23. Marcus
MARCUS
I 've been searching high and low trying to track Belle.
Her scent has been calling to me all evening, that intoxicating blend of vanilla and honey that cuts through every other fragrance in the palace.
Even with her suppressants working overtime, I can follow her trail like a bloodhound.
It's stronger tonight than it's ever been, richer and more complex, and it's driving my alpha instincts absolutely crazy.
I know Felix found her first, spent time with her in the library, and he tried to kiss her. Then Theo found her later, lost and panicked in the storage corridors. And I know she ran from both of them, overwhelmed and scared and not ready to face what we all know is inevitable.
Our omega. Our Belle. The missing piece we've been searching for without even knowing we were looking for her.
The bathroom door is slightly ajar when I reach it, and I can hear the soft sounds of distress coming from inside. Paper towels being unrolled, quiet sniffles, the kind of defeated sighs that make my chest ache with the need to fix whatever's wrong.
I knock gently on the doorframe. "Belle?"
The sounds stop immediately, and I can smell the spike of surprise and something that might be relief in her scent.
"It's Marcus," I add, keeping my voice low and non-threatening. "Can I come in?"
There's a pause, then a shaky "Yeah."
I push the door open and step inside, taking in the scene before me.
Belle is standing in front of the ornate mirror, her rose gold dress soaked with what smells like champagne punch, her carefully styled hair coming loose, her makeup smudged.
She looks like she's been through a war, and the defeat in her posture makes something protective and fierce rise in my chest.
"What happened?" I ask, though I can guess. Palace servers, crowded spaces, accidents waiting to happen.
"Someone spilled drinks on me," she says, not meeting my eyes in the mirror. "My dress is ruined, I smell like a fruit bowl, and my date is too busy falling in love to notice I exist."
The bitterness in her voice makes me want to find Adam Chen and have a very pointed conversation about priorities. But that's not what she needs right now.
"The dress isn't ruined," I say, moving closer to assess the damage. "Stained, maybe, but not ruined. And you smell like vanilla and honey with a hint of champagne. Trust me, there are worse combinations."
She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"I'm saying it because it's true." I meet her eyes in the mirror, noting the exhaustion and frustration written across her face. "But more importantly, you look like you could use some air. How about we step outside for a few minutes?"
She turns to face me, and I can see her trying to read my expression behind my mask. "What, now you're reading minds?"
I can't help but grin at the tartness in her voice. Even defeated and covered in fruit punch, Belle Hartwell has attitude. "Lucky guess. You have that look people get when they've had enough of crowds and small talk and being polite."
"And you think taking me to the gardens will help? Are we going to discuss the historical significance of roses and the proper pruning techniques for topiary?"
I laugh, genuinely amused by her assumption. "No, Belle. I just want to talk. In fact, we all do."
"We?" She asks.
"Felix and Theo are waiting outside. We thought it might be time for a conversation that's been a long time coming."
I can see the exact moment when understanding hits her, the way her scent shifts from tired resignation to something sharper and more wary.
"All three of you," she says, and it's not a question.
"All three of us."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing this information. "And if I don't want to have this conversation?"
"Then we'll respect that," I say simply. "But Belle, I think you do want to have it. I think you've been waiting for someone to give you answers instead of more questions."
She stares at me for another beat, then nods slowly. "Okay. But Marcus? No more surprises after this. I don't think I can handle any more surprises tonight."
"I'll do my best," I tell her, though I know I can't promise that. The night is far from over, and there are still revelations to come that she's not ready for.
I'm about to offer her my arm when the bathroom door swings open and two women in elaborate gowns enter, chatting animatedly about the evening's events. They stop short when they see me, their conversation cutting off abruptly.
"Excuse me," one of them says, her voice sharp with disapproval. "This is the ladies' room."
"Women only," the other adds firmly, crossing her arms and giving me a look that could freeze fire. "You need to leave."
