The silence sits heavy for a beat—until Charlie finally exhales and leans back in his chair with a groan, cutting through the tension with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Well, that settles it,” he says, giving up. “I’m not wasting my time memorizing this crap anymore. I’ll just copy whatever fork the person next to me uses and pray no one notices.”
It earns a quiet laugh from Myrick, and even Oli’s mouth twitches at the corner. The tension breaks a little.
“Don’t worry about it anymore, Oli,” Charlie says. “It’s not worth wasting your energy trying to impress a room full of scary rich people who’ll eat you alive if you unfold your napkin wrong.”
Oli nods as if agreeing, but he still looks conflicted. “So, what if I don’t want to drink?” His gaze drifts back to the glasses. “Is that expected?”
“No. You don’t have to drink.” Myrick looks much more relaxed, clearly happy with the change of subject. “If there’s a toast, just take a sip and set it back down. No one’ll care.”
“I’m an alcoholic,” Oli blurts, jaw tightening like he’s bracing for backlash. He scans each of our faces quickly, like he’s daring one of us to make a big deal about it.
“That’s amazing,” I say a little too loudly, then realize how off it sounds. “I mean, not that you're an….” I huff loudly, flustered. “It’s really amazing that you’ve overcome something like that.” I nod, happy I finally got it out.
Oli lifts his head, his eyes locked onto mine—obviously shocked by my reaction. “Yeah?” The heat in his deep voice makes my pulse jump, and I have to look away.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “It takes a lot of self-control to break that kind of addiction.”
“Oh my god!!” Myrick gasps loudly, pressing a hand to his chest. “I offered you champagne the other day at the boutique.” He looks horrified. “I’m so sorry. I even knew that you were Brock’s sponsor, but it never occurred to me?—”
“It’s okay.” Oli waves his hand like it’s no big deal. “I’ve been clean for five years.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a small medallion, holding it up. It’s silver with tiny words printed around a large number five embossed on both sides. “I’ve had some rough days.” He stares at the coin. “I almost gave it all up more than once—but I didn’t. I’ve stayed strong.” His shoulders square, and his chin lifts. He looks proud. And he should be. “But,” he adds, voice rougher now, “stress makes it harder. And tonight?” He grimaces as he glances down at his place setting. “This feels stressful.”
Myrick’s face softens, nodding like he gets it. “Understandable,” the blond beta says. “But we won’t leave you hanging. I promise.”
There’s a pause, then Charlie speaks up. “Would it help if I sat next to you?”
I glance at him, surprised. Charlie’s been open about his discomfort around alphas, but his gaze is steady, and there’s something unusually warm in it when he looks at Oli. It makes my heart swell.
“Actually,” Oli says, turning to the young beta with a grateful look, “Yeah. You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Charlie gives him that sweet, boxy smile.
“Alright, everyone.” Myrick glances at his watch. “It’s time to get ready. Rhett will be home soon, and we need to be on the road in an hour. Oli,” he leans in, squeezing the alpha’s hand one more time. “Don’t worry. You’re going to do great.”
The Party
Autry
This estate is breathtaking—sethigh above the city with wide stone steps that lead into a sprawling manor. It kind of reminds me of my old academy, at least until we step inside. Then it hits me how out of my depth I am.
The spacious ballroom feels like something pulled from a forgotten fairy tale. It’s massive and echoing with a quiet refinement. The arched ceilings are vaulted high above us like the ribs of a cathedral. Stone walls stretch outward, warm under the glow of several heavy iron chandeliers. The light dances across deep red curtains and the enormous oil paintings that line the walls—each one is faded and cracked with time, like they were painted a thousand years ago.
Yup. I am completely out of place.
But not Rhett or Myrick. They act like they’ve done this a thousand times.
My pack alpha, regal in a tailored midnight-blue tuxedo, moves through the crowd like he was born for this. He’s confident and magnetic, exchanging firm handshakesand sleek smiles with board members and random alphas like they’re old friends. Myrick is equally polished in a charcoal gray suit with a silk tie that matches his sharp silver cufflinks. The beta effortlessly keeps stride with Rhett, chiming in with easy charm and a quiet wit that earns him warm laughter and approving nods.
Charlie and Oli, however, linger on the edges of the gathering, looking nervous. Both are striking in their formalwear—Charlie in a deep maroon velvet jacket that sets off the warmth of his chestnut hair and soft eyes, and Oli in a sharp black suit that hugs his broad frame just right. They stick close to one another, occasionally exchanging tense glances. And I swear Oli has scanned the room at least a dozen times like he’s looking for an emergency exit.
“You good?” Oli murmurs to Charlie, low enough that no one else can hear.
“Yeah.” Charlie nods, but his fingers are still twitching. “You?”
Oli doesn’t answer right away. His jaw is tight. “These people make me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.”
I stand behind them, trying to keep my posture perfect, my expression pleasant. My black gown is gorgeous—floor-length and silky, with delicate beading that glitters when I move—but it feels more like armor than fashion. But it’s the collar around my neck that’s really grating on me. It’s the same one I wore when we went shopping. Hard, stiff, and annoying.
Oli was right. This is stressful.
