Chapter 2

Scarborough Street was alive with the bustle of market day. Vendors called out their wares—porcelain, spices, tea, and textiles—while townsfolk moved between stalls, bartering and chatting.

From Andrew's car, I noticed a disturbance in the crowd. My gaze sharpened, and I quickly spotted Carol at the center of it.

Andrew must have seen her too. He muttered something under his breath, then slammed the brakes, pulling over abruptly before yanking the door open and striding out.

I trailed him outside to find Carol locked in a heated exchange with a spice vendor. Her tear-streaked face hardened into a mask of defiance the instant she spotted Andrew and me.

"You accuse me of stealing your spices, but where's your proof? Strip me bare if you must, but you won't find anything!"

"Oh?" The vendor sneered. "If you're that eager for me to undress you, I won't hold back." He reached for her.

Carol cried out for help, her gaze darting toward us. "Please, save me!"

Andrew, who had been watching, finally lost his restraint. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them.

A sharp crack rang through the market. Andrew struck the vendor across the face.

"Kneel," Andrew commanded coldly. "Apologize to Carol."

Stunned and furious, the vendor spat a curse. "She stole from me! Why should I be the one apologizing?"

Andrew responded with his fists, and the argument escalated into a full-blown brawl.

"I said, apologize to her!"

I stood still, watching.

Andrew Claude, the mighty Alpha of the Celestial Tribe, who never deigned to acknowledge street vendors, was now a whirlwind of fists, fighting to force an apology for Carol. His movements, a spectacle of power and precision, earned him gasps and awed cheers from the onlookers, captivated by his bravery to stand up against injustice.

But I knew the truth. This was all for show.

This dramatic display was his grand proclamation, a public testament to his love and fierce protectiveness toward Carol.

As the fight raged on, no one noticed Carol creeping toward me. She clutched a small bottle, her fingers nimble as she tried to slip it into my pocket.

Realization hit me that instant—she had stolen the spice. And now, she was framing me for it.

I opened my mouth to expose her, but before I could speak, Carol twisted the cap off.

An intensely sharp scent of basil filled the air.

I was allergic to basil and Carol knew that.

The potent scent slammed into me and my body reacted instantly. My skin flared, and my chest constricted.

I tried to accuse her, pointing, but my voice was lost.

She simply tossed the bottle aside, then stood there, watching me with a smile.

I collapsed.

Somewhere behind me, Andrew was still fighting.

As the world faded to darkness, I heard my name—Andrew's voice, finally remembering I existed. His panicked cry echoed, reaching me just as I slipped into unconsciousness.

Carol was the one who had stolen from the vendor while Andrew was the one who had gotten into a fight with the vendor, and somehow, I was the one unconscious on the ground.

I had only been discharged from the hospital that morning, and by the afternoon, I was back in it.

I woke up to the sterile white walls of a hospital room. It was empty.

A healer entered and said, "Miss, your boyfriend carried you in like his life depended on it. But then he got a call and left in a hurry. I said he should wait until you were awake, but he insisted on getting you iced tea."

I waited until nightfall. He never came back.

Lying in bed, I scrolled through my phone.

Carol's latest post on her social media, "Falsely accused and terrified today, but at least I got to drink some iced tea."

A news alert popped up just then. Andrew's fight, documented in vivid photos and videos, was dominating the headlines.

"Shocking! An Alpha brawls with an Omega on the street for a young woman!"

"The young woman in question is Carol Sinclair, a pack-servant in Alpha Andrew Claude's household."

"As a fortune teller, I can say with certainty—the way Alpha Andrew looks at her is exactly how a man in love looks at a woman."

"OMG! How romantic! The stoic, powerful Alpha battling for the sweet, vulnerable Omega pack-servant? I'm completely invested!"

"Will our Alpha bond with her?"

I closed social media and called Andrew's butler.

"It's me, Bella," I said evenly. "I want to make some adjustments to the invitations for the bonding ceremony. Don't let the Alpha know. I want to surprise him."