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Across the room, Maggie paced back and forth. Arms crossed. That crease between her eyebrows digging deeper with every step.

I kept my face blank, my body still, but internally? I was spiraling. Fast.

Lucien’s words wouldn’t stop looping in my head. You and Maggie will be the headliners.

Like we were entertainment. The perfect romance to distract the pack from the politics underneath it.

Maggie stopped pacing and looked at me. There was no softness in her face right now. Just curiosity layered over betrayal, her expression unnaturally neutral.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. So, wild idea… I think we can fake it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fake a magical soul bond?”

I forced a shrug. “Well, fake the appearance of one. The magic surge from the other couples might mask it.”

Maggie crossed her arms tighter. “Explain.”

So I did. I told her how the bond will be measured collectively during the ceremony, how the ley lines flare when the magic hits.

“If the ley lines light up just enough, Lucien won’t ask questions. At least not right away,” I said.

I didn’t say what we were both thinking. Lucien would find out eventually. I was gambling with everything—my place in the pack, my standing, my future…

But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—claim her without her explicit desire. Without her understanding what it meant. It made my stomach turn. It made my jaw hurt just thinking about it.

I’d rather get exiled than hurt her like that.

She flopped onto the couch next to me, limbs loose but eyes tight. Thinking. Always thinking. “Okay, let’s say we fake it. How? Like, is there a script for this? A magical Pinterest board of How to Pretend Your Souls Just Bonded?”

I snorted before I could stop it. Her sarcasm cracked something in my chest open. “Sadly, no. But we could make one. Add it to the fake-dating archives.”

We started planning. Fake blood to simulate the bite. Scent-masking herbs to throw off the enforcers afterward. I’d wear something sharp enough to look like I still had my shit together. We synced the timing down to the second: when to step forward, when to flinch, when to arch, when to breathe.

It was a plan. A stupid, fragile, desperate plan.

My temples throbbed, and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Maggie gave me a look. “That’s it, right?”

I hesitated. God. I hated this part.

“Almost,” I said. “There’s… one more thing.”

She tilted her head warily.

“There’s a reception the day after. For all the newly bonded couples.”

She blinked. “A reception?”

I nodded. “Slash gala. Dress code: intense. Full pack attendance. A whole... thing.”

She groaned and dropped her head back against the couch. “Holy fuck. How many events can one pack have? You guys must really love each other.”

I smirked, even as my stomach curled in on itself. If only you knew how hard I’m trying not to love you.

“We’ll use costume paint. Make it look like bite marks. No one gets close enough to check. I’ll handle scent patrol.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbled.