Zoe
The silence in the penthouse is somehow more unnerving than the chaos.
Another three days have passed since I made my insane “let’s try dating” proposal. Three days of a strange, fragile, and excruciatingly polite truce. The alphas are on their best behavior, moving around me with a careful, almost reverent distance. They’re trying so hard not to spook me that the lack of their usual, chaotic energy is a constant, screaming tension.
Yesterday, it reached a breaking point. I was sitting on the couch, trying to read the same page for the twentieth time, when Tristan walked in, cleared his throat, and made a formal announcement.
“Zoe,” he’d said, his voice a low, dramatic stage whisper. “We need to talk. The pack and I... we’re concerned.”
I had just stared at him. “Concerned about what?”
“About your closet,” he’d said, his expression completely deadpan. “We held a meeting. It was decided that your current wardrobe, while perfectly adequate for a normal, charming beta,is not equipped for the level of high-stakes dating you’re about to endure. It’s an intervention.”
“An intervention?” I’d repeated, completely bewildered.
“He means we want to buy you some clothes,” Diego had cut in, appearing at his side and rolling his eyes at Tristan. “So we can spoil you. If you’ll let us.”
And that’s how I ended up on the most surreal shopping spree of my life. Not at a mall, of course. They had a personal shopper come to the penthouse, turning the living room into a private boutique filled with racks of designer dresses, shoes, and bags.
It was a nightmare of quiet, expensive efficiency. Rett had approved outfits with a curt nod like he was signing off on a corporate merger. Dane had vetoed a pair of heels he deemed “unsound.” All while I stood there like a doll being dressed, a part of me horrified by the high-handedness of it all, and a traitorous, much larger part of me thrilling at the sheer, overwhelming intensity of their focus.
Which brings me to tonight.
“Oh god, what do I wear?” I mutter to myself, staring into the closet that is now a sea of silks and cashmeres that I don’t recognize and still don’t feel like I own.
Tonight is our first official date. A real one. All they’ve told me is “dress formally,” which, in their world, could mean anything from a ball gown to a diamond-encrusted space suit.
I run my fingers over a hanger, the soft silk of a black dress slipping beneath my touch. I remember Diego’s eyes lighting up when I tried it on yesterday. I pull it out.
The dress is sleek, with a halter neckline that leaves my shoulders bare and a hem that falls just above my knee. It hugs my curves without being restrictive. Elegant. Powerful.
Perfect for whatever fresh hell they have planned for me tonight.
As I slip it on, I catch sight of my reflection in the full-lengthmirror. My neck is exposed, unmarked. A strange pang goes through me at the sight.
I shake it off, focusing instead on my makeup. I keep it simple. Mascara, a touch of blush, a nude lipstick that’s a shade darker than my natural color. I leave my hair down, letting it fall in loose waves around my neck.
A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call, slipping on a pair of delicate silver earrings.
The door opens to reveal Rett, impeccable as always in a charcoal suit that’s clearly been tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His dark-brown hair is styled back from his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He looks... devastating.
His eyes widen slightly as they take me in, a flicker of heat passing through them before he schools his expression into something more neutral.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low.
“Thank you,” I reply, a flush of warmth spreading through me at the compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
His lips quirk in a small smile. “Are you ready? The others are waiting downstairs.”
I nod, grabbing a small clutch and a wrap to drape over my shoulders. “Lead the way.”
We take the elevator down in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just expectant. Charged with a subtle energy that makes my skin tingle where his arm brushes against mine.
The others are waiting in the lobby. Diego in a deep blue suit that brings out the warm tones of his skin, Tristan in a lighter gray with a subtle pattern, and Dane in solid black, as if he’s escorting a diplomat rather than going on a date.
They all turn as we approach, and the collective weight of their gazes makes me falter for a moment. Four pairs of eyes, all fixed on me with varying degrees of appreciation…and hunger.
