The Midnight Crest banquet hall gleamed with ceremonial splendor, dressed to impress for the occasion. This was no ordinary meal—it was the official welcome feast before the wedding, a show of power and unity meant to dazzle allies and silence dissent. Golden light spilled from glittering chandeliers, casting a soft glow over polished marble floors and silk-draped tables overflowing with delicacies and decanters of wine. Laughter echoed, and the hum of conversation buzzed through the room with effortless charm.
And yet, Celine felt every stare like a blade against her skin—curious, calculating, and far too many of them aimed her way.
She sat upright, her spine rigid, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression didn’t waver—calm, composed, a mask she had perfected over years of silence. But beneath the quiet surface, she could feel it: the questions curling through the crowd like smoke. The glances. The disbelief.
How? How had Celine Quinn, the forgotten daughter, the outcast of Midnight Crest, returned to court—not just present, but seated beside Alpha Leon?
Across the hall, Lilith clung to Luke’s arm with the kind of practiced grace that drew eyes without trying. Her back was straight, every movement deliberate. She leaned in close, her voice soft and low, shaped to sound private, like a secret meant only for him. Her nails pressed gently into the fabric of his sleeve—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold.
Luke didn’t move. He didn’t look at her, didn’t react to the way she touched him or the way her words curled in the air between them. His eyes stayed fixed on the far wall, unfocused, like he wasn’t really seeing any of it. His jaw was tight, his shoulders held too high, too tense.
He looked like a man standing where he was supposed to be, saying what he was expected to say—but he was somewhere else entirely.
And Celine saw it.
She knew that look. She had worn it herself more times than she could count.
Next to her, Leon’s hand wrapped around a crystal goblet, twisting the stem slowly as he swirled the deep red liquid. He hadn’t looked at her since they sat down, but she could feel the edge of his attention—subtle, sharp, constant.
“Lilith looks like she wants to gouge your eyes out,” he said, voice low and dry, pitched just for her.
Celine didn’t turn to him. She didn’t need to. “I’m sure she does.”
He smirked behind his glass. “I wonder why?”
She turned her head, half-prepared to snap back, but then the air shifted.
A hush moved through the hall, soft but unmistakable. Heads turned. Voices stilled.
And then they entered.
Her parents.
Roman and Lillian Quinn.
Celine felt the moment her father’s eyes met hers. It had been years since he had looked at her like she mattered. And now—nothing. No rage. No guilt. Not even surprise.
Just absence.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid, gaze fixed straight ahead. His expression gave nothing away, but there was a tightness in the line of his jaw, the kind that came from effort—not ease.
Beside him, his mate wore the kind of smile meant for formal events and carefully staged photographs. It was calm, practiced, and utterly out of place. Not the smile of a mother reunited with a daughter long cast aside.
“Alpha Leon,” she said smoothly, dipping her head with precise grace.
Leon didn’t rise. He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting casually along the armrest. “Luna. Alpha.”
His tone was polite, but cool—each word shaped just sharp enough to remind them where they stood.
Her gaze drifted to Celine. The smile remained, but it had the weight of something held in place too long. Her eyes didn’t warm. They scanned Celine like she was a curiosity, not a daughter. Like something half-remembered from a life already rewritten.
“Celine,” she said, careful and composed, like the name itself needed testing before she committed to it.
She paused, waiting—clearly expecting a greeting. A nod. Deference.
Celine sat still. Her face didn’t shift. Her hands stayed folded in her lap.
She gave her nothing.
The smile twitched at the edges.
Her father spoke next. His voice, as always, was steady. Controlled. “You’ve certainly… risen unexpectedly.”
Celine tilted her head slightly, eyes steady. “You always told me I’d never amount to anything,” she said, her tone light, almost amused. “And yet—”
She gestured to the empty chair beside her. The seat of honor.
Her mother’s lips pressed together, the smile thinning into something brittle.
Across the room, Lilith’s grip on Luke’s arm tightened. Celine didn’t need to look. She felt it—tension pulled tight, sharp as a thread about to snap. Lilith, losing ground. Holding harder. Reminding everyone where Luke stood.
Leon noticed.
He looked between Celine and the couple in front of them, then spoke with quiet certainty.
“I have to say—you did an excellent job convincing the world your eldest daughter never existed.”
The smile vanished.
Her father’s fingers twitched, barely.
Leon lifted his glass and took a slow sip. When he set it down, the sound was soft, deliberate.
“Fortunately,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “I don’t forget as easily.”
Her mother dipped her head, face unreadable.
Her father turned and walked away without a word, without a single glance back.
And Celine let them go.