“He’s already planning their birthday party,” Rett says, following my gaze. “Even though it’s months away.”
I laugh, not at all surprised. “Of course he is. He probably has a menu planned out already.”
“Three menus,” Rett corrects. “He can’t decide between themes.”
The thought makes my heart swell with affection. Diego, with his big heart and nurturing soul. And Leah, for her part, is more than happy to have four doting honorary uncles for her children.
“And Dane?” I ask, my eyes searching the room for my fourth alpha.
Rett nods toward the entrance. “Doing what he does best.”
Dane is moving through the periphery of the crowd. To the casual observer, he might seem like just another guest. But I know better. He’s scanning the room, his pale eyes missing nothing.
A flash of movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Leah making her way toward us, maneuvering the twin stroller. She looks radiant in a sleek black dress that somehow manages to be both elegant and practical.
“There she is,” Leah says as she reaches us, her smile wide and genuine. “The woman of the hour.”
I lean in to give her a quick hug, careful not to disturb the sleeping babies. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Shesteps back, her gaze sweeping over me with undisguised approval. “Look at you. A business mogul. A pack mate. Who knew all you needed was to get accidentally claimed by four traumatized alphas?”
I laugh. “It’s been a weird set of months,” I admit.
Leah’s gaze drops to my neck, to the claiming marks. “They look good on you,” she says, her voice softer, more sincere.
“They feel good,” I reply simply.
She smiles, understanding in her eyes. Then she glances down at the stroller, where one of the twins is beginning to stir. “Uh oh. I think someone’s waking up. I should probably get them home before we have a meltdown in the middle of your big night.”
“Do you need help getting to your car?” Rett offers.
“Diego’s already offered,” Leah says with a knowing smile. “In fact, I think he’s more eager to hold the babies than to actually help me.”
As if summoned by her words, Diego appears at her side, his face lighting up as he peers into the stroller. “Are these beautiful chiquitas ready to go home?” he coos, his voice soft and gentle.
Leah rolls her eyes, but there’s fondness in the gesture. “Yes, and their exhausted mother is ready too. Would you mind helping me to the car?”
“It would be my honor,” Diego says with a slight bow that makes Leah laugh.
As they move toward the exit, Diego carefully maneuvering the stroller through the crowd, I feel a vibration from the small clutch tucked under my arm. My phone.
I extract it, glancing at the screen. It’s a Google Alert for my name. Something Tristan set up months ago to “keep track of your growing fame,” as he put it.
I open the notification to find a link to a new article on PackTrackr. My heart gives a small, instinctive jump at the sight of the website’s name. But as I read the headline, the tension melts away:
“From ‘Mystery Beta’ to Art World Mogul: Zoe Clarke-Sterling and the Sterling Pack Redefine Power and Partnership”
I click through to the article, scanning the content quickly. It’s a glowing profile piece, full of quotes from “sources close to the pack” (Tristan, undoubtedly) about my business acumen, our collaborative approach to art curation, and our “philanthropic initiatives aimed at bringing art education to underserved communities.”
I slip the phone back into my clutch, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across my face.
“Everything okay?” Rett asks, his hand settling on the small of my back once more.
“Perfect,” I say, leaning into his touch.
As if drawn by some invisible signal, the other two alphas begin to make their way toward us. Tristan excuses himself from his group of admirers, while Dane materializes from the edges of the room. They converge on us, forming a loose, comfortable circle.
Our pack.
