Chapter 31
Imogen
Ophelia keeps staring at me from across the seat. Riding with her and her mates in a rented town car, we’re all seated in the back. Sully clasps Ophelia’s hand while Asher squeezes her thigh. Enzo’s staring at his phone while Theo runs commentary the entire drive.
"Where’s the red?" She narrows her eyes from across the seat.
My fingers graze my lips, in nothing more than a nude balm and gloss. In fact, all my makeup is simple. My cheeks glow, my skin fresh and plump.
A month ago—another lifetime ago—I’d have made up a lie because I knew how the truth sounded. I’d have taken the judgment upon myself to spare another.
"Stevens decided they don’t like the red lipstick or black eye makeup. It sets the wrong tone, makes me look too old or like a harlot. Notice anything else?"
Ophelia scrunches her eyes. "You’ve got a bow in your hair."
"She looks like a teenager, which is disturbing on another level. I’m assuming this was also their request?"
I nod at Enzo, and there’s a collective grumbling throughout their pack.
Tugging at the hem of my peter pan collar long-sleeved dress, I feel uncomfortable in my skin. The dress is one I've owned for some time, and though it always hung off my frame, it now shows off curves and fits snugly. My mates groaned this morning, telling me how sexy I looked, and while I felt sexy when I put it on, I wish I'd gone shopping and bought something baggy and ugly.
My new curves are mine. Not for my mother to poke and prod. Not for Stevens to reject. But I refused my mother's suggestion that I get fitted for something new tonight, so my compromise with her was that I'd wear the peter pan dress, which is a more youthful style.
"So what’s the plan?" I ask, trying to distract myself.
We review the plan again, though it's not especially complicated; Ophelia’s mates will distract Stevens while mine run interference if necessary, and she and I will sneak away from the party in search of anything that could be incriminating.
Ophelia and I made Dante swear they would stay out of sight. In fact, they shouldn’t even be going. I'm concerned that they’ll get angry and ruin the plan, but over the last few weeks, especially last night and again this morning before we left, they made it clear they hated what I agreed to do and wouldn’t stay home. But they promised to behave.
It’s beautiful in its simplicity, and since Stevens consistently treats me like an omega statue, I should be able to slip away easily.
We get to the mansion around seven, right as the party starts. My mother expected me to arrive earlier so she could make me presentable, but I've reached my limit in obeying her every demand.
The moment we step into the grand foyer, we're greeted by the faint sounds of laughter and the delicate clinking of dishes and trays coming from the dining area, specially arranged for the party. My mother stops before I can go any further.
"Imogen, you’re late!" She snaps. Ophelia gives me an apologetic shrug but continues on to the party to mingle like they’re supposed to.
Gripping my wrist, my mother drags me through the house like she owns the place. I’ve never been here before, but she seems awfully comfortable. Finding a small bathroom near the kitchen, she shoves me into it, closing the door behind her.
Fussing with my hair, wringing her wrists over the fit of my dress, I do my best to pull on my mask and smile, even if I don’t feel like it. Even if every day with Dante, especially after last night, wearing it becomes more of a chore. It’s easy to slip on, sure, but I don’t want to. Not anymore.
"Mother, it’s fine," I placate, but she’s still tugging at my hair.
"Now, Stevens graciously offered their home for the party, and as their betrothed, that means you’re hosting. Try to remember everything you’ve been taught, dear. I know you’ve got it in you somewhere, just… smile, look pretty. Be docile. After all, they are showing off their lovely future bride, so stay glued to their sides. Never talk back, never interrupt them when they're speaking, and never question them in front of others. They’re your new alphas. You must treat them with the same respect you’ve shown your father all these years. Understood?"
My stomach feels queasy, and I’m suddenly grateful she’s retying my bow and tugging at my hair painfully. It helps draw the attention away from her words.
She doesn’t wait for a response, stepping back when she’s done. "There. Lovely. And thank you for wearing this dress. It’ll hide that extra weight you’ve gained. I’ve already contacted the seamstress about your wedding dress. She’s building in a corset as well, that should help."
With her commentary on my body, her dismissal of any feelings I might have, the way she treats me like a living doll, it’s all I can take not to scream.
"I wasn’t aware you’d chosen a wedding dress for me," I say, painting on my fake smile, but it’s a little less soft and a little more sarcastic.
