None of them made my breath catch when they looked at me.
None of them made my skin come alive with awareness.
None of them made me feel like the universe had just… clicked into place.
The realization hit me so hard I almost stumbled.
I loved him. I wasn’t falling in love. It was too damn late for that.
The truth landed like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
I loved him.
This impossible, stubborn, literal-minded alien Warlord who had crashed my wedding and declared me his mate in front of millions of people.
I loved him.
And more terrifying than that— I wanted to keep him.
The mating cuffs flashed through my mind.
The sacred Atlan ritual.
The claim that would bind us together forever.
I wanted them.
I wanted to wear his mark openly where the entire world could see it.
Was I crazy? Possibly. Probably.
He was an alien. A literal extraterrestrial from another planet.
We had different cultures. Different histories. Different worlds.
Would I have to leave Earth someday? Move to The Colony? Or even to Atlan?
I didn't know. And maybe that should have scared me more.
But when Egon looked at me the way he was looking at me now—like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered—none of those questions seemed important.
The song ended.
"Switch!" Chet called out.
Egon's hand tightened on my waist. For half a second he didn't move. His eyes locked on mine. The beast inside him flickered there—restless, unwilling to let me go.
Then slowly, reluctantly, he released me.
A male stepped forward from the group of Coalition guests. At least, that was what he was supposed to be.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a suit that didn't quite fit his frame, the fabric pulling awkwardly across his chest like it had been borrowed from someone else. For a fraction of a second my brain tried to process him the way it had processed the others.
Alien. Guest. Dancer. He reached for my hand before I could step back and pulled me toward the dance floor as if it were part of the choreography.
Then something inside me went cold.
His face. Too smooth. Too familiar.
