CHAPTER 33

 Beatrice’s POV

The sun sank, slow and lazy, a thick brush of gold and orange melting into the horizon. It was the kind of sky that looked like a painting, soft and hazy, like something from a dream. But I wasn’t dreaming.

I was standing outside of a boutique so fancy, I still couldn’t believe they had let me in. My arms ached from pulling on dress after dress, my skin still tingling from the sensation of silk and lace, of materials that weren’t intended for someone like me.

And yet, here I was.

Xander was a few steps ahead, his tall frame slicing through the city as if he owned it — and in many ways, he did. His walk was easy and effortless, casual, as if he was engineered for brute force, made to command. One didn’t even look at him as they stepped from his path, as if they could feel it. That raw dominance. That calm, steady authority.

And then there was me.

Following behind him like a shadow, my heartbeat still uneven from all that had happened in the past hour.

The boutique was a dream come true. Or maybe a nightmare. I wasn’t sure which yet.

There had been rows and rows of gowns, of expensive fabrics that felt too soft — newsroom memories linger that I was happy to let float away. Lace so thin it seemed about to rip from a puff of my breath. Beaded embroidery that sparkled in the lights like little stars.

I didn’t belong there.

I’d known it from the first step we took inside. The women who worked there had a familiarity with it as well. They had smiled politely, but their eyes had told the story — She doesn’t belong here. She’s not one of us.

And they weren’t wrong.

But Xander hadn’t cared.

He’d ordered dress after dress after dress for me, pulling me further into a world that was not mine, making me stand in front of full-length mirrors while fabric brushed against my skin.

I had protested, of course. I don’t need this. I can’t accept this. This isn’t me.

But Xander had only looked me up and down, his expression both keen and inscrutable, and said, “Wear it.”

And I had.

Not because I wanted to.

But because when Xander Thane spoke, people listened. Even me.

Now, outside in the open air, I felt like I could finally breathe, but my mind was still reeling, still stuck in that boutique, in that mirror, in the heavy fabrics that I had no right to wear.

I swallowed, following Xander’s strong shoulders as he strode ahead, unfazed, like none of this was even a thing.

But to me, it was.

It was a big deal.

Standing in those gowns, I had seen something I didn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror.

A woman who appeared… affluent. Desired. Worthy.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Not just one dress.

Everything was being ordered.

And now, when we arrived at his sleek black car parked by the curb, the reality of the situation sank into my bones.

What was happening?

Why was he being... kind?

Not cruel, not cold, not distant — but something in between.

He was unreadable. And that disturbed me more than the usual swagger.

The driver opened the back door and I slid in. But just as I started to move, Xander’s voice, low and commanding, froze me in place.

“Sit in the front.”

I stiffened.

The front?

I turned a little, trying to read his face, but his face showed no margin for negotiation.

Not another word, I complied, walking around to the car and sliding into the passenger seat.

The interior was impossibly sleek — black leather seats, the barely legible whiff of cedar and something absolutely him attached to the air. The door closed behind me, and my hands curled down into my lap.

Silence.

A few moments afterwards he opened the car door, and as he got in the car's driver's seat naturally changed to fit his stature. The engine rumbled to life, and we backed out of the boutique and glided into traffic.

But the silence remained.

Thick. Heavy. Words not yet spoken, cupping the windows in ghostly palms.

City lights blurred: neon signs throbbed in and out against the darker blue, but I was looking at him everything around him no longer mattered. His solid profile, his hand on the wheel, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched

I should’ve felt relieved that he wasn’t his awful self today. That he hadn’t growled at me or gazed at me with distaste.

But that was precisely why I was suspicious.

Xander never did anything without a purpose.

I was biting my lip indecisive of whether to speak or let the silence continue swallowing us whole. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Why?”

He didn’t respond; I just knew he heard me.

I gulped, then pushed ahead. “Why don’t you like what I wear?”

His grip tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles malleable.

I went on, my voice lower now. “And why did you take me to that boutique of all places?”

It wasn’t just any boutique. It was the boutique. A type of place where even the elite shopped, where no omega did even have the right to even stand nearby the textiles of any kind of fabric they possessed.

And yet, he had let me in like I belonged there.

Like I was his equal.

I expected irritation. A scathing remark. A dismissive scoff.

But he said nothing.

His silence cut more than any insult.

I turned a little in my seat, watching his face, looking for anything — an answer, a signal, a twitch, however minuscule, of emotion.

Still, nothing.

The city blurred outside, the hum of the car completing an absence between us.

I should’ve let it go. Should’ve thanked him for not being in any of his usual moods.

But I wasn’t.

I needed answers.

“Xander.” My voice was firmer now.

And he snorted through his nose, as if weighing whether I was worth an answer.

Then his deep voice finally broke the silence.

“’Cause I don’t want to look at you like you don’t mean anything.

My breath hitched.

Now I pivoted completely to face him, my heart beating louder than the engine.

He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but his words hit me as hard as any insult he’d ever hurled in my direction.

Like I was nothing.

My throat tightened. “That’s who you think I am?” I whispered.

His jaw clenched. “That’s how they feel about you.”

I sucked in a breath.

He was referring to the pack. To those who'd only ever perceived me as an alpha, a coward, a cretin.

And yet…

He didn’t.

I swallowed hard. “That still doesn’t explain why that kooky boutique.”

He flexed his fingers against the wheel again, his voice quieter now.

“Because people like you belong in places like that.”

I had no response to that.

I couldn’t.

He’d never said anything like that before.

And I didn’t know what that meant.

The rest of the drive was spent in that familiar thick silence, but now it was different. Charged. Filling up with unsaid words and feelings I wasn’t prepared to confront.

“I was dizzy by the time we got to the company.”

The driver drove up to entrance, and before I could even reach for my door, Xander was out.

My heart stuttered as I turned to watch him walk around the car, his motion fluid, effortless.

And then — he did something that almost gave me a heart attack.

He opened my door.

For me.

The roving security guards stationed just inside the entrance stiffened, their eyes widening infinitesimally, but they were too afraid to speak.

I was frozen.

Xander Thane had only opened a car door for me.

A simple act.

And yet it was anything but straightforward.

Not for a man like him.

He wouldn’t look at me as I walked out, too stunned to even talk.

Then if that wasn’t enough he opened the trunk—

And pulled out my luggage.

I nearly choked.

The Xander Thane. The Lycan King, cold and powerful.

Carrying my things.

The lobby had gone completely still, employees trying unsuccessfully to look away.

No one spoke.

No one even exhaled too loudly.

Because, well, Xander didn’t do things like this.

Not for anyone.

And yet there he was, my suitcases in his hands like this was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was so surreal that I barely noticed when the security guards jumped into action to grab the bags from him.

But I saw it.

That brief flash of something in their eyes.

Shock. Disbelief. Like a silent, unspoken what the hell is going on? hanging in the air.

But no one dared to ask.

No one dared to even whisper.

I should’ve been embarrassed.

But I wasn’t.

Because in that moment, feeling the press of a hundred stares raking over me, I felt something different entirely.

Something I hadn’t felt for years.

I felt seen.

My chest ached.

He looked at me, his expression inscrutable again.

And then—

He turned his back and walked away without saying a single word.

And just left me standing there, drowning in feelings I wasn’t prepared to handle.

And the worst part?

I already knew that meant something.

Something I wasn’t sure I could survive.