She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Turning on her heels, she spins and leaves the bathroom, but not before giving me one more reminder that obedience is my only job this evening and that all great women are obedient.
My teeth grind so hard I fear I may crack a tooth, but fortunately, her attention is elsewhere by the time we make our way toward the party guests.
Pausing at their grand dining hall entrance, I take in all the glittering opulence. It’s a gorgeous space, tastefully decorated. More lovely than I’d expected after knowing Stevens, with potted trees and natural light, a nice contrast to the dark mahogany furniture and crystal lamps.
And it means nothing. It’s just another pretty picture with nothing of value beneath.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to primp and preen." A deep voice startles me, and I look up while Kenneth’s hand snakes around my waist.
I suck in a breath, and it takes every ounce of effort to school my expression and not cringe away from his touch. I’m doing this for all the omegas, I remind myself. So he can’t hurt anyone else.
His brows lift, waiting for my response, and when I have my emotions locked back up in a box, I smile softly and tilt my head down.
"I hope I’m to your approval," I say, the words tasting like rotten ash.
"You're a vision." He leans down and kisses my cheek, and my nails dig into my palms in response. "And I must say… I’m sure it’s not to your mother's approval, but I have noticed your figure’s filled out a bit since we met."
I open my mouth to defend myself, but he cuts me off. "I actually quite like it." Then he winks, and his hand leaves my waist, slipping down to give my butt a small squeeze.
"There you are!" Ophelia shouts dramatically, coming to my rescue. Her eyes narrow on Kenneth’s hand, which slips back around my waist.
"You don’t mind if I borrow Imogen, do you?" She asks Kenneth, but pulls me away before he can answer. His face is thunderous, but it’s directed at Ophelia, not me. Fortunately, given the company, he swallows his anger, turning a genial smile on Sully and Asher as they shake hands.
The guys dive into politics, and Saul and Jonathan join, so I’m relieved when Ophelia drags me halfway across the room. We pass my fathers, who barely spare me a glance. It stings, but it's no different from any other party, right? They've always acted like this. The only time they spoke to me in public was when they were trying to set me up with a pack. Now, there's no need for the pretense.
"Damn, I didn’t think we’d need to bail you out that fast. What’s it been, ten minutes?"
"I’m sorry, Ophelia. I sort of froze. He grabbed my bum, and it surprised me."
"Bum!" Ophelia cackles. "You’re adorable. Don’t apologize. I knew we’d need to run interference, but I didn’t think he’d grope your ass as soon as he saw you."
I snort. "Apparently, he’s quite fond of my body getting thicker."
"Don’t you love when people talk about your body like it’s up for discussion?"
We both shake our heads in commiseration. Snagging two champagne glasses from a passing server, she threads her arm through mine, walking me around the room until we’re near a small fireplace, away from other party guests.
"Any clue where the office is?" She asks, hiding her mouth behind the glass.
I shake my head once.
"This place is massive."
"Maybe I should ask for a tour," I suggest, as much as I don’t want to.
She doesn’t give it a moment's thought, "No way. We’ll go explore, and if we get caught, we’ll just say you’re giving yourself a tour of your new home."
I smile despite the crap situation. Only Ophelia would think that was a reasonable excuse. In high-society it would be considered so inappropriate to do such a thing.
"Great idea," I smirk. The busier the party gets, the more it feels like a political OFA event than a simple engagement celebration.
I keep eyeing the servers, hoping to catch one of my mates.
"They’re outback. You won’t see them. Melanie tried to put Iggy in disguise, but he fought her like she was trying to get socks on a cat." She bursts out laughing, drawing attention from a gray-haired woman with pearls the size of grapes. She narrows her eyes at Ophelia, but when she turns to me, she dips her head slightly in respect.
"I wish I could see them in disguises, that sounds hilarious."
"Truthfully, once you’re in a catering outfit, you're instantly invisible, so I'm not even sure it's necessary."
"That’s terrible."
"That’s life. Anyway, since the most she could do to get Iggy to cover his neck tattoos was wear a scarf, she delegated them to the kitchen. It’s for the best anyway. If they had to walk around the party and see Kenny grab your ass, Iggy might commit homicide."
Again, with Iggy, a grossly over-exaggerated reaction, yet my insides warm at his protective streak.
