Chapter 3

The party was in full swing. In every room of the house, people swarmed, heightening Francesca’s anxiety with the noises they were making. The wolf inside her was also uneasy, and still a bit angry at Francesca for what she attempted to do the night before. 

We're still going to do it, you know. But with a bigger purpose in mind this time. We'll be stuck together on the next plane, are you really going to be mad at me for a long time? Francesca told her wolf, but she received no acknowledgment. 

“Stay calm and smile. You know what he’ll do to you if you were anything less than happy in public.” Gianna whispered beside Francesca, “You look beautiful. Try to enjoy the night, okay?” 

Francesca nodded, hands grasping the front of her dress to keep the piece of paper hidden inside it intact. She planned to enjoy the night, sure. Though not in the way that Gianna hoped. She thought about it last night, and she was going to do it---end her life in front of everybody and bring Stefano’s pristine reputation down with him. Before the banquet ends, all these people will be aware of Stefano’s true nature, and her friends will be free. Francesca would be free, too, just in the soul plane, where she was sure to find Carmel. 

Francesca took a deep breath, readying herself to greet the guests when suddenly, a coughing fit wracked her body. 

“Are you alright?” Mira asked. She was also beside Francesca, trying her best to get her through the night. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Francesca answered, “I just---my asthma acted up last night. The basement wasn’t exactly spick and span, you know.” 

Gianna narrowed he eyes at Francesca, “I don’t understand. He was so excited that you were well enough to attend the banquet this year. Why would he risk getting you sick by locking you in the basement overnight?” 

“I didn’t do anything. You know he does whatever he wants for no reason other than to be vindictive.” Francesca snapped, hoping her face didn’t give away the real reason she was isolated. 

Gianna grinned; all suspicion is gone, “By that tone of voice, now I’m absolutely sure. There’s still fight left in you, girl. Now, go get them.” 

Giving Gianna a reluctant smile, Francesca entered the ballroom and surveyed the scene before her.

The Lunar Banquet. Held every year by the werewolves of New York to thank the moon goddess for her continued blessing. The festivities had already started. The Psi werewolves danced to the music provided by the Phis and Chis. At the same time, the Upsilons and those above them in rank were in party dresses, conversing with each other. The Omegas and the humans, on the other hand, faded into the background in their dark servants’ uniforms as they handed out drinks and food to their superiors. 

One such servant approached Francesca with a tray of full wine glasses on hand. “A drink, Madame?”

“No, thank you,” Francesca murmured at the Omega, giving him a small smile. If Francesca were to guess, the boy was around Carmel’s age, freshly turned from human to werewolf. All Omegas were turned, and they always had that sallow look from housing a young wolf spirit that they have yet to control. This was Francesca five years ago, downtrodden and weak. But she worked hard and gained Epsilon status. Her situation then improved. Until she met her husband. 

Now, she would've given anything to be an inconspicuous Omega instead. 

Speaking of, Francesca let out a tensed sigh, scanning the ballroom for Stefano. He had firmly instructed her to go straight to him once she arrived in the ballroom, but she had no intention of doing so. After spotting him across the room talking to his fellow Alphas, Francesca went the opposite way and dissolved into the crowd. 

As Francesca headed towards the balcony, a strange yet familiar feeling enveloped her, and her hand flew to her chest. She couldn’t explain what was going on, but her whole being welcomed it. It was like a song, separate from the one heard around the ballroom. Yes, it was a melody made only for her, and she felt like she was hearing it for the hundredth time even when it only came to her now. 

Francesca’s head whipped around, trying to spot the source of the feeling. But the faces of the party blurred, and she realized she was crying. She reached up to her face, wiping the corners of her eyes, staring at the wetness with wonderment. She didn't know why she was tearing up. Perhaps it was the feeling that a huge weight just lifted off her? It was indeed surreal. The wolf inside her felt alive more than it ever was. She forgot how that felt like, to have her fur rise up in excitement and pure happiness. 

Brightening, Francesca continued to look for him amongst the sea of people around her, but to no avail. Instead, she saw her husband's face, and Francesca was suddenly reminded of reality. Stefano. He was furiously looking for her from the middle of the ballroom. Francesca had no choice but to abandon her search for the owner of that mysterious song and hide herself again. 

Whoever you are, thank you for finding me. I would’ve loved to meet you, but I have to go. I’m sorry. Francesca whispered in her thoughts, hoping it would reach her mate. Her heart broke at the thought that she had to say goodbye before she could say hello, but she was running out of time. Stefano would find her. He always did. 

With renewed effort, Francesca pulled up the trail of her gown and quickened her steps. Back in the ballroom, the host began to call for the attendees to get inside for the Thanksgiving ritual. Undeterred, she pushed against the people as they headed for the ballroom. And once she reached the edge of the balcony, she was left alone, just like she wanted to. 

Francesca paused for a while, soaking in the light of the moon above her. She prayed for the goddess to forgive her for what she was about to do. With trembling hands, Francesca produced the letter that she had hidden in her bodice earlier. Her suicide note. It detailed all the things she had to endure under Stefano, and hopefully, it would spell the end of his tyranny. Grasping the letter in her palm, she carefully laid it in the middle of the plants that lined the balcony’s cement railing. Then, she pulled herself up the banister, barely noticing a rose-thorn prick on her finger. 

Francesca instinctively closed her eyes. She expected it, but the height that greeted her eyelids made her stomach churn, fathomless and ruthless yet beautiful and inviting. She tested her resolve one last time and found that it didn't change despite the fear. If anything, it made the decision for her. Finally steeling herself, Francesca prepared to jump.