The string quartet slid into a waltz as servers threaded through the crowd. I steadied a glass of sparkling water against my lip, bubbles biting like nerves.
Celeste drifted to my side at the edge of the ballroom, smiling bright for onlookers, fingers grazing my elbow as if steadying me, not steering me.
"Harper, quick heads-up," she murmured, eyes still on the room. "Tonight’s investor is Malcolm Courtland, from the UK. Obsessed with the monarchy. Very modern views on family. Progressive, you understand?"
"Malcolm Courtland," I repeated, tasting the lie under the polish.
"Weston needs this deal desperately." Her green eyes shone with manufactured concern. "Just… impress him. Talk royals, drop how you support modern partnerships—make him feel seen. It’s really important to Weston.”
"I'll do my best."
"I knew you would." She squeezed my arm. "We're family, after all."
Yeah, right. ‘Cause family sabotages and sets up each other. After all.
This time I was prepared. I knew it was coming, so I’ve spent the last week researching, memorizing any possibly important detail about this man.
I’ll not let her manipulations and dirty games humiliate me again. Ever.
Twenty minutes later, the investor approached our corner of the ballroom. Real name Finnegan O'Brien—stocky, silver-haired, radiating conservative Irish Catholic judgment.
Weston's arm locked around my waist like a vise.
"Mr. O'Brien." His voice pitched too high. "May I present my fiancée, Harper Evernight."
"Fiancée, is it?” O'Brien's gaze dropped to my eight-month belly, his mouth tightening. "Not a wife?"
"We're planning the wedding after—"
"Interesting values for a potential business partner." O'Brien's accent thickened with disapproval. "Getting a woman pregnant before marriage. What does that say about your character, Mr. Hayes?"
Weston's fingers dug bruises into my hip. "Sir, I can explain…"
"Mr. O'Brien." I stepped forward, breaking Weston's grip. "You're absolutely right to question it. Any man of integrity would."
O'Brien's eyebrows lifted.
"The truth is, Weston and I have been together for three years. We'd already chosen our wedding venue, sent save-the-dates to the family." The lies flowed like honey. "But passion sometimes outpaces planning, doesn't it? Young love can be... overwhelming."
"I surely understand how it can be. I once was young as well, but that's hardly an excuse for…"
"And you're right again. Which is why Weston proposed the moment we discovered the happy news." I touched my belly with practiced tenderness. "He insisted we marry immediately. Said he wouldn't have his child born without his name, without legitimacy."
O'Brien's posture shifted slightly.
"But I'm the one who insisted on waiting." I lowered my eyes. "Call it vanity, but I've dreamed of my wedding day since childhood. I want to wear my mother's dress, to look perfect standing beside this incredible man. Not waddling down the aisle like a penguin."
A ghost of a smile touched O'Brien's mouth.
"Besides," I continued, meeting his eyes directly, "Weston tells me your Dublin expansion has been remarkable. The Grafton Street location especially—brilliant positioning near Trinity College."
"He told you about our expansion?"
"He tells me everything." I linked my arm through Weston's rigid one. "He finds it fascinating, me as well. The way you've navigated Ireland's corporate tax structure while maintaining ethical standards… It's masterful, really."
"Most women find such talk boring."
"Most women aren't carrying the child of a future business titan." I smiled. "I need to understand the empire our children will inherit."
O'Brien laughed—sharp and genuine. "Hayes, you didn't mention your fiancée had brains alongside striking beauty."
"Harper constantly surprises me." Weston's voice held genuine bewilderment.
"Let's discuss those distribution channels." O'Brien clapped Weston's shoulder. "Your woman's convinced me you might have the character I'm looking for after all. It was nice to meet you, young lady."
“The pleasure is all my, sir.”
And just like that they disappeared into Weston's office. I counted heartbeats until Celeste materialized, champagne flute in hand, smile fracturing at the edges.
"Harper! How did it go with Malcolm— Oh god." Her hand flew to her mouth. "That wasn't Malcolm Courtland… That was Finnegan O'Brien."
"Yes."
"I'm so sorry! I must have mixed up my notes. Did he… was he upset about—?"
"The deal's probably being signed as we speak, Celeste."
Her champagne glass clicked against her teeth. "What?"
"Turns out Mr. O'Brien appreciates traditional values properly presented."
"But I thought— I mean, I was certain Malcolm—"
"Mistakes happen, Celeste." I patted her shoulder. "Lucky I managed to salvage it."
Her eyes burned hot enough to melt steel, but her voice remained syrup. "Yes. Lucky."
An hour later, Weston emerged from his office like a conquering hero, O'Brien beside him shaking hands, contracts signed. The moment O'Brien's car pulled away, Weston grabbed me, spinning me despite my belly.
"Harper, you magnificent creature!" His hands framed my face. "For two and a half years I've been courting that stubborn bastard. Years! And you charmed him in five minutes."
"I just talked to him."
"No, you played him like a violin." His blue eyes blazed with something new—hunger. "It was perfect. You're perfect."
"Weston…"
"How did I not see this before?" His thumb traced my cheekbone. "You're not just beautiful. You're brilliant. Strategic. Everything a true Alpha needs in a Luna."
"The pregnancy's making me tired. Can we…"
"Of course." He guided me toward the exit, hand possessive on my back. "Let's get you home. We need to discuss wedding plans. Next month, after Ava's born. Something grand. Show everyone you're mine."
In the car, he leaned forward. "Home," he told the driver, then turned back to me with predatory focus.
The ride crackled with his energy. Weston couldn't stop touching—my hand, my knee, my thigh. Each contact sparked revulsion I buried under practiced smiles.
"The way O'Brien looked at you… Like he wanted to steal you himself. " His voice dropped rough. "But you're mine, Harper. No one else will ever touch you."
His hand slid higher on my thigh. "Weston, the baby…"
"I know. I'm careful." His fingers traced patterns through silk. "But after she's born, after we're mated and married… Goddess, Harper, the things I want to do to you."
I want to vomit. Right here, and right now.
And it has nothing to do with pregnancy. "The doctor said six weeks minimum, dear."
"I'll wait." He pulled me against him, breath hot on my neck. "But once you're healed, once you're mine officially… I'm going to worship every inch of you. Make up for lost time. For not seeing what I had earlier."
"Please, you're overwhelming me." I pressed a hand to his chest, maintaining careful distance.
"You're right. I'm sorry." He pulled back, but his eyes still burned. "I just… Tonight changed everything. You changed everything."
I stared out the window at passing streetlights, feeling his desire like oil on skin.
In the nightmare, he'd backhanded me in this car. Called me a useless embarrassment who'd cost him millions.
I am certain now he'd fucked Celeste that night while I cried in the guest room. All those late meetings, her knowing smiles, his satisfaction the next morning finally made sense.
Now he wanted me with the desperation of a man who'd discovered gold in his backyard.
"Harper?" His voice turned tender. "What are you thinking?"
"Just processing everything."
"I know I haven't been... attentive. But that changes now." His hand found mine again. "You're going to be my wife. My Luna. My mate. No one will ever disrespect you again."
The promises dripped sweet as poison. I squeezed his hand, letting him feel reciprocated affection he'd never earned. "That means everything to me, Weston."
The lie tasted like vengeance.
He'd mark me, mate me, bind his soul to mine. And when I’ll sever that bond publicly, when I’ll reject him in front of the entire pack… he'll understand what real loss feels like.
But first, I'd let him fall completely. Let him taste his own medicine.