I’m pretending to introduce myself, playing the role of a neglected wife who had no choice but to make her presence known. In my hand, the wine glistens under the chandelier’s glow, laced with the drug Tati gave me.
A veil hides my scars, a feeble attempt to mask what might repulse him. If he rejects me, I’ll be cast out before fulfilling my purpose—or worse, humiliate myself.
“Good evening, Alpha,” I say as I stop in front of him.
The crowd fades, leaving us alone. His gaze lingers, unsettled. My stomach knots, but I pushed through because this is for Tati’s threats. She’s beautiful, the kind men like Simond crave. If Nalla stole my husband, Tati could do far more.
“Happy birthday, Alpha Rome. I am…” My voice falters.
To my surprise, he smiles and extends his hand. Most people avoid touching me, as if my mere existence is contagious.
“You are?” he asks, already reaching for the wine. No hesitation, no suspicion.
I swallow hard. “Tasha Colonel. Simond’s wife.”
The last part comes out in a whisper.
His lips part slightly, whether in shock or disbelief, I don’t know. How could I, of all people, be the Beta’s wife?