"You’re right, it’s probably for the best."
Knowing they’re here but out of reach is hard, but I feel safer knowing they’re close.
Ophelia and I change the subject and wander closer to the other guests, the room now filled with High Hills elites. I know more people here than Ophelia does, despite her having grown up in Arrow Cove. She’s not really accepted into society, but her mates are too wealthy for any of these people to ignore her, so they make polite conversation.
You can hear their disdain for her hidden behind every word, but it’s polished with a smile. So perfect and practiced, so fake. Just like me.
Saul eventually insists that I rejoin them, griping how their new omega wasn’t automatically there when he wanted me to be. What he really meant was I needed to stand by them and look pretty, which is what I spent the next hour doing. They introduced me to work colleagues, friends, and family, and I bowed my head and shook hands while they continued their conversations without me.
My OFA cloak slipped on like a second skin, and though I chafed at the pressure, it eventually became easier to smile softly, keeping my hands folded in front of me, the image of perfection.
When Kenneth tapped a spoon against his glass to garner the room's attention, I stayed quiet, Ophelia and I stealing glances. While they shared the news of our engagement, everyone clapped as if they didn’t already know, as if every one of our outings hadn’t been in the Daily Rag.
When the spotlight turned away from us, Ophelia wrapped her arm through mine once more, and I think she was getting a sick enjoyment out of annoying Stevens, but with Ophelia’s mates close by, they didn’t say a word.
But then Ophelia stiffens beside me, and I follow her gaze to Madam Fletcher, who’s holding congress by the lounge. I see my mother's familiar blonde updo in the crowd, smiling demurely at whatever Fletcher says.
Ophelia grips my arm tighter, and when Fletcher makes her way over to us, her scent changes, growing sharper.
Sully, who’s been hovering nearby, tenses, joining us with her other three mates right behind.
Ophelia greets Fletcher tersely. They exchange stilted pleasantries before Ophelia cuts her off and asks why the winter curriculum, just published on their website, listed Weight Management as one of their courses.
My cheeks burn in embarrassment. Especially when Madam Fletcher's eyes flick to me, giving me a once-over before returning to Ophelia, defending her choice.
"What a crock of shit," Ophelia spits.
"My goodness, Ophelia, I thought your introduction to high-society might have smoothed your edges, but you're still just as uncultured as ever. Perhaps you should ask your lovely omega friend how beneficial these classes are before you judge, hmm? Imogen, you met with our trainers recently. Did you feel they pressured you into losing all this recent weight gain or wasn't it clear that good health was the goal?"
My cheeks flame and I lose momentary control of my mask. My eyes sting, but a warm hand touches my back, and my omega softens against it.
Shocked at Fletcher's blatant dressing down of the most submissive person in the group, Ophelia starts defending me.
But then I realize the warm hand on my back isn’t her. I don’t know why I thought it was.
"Come, darling, let’s leave these two vultures to themselves."
Vulnerable, on the verge of tears, I don’t feel strong enough to say no when Jonathan tugs me away from the group. I receive a few patronizing, pitiful smiles as people watch me escape one nightmare into another.
"We haven’t had a chance to give you a tour," Jonathan says as we walk around the edge of the room, past the fireplace.
"Oh, well, that’s alright. I’m sure I’ll get to know your home soon."
"No doubt," he replies without looking at me. My steps falter, but his grip is strong, and I don’t want to make a scene. The party is only halfway over, and Ophelia and I are nowhere near ready to snoop.
We emerge into a library, and I’m taken aback by the rest of Stevens Pack waiting for us. Kenneth is typing on his phone, barely sparing me a glance, while Saul scowls and Devon leans in to kiss my cheek.
Without letting go of my arm, Jonathan pulls me through the room. Saul points out the architecture and the estate from which they purchased the library books. Heaven forbid they built their own collection.
When we near a set of stairs, I dig in my heels. "But the party…?"
Kenneth, who slips his phone in his pocket, waves me off. "The party’s in full swing. No one will notice if the hosts sneak off for a bit," he winks.
I feel nauseous because I am surrounded by these four large alphas and all their intense energy, but I don’t have much choice. With two in front of me and two keeping me from escaping, at my back, I follow Stevens Pack upstairs for a tour of their home.