Hailee’s POV
I had just taken my bath when a soft knock came at my door.
"Come in," I gestured.
The door creaked open, and one of the maids stepped in, carrying a carefully folded dress draped over her arms. It was a deep shade of blue. It was silky and elegant.
"Alpha Callum asked me to bring this for you, ma’am," she said gently, lowering her gaze in respect. "He said it would suit you for tonight’s festival."
I stared at it for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Thank you."
She curtsied slightly and left, shutting the door silently behind her.
The room fell quiet again, and I turned back to the dress. It was beautiful — the kind of thing meant for royalty. But right now, it felt like a costume. Like I was dressing up for a life that didn’t fit me anymore.
Still, I put it on.
The fabric slid against my skin, cool and soft. I stood before the mirror, adjusting the straps, brushing my hair over one shoulder. From the outside, I looked fine—graceful even. But inside, my chest was a storm.
Tomorrow, I would have to face Nathan.
I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know what I’d say.
Would he look at me with hate?
Would he ignore me completely?
Or worse—would he spit at me?
I pressed a trembling hand against my chest. "You have to hold it together," I whispered to myself.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped on my shoes and stepped out of the room.
The sound of laughter and light chatter drifted from below. As I reached the staircase, my heart tightened.
There they were—Callum and the boys—waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
Oscar noticed me first. "Mom," he said, smiling softly. "You look nice."
Ozzy smirked. "More like fancy."
Ozzy added quietly, "Sir Callum was right. Blue suits you."
I smiled at them, and then my eyes interlocked with Callum’s.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, dressed in a dark suit that fit him perfectly. His hair was neatly brushed back, his presence calm but commanding—the kind of man everyone stopped to look at.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
I nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. "Yes."
As I reached the last step, he extended a hand to me. It was a small gesture—polite, almost formal—but when I placed my hand in his, something about it made my throat tighten.
He didn’t speak. He only held my hand a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing my skin gently before letting go.
The boys were already talking about the festival—about the games, the fireworks, and what food they wanted to try. Their excitement filled the hallway with noise and life.
But I couldn’t match their energy.
My smile felt thin, brittle.



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