This was new. My wolf was restless, pacing, ears pinned back, tail low—not in fear, but in wild discomfort. I had no idea what was happening to us, only that I had to get away. Now.
The hotel staff had given us access to private rooms above the venue in case we needed rest during the gathering. I found an empty one and slipped in, locking the door behind me. The moment I stepped inside and shut out the suffocating crowd and mingling scents of alphas and betas, my body began to calm. My breath steadied. The nausea ebbed into a dull throb, and my wolf, though still alert, quieted.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a long while, breathing in the scentless air, my head bowed low. Maybe it was stress. Or maybe it was the humiliating introduction Ethan gave back there—denying our marriage, calling me just Ivy while Farah stood beside him glowing like a smug little star.
But just as I began to gather myself to return downstairs, I heard the door click.
I turned sharply, startled. The knob twisted, and Farah slipped in, not even pretending to knock. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, her scent wafting in like poison.