast, grassy field—but the field wasn't green or alive. It was dry. Burnt. Charred by something unseen. The air around the wolf, though merely paint and canvas, felt thick… ruined. Desolate.
And yet the wolf stood there—so small. So still. So helpless.
'Like her'
Ariana's eyes stared at the wolf, her heart clenching unexpectedly. Her hand lifted on instinct, reaching out. Her fingers brushed the painted surface, tapping softly right over the image of the wolf.
As if she could help it.
As if touching it might save it.
Why is this here? she wondered. Such a small painting, tucked between grandeur. But it held more weight, more meaning, than any of the others. She could feel it.
Her fingers lingered—until the painting shifted.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes flew wide just as the soft sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Her chest tightened as shivers ran down her spine from the suffocating presence she felt. She turned her head so fast it nearly caused whiplash.
"CRASH!"
The painting slipped and crashed to the ground.
Glass shattered—echoing in the eerie, calm hallway.
Panic exploded through her.
Ariana scrambled, snatching it up with trembling hands. Her heart pounded wildly.
Oh no. No no no!
Why did I touch it? she scolded herself. You only came here to pee, Ariana! What carried you to this? Why didn't you just walk straight?
The painting had a deep crack now—from top to bottom. It was ruined. No way to hide it.
Her pulse surged. Her breathing became erratic. Her father—he couldn't afford even a copper coin, let alone pay for this. How could she fix this?
She turned her head sideways. No one was there.
"Leave now," a voice inside her urged. "Just leave. Walk away."
Quickly, she hung the damaged painting back on the hook, though it hung awkwardly now, no longer sitting right. Her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath.
You were never here. Act natural.
She turned to leave.
But then—
"Where do you think you're going?"
Ariana froze.
Her entire body stilled at the voice behind her.
That voice… it sounded so rich. It had to belong to a noble.
Deep. Husky. Smooth. Silky.
Why?
Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, caught between the urge to run and the dread of turning around.
She couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and her heart thudded louder than before—louder than it had when the painting shattered.
Of all things… why now?
How was she going to explain herself?
She had just arrived.
Just arrived—and she was already breaking things.
Already beginning to ruin things.
Her throat tightened. This wasn't how today was supposed to go. Not in the slightest.
Ariana immediately dropped her gaze as she slowly turned.
The figure stood at the far end of the hallway, cloaked in shadows. From where she stood, she couldn't quite make out his face—but his presence alone was commanding.
She bowed her head lower, pressing her trembling hands together in a respectful plea. Her body shook slightly.
From the cut of his clothes alone, she knew—he was someone powerful.
The richness of his attire screamed nobility. The black silk of his shoes gleamed even from across the hall, and the tailored fabric of his extravagant trousers looked nothing short of custom-made.
This man was a noble. No doubt about it.
I'm in trouble. Deeper trouble than I thought.
Her lips quivered as thoughts raced through her head, and then—he began to move.
Slowly.
Each step echoed through the silent corridor, the sound somehow louder in her ears than anything else.
Her heart throbbed violently. The closer he came, the harder it pounded—like he was helping her down the road to death.
His presence was overwhelming. Suffocating.
"I had no idea breaking things in the castle was part of the welcome ritual… hmm?"
His deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Ariana kept her eyes fixed on the floor. She didn't dare look up.
"Why shy now?" he continued, voice like ice. "You seemed so confident when you shattered the painting. So eager to flee, darling. What's changed?"
She flinched at the mocking lilt in his voice. Her body shook harder.
Then he stopped in front of her.
His scent wrapped around her like silk—rich, warm, intoxicating. Something unplaceable. Something that made her heart hitch for an entirely different reason.
"Eyes on me."
Before she could react, his fingers lifted her chin gently—but firmly.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes finally met his—
And they flew wide.
Everything stilled. Time seemed to stop.
Her body. Her breath. Her thoughts.
Her heart.
Grey eyes.
Her mind went blank.
It was him.
The man she had slept with that night.
What was he doing here… h-how?
But more importantly… why did he look so unaffected?
His expression was unreadable—cold, composed, indifferent. Not a flicker of recognition crossed his face.
He didn't remember her.
Of course he didn't. Who would?
What was she expecting?
His voice broke through her thoughts, smooth as silk but laced with frost.
"Today marks the painting's 2,300th day… and yet, it was shattered by a clumsy hand in mere seconds. Fascinating."
His cold grey eyes locked onto hers—piercing into her soul. Ariana's pupils dilated as she bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the sting building in her chest.
And then… his lips curled into a sinful grin.
Her heart pounded.
With fear.
And with pain.
Fear—because she was in big trouble.
Pain—because he didn't recognize her.
But maybe that was for the best… right?
She was safe that way.
Right?
To her surprise, he slowly moved past her, walking toward the ruined painting. His steps were unhurried. Deliberate. He stopped in front of it, staring at the cracked canvas.
"This painting…" he murmured, voice low, "…is the Alpha King's favorite. Imagine your punishment when he finds out."
His eyes glinted with dark amusement as he looked over his shoulder.
He was enjoying this.
He was enjoying the fear in her eyes.
The pain.
Ariana's knees weakened.
There was no one more terrifying than this man.
"Enjoy the ball, darling."
By the time her gaze flicked from the painting back to him—
He was gone.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her mouth opened, then closed.
How…?
How?
She staggered slightly, pressing one hand against the wall for support while the other clutched her chest.
It was him.
No denying it now.
But why did her heart ache so much… knowing he didn't remember her?