The handwriting was clean, but not one I recognized. Writing love letters wasn’t any of their style… though, I wouldn’t put it past Mason if given half a chance.
I may have snooped at your sizes so it should fit perfectly. Put it on. Dress up. We leave at six.
From the words alone, this was all Mason.
Tossing the letter aside, I ripped open the package, picking up the gorgeous black dress. It was a soft, buttery material that I knew would cling to every curve. The off-the-shoulder andsweeping neckline was perfect. And I had just the bra to do it justice.
More excited than ever, I hurried into the bathroom, stripping out of my work clothes.
It was time for a long shower. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be ending the night alone, so I took my time shaving and did a conditioning treatment on my hair.
When I finished, I blow-dried my hair and straightened it until it was hanging down in long, straight, glossy locks.
I was only wrapped in a towel when I stepped out of my bathroom, too excited to put on the dress to throw on comfy clothes while I did my makeup. They hadn’t given me any hints on where we were going, but from the dress alone, it was fairly easy to match the vibe.
I painted my fingernails black before brushing on my makeup, going for a dramatic smoky eye that would make my brown eyes stand out. It was fun to dress up again. I’d done it for countless galas, but having them take the time to pick out the dress for me, choosing something to make me feel beautiful and confident, was just what I had been missing.
It was a mix of me and them, and this wasn’t an obligation, but something they put together to surprise me.
Effort went a long way. My omega was practically weepy in my chest, she was so happy. She saw their intentions before I did, and I was finally done holding her back.
This kind of effort was what I thought my pack was doing in the beginning. Now that I was experiencing the real thing, I realized they never did things with me in mind unless it benefited them.
At the end of the day, that was at the root of it all. They never did anything that didn’t center around themselves or their pack.
But tonight wasn’t about them. It was about me and my new pack. The one I was always meant to find.
I looked in the mirror, my fingers brushing over what were once bite marks that rested along my collarbone. The faded ridges were so faint and translucent that they were nearly impossible to spot.
I’d never really paid attention to the science behind bonding bites. Perhaps I should have, and I would’ve realized that ours was fading before my eyes.
My neck was almost unblemished now. The marks were barely visible, matching my skin-tone. Almost like they never happened at all.
I wondered where my new pack would put them if they chose to bond with me. Shockingly enough, the thought didn’t scare me. I trusted them already.
Seeing the old marks match my feelings, paired with the talk I had with Conrad earlier today, was the final string holding that bond together.
With a deep breath, I let it go, forgiving myself for not seeing their true intentions sooner. In my mind, I could see the dwindling tether, and the final threads that tied me to them snapped.
Something in my chest loosened before it disappeared completely.
The emptiness they left behind wasn’t hollow anymore.
It was almost a relief.
Letting all thoughts of my past fade away, I focused on getting ready again, doing the final touches on my makeup before finally pulling on the dress.
Just like I suspected, it fit perfectly. The fabric cinched at the waist, flaring out at the hips, before ending just above my knees.
I almost wished I had jewelry. A small, delicate necklace that would stop just above the swell of my breasts to round it out. For now, this was perfect.
I felt beautiful.
Sound filtered in, and I glanced at the clock, realizing my time was officially up.
All five of the men who had stolen my heart were waiting for me downstairs, each one dressed in black with a different colored tie.
Mason’s hair was styled, and he’d opted for some eyeliner that made his steely eyes pop. Lennon’s curls were gelled, resting neatly on top of his head. He’d shaved his stubble, exposing more of that chiseled jawline.
