Then I see the sign.
OMEGAS MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY AN ALPHA
The words are displayed prominently beside the entrance—elegant gold lettering on a dark background, making it clear that this establishment has rules about who's allowed through the door.
Right.
Savage Knot sector.
Where pack status determines everything.
Without Kai beside me, I wouldn't even be allowed inside.
The security guard's gaze moves from me to Kai, something like recognition flickering in his expression. He nods once—respectful, almost deferential—and steps fully aside.
"Mr. Lawson. Welcome back."
Welcome back.
He's been here before.
This is somewhere he knows.
Questions bubble up in my mind, but I swallow them down. Not the time. Not the place. I can interrogate him about his shopping habits later.
We step through the door.
And I stop breathing.
The interior is...magnificent.
Vaulted ceilings stretch overhead, painted with intricate murals that depict scenes of dance and movement—bodies in flight, fabric flowing like water, the eternal pursuit of beauty captured in brushstrokes. Crystal chandeliers hang at strategic intervals, casting warm light that makes everything look like it's been touched by gold.
The displays are arranged like art installations.
Gowns and costumes and performance pieces, each one given its own space, its own lighting, its own moment to shine. The fabrics range from classic to avant-garde—silk and satin andvelvet alongside materials I don't recognize, textures that seem to shift and change depending on the angle.
This is a boutique for performers.
Real performers.
The kind who grace international stages and command audiences of thousands.
I feel suddenly, desperately out of place.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
"Don't."
Kai's voice is quiet.
Firm.
I look at him, startled.