Heat rises in my cheeks as I realize how this looks—a masked alpha cornering an obviously distressed omega in a bathroom. "I was just—"
"Leaving," the first woman finishes pointedly. "Now."
Belle steps forward slightly, and I can smell the spike of embarrassment in her scent. "It's okay, he was helping me—"
"Honey, we can help you," the second woman says gently, her tone shifting from hostile to protective as she focuses on Belle. "Are you alright? Do you need us to call security?"
"No, really, I'm fine," Belle assures them quickly, but the women are clearly unconvinced.
"Out," the first woman says to me, pointing toward the door with all the authority of someone who's used to being obeyed. "We'll take care of her."
I look at Belle, trying to communicate with my eyes that this conversation isn't over, that I'll be waiting for her. She nods slightly, understanding.
"I'll be right outside," I tell her quietly, then address the two women. "She's had an accident with some drinks. If you could help her..."
"We've got this," one of them says firmly, already moving toward Belle with the kind of immediate female solidarity that I've seen before. "Go."
I reluctantly head toward the door, but before I leave, I turn back to Belle. "When you're ready, we'll be in the gardens. Near the garden house."
She nods again, and I can see something in her expression that might be relief mixed with anticipation.
As I step out into the corridor, I can already hear the women inside fussing over Belle, offering hair pins and makeup touch-ups and the kind of practical help that women seem to instinctively provide for each other.
I lean against the wall outside the bathroom, close enough that I can hear the murmur of voices but far enough away that I'm not obviously lurking. My phone buzzes with a text from Felix:
Found a quiet spot in the gardens. How did it go?
Still in progress, I text back. She'll meet us outside when she's ready.
And if she doesn't come?
I stare at that question for a long moment before typing back:
Then we wait. However long it takes.
Because that's what you do for your omega, even when she doesn't know she's yours yet. You wait, and you hope, and you prove that you're worth the risk.
Even if it takes all night.
T wenty minutes later, the bathroom door finally opens.
Belle emerges looking significantly better than when she went in with her hair re-pinned into something resembling its original style, her makeup has been touched up, and while her dress is still stained, it's no longer dripping.
The two women who helped her nod approvingly at their handiwork before heading back toward the ballroom.
Belle looks around the corridor until she spots me leaning against the wall where I said I'd wait. There's something different in her posture now as if she’s more determined.
"Thank you," she says simply as she approaches. "For waiting."
"I told you I would," I reply, straightening up. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Those women were incredibly kind. They had emergency sewing kits and stain removal pens and about six different types of makeup in their purses." She smooths down her skirt with nervous hands. "They also gave me some very pointed advice about not trusting strange alphas in bathrooms."
"Smart women!”
"They are." She takes a deep breath, and I can smell the way her scent has shifted to still nervous, but more resolved. "So. The gardens?"
I offer her my arm, and after only a moment's hesitation, she takes it.
Her hand is small and warm through the fabric of my tuxedo, and the contact sends electricity shooting through my nervous system.
Even through her gloves, even with the scent of spilled champagne still clinging to her dress, she feels perfect against me.
We walk through the palace corridors in relative silence, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors.
I can feel the tension radiating off her, the way she's holding herself carefully, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
But she doesn't pull away from me, doesn't try to put distance between us, and I take that as a good sign.
The gardens at Thornfield Palace are spectacular at night, with strategically placed lighting that illuminates the carefully manicured paths without destroying the magical atmosphere.
Moonlight filters through ancient oak trees, casting shadows across flower beds that smell of jasmine and night-blooming cereus.
It's romantic and peaceful and exactly the kind of place where difficult conversations can happen without feeling confrontational.
Felix and Theo are waiting near the garden house, a small stone structure that was once used for storing gardening tools but has been converted into a charming retreat space.
They both straighten when they see us approaching, and I can smell the way their scents shift with anticipation and something that might be nervousness.
Belle stops walking when she spots them, her hand tightening slightly on my arm. "So this is really happening."
"This is really happening," I confirm.