Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Reece
Work is nonstop on the day of the ball. Excitement buzzes in the air, from the borrowed help—many of whom Derrick and I know from Pen’s estate—to the arriving friends and neighbors and family.
All are full of excitement and anticipation. All of them except for Marigold.
She isn’t herself.
I catch glimpses of her throughout the day, small cracks in the facade of her easy flowing, easy going personality. It’s a shell. Does anyone else notice how she’s shrunk? She’s smaller, withdrawn.
Almost as though she’s dreading tonight.
Maybe she is.
I tear my gaze away from her.
I never would have thought it before but the changes in her are obvious, too numerous to discount as nerves. Although she may also be nervous. Who knows what the night might hold?
She’s always so ready to please others. Confident. Too confident. Most people, her family included, tend not to notice when it’s a show.
Would she be happier tucked in a corner, drawing? Or talking about whatever thoughts drift through her mind? All of them fascinate me.
How are men not lining the streets to woo her?
Waiting for a ball is ridiculous and stupid.
Something hot spikes through my chest and I glance at her again. Marigold is glorious. That one thing never changes.
I stack the bottles for the bar, both hard and soft drinks, and there are some that Xavier and Killian have designed specifically for the Season.
Their entrepreneurial ways are a flare of hope, and something to reach for myself.
I know they are Alphas and society labels them differently.
But we’re equal in all the ways that count.
We want more from this life than what we’ve been given.
I suck in a breath and reach for a tray of glasses. It’s useless thinking about anything beyond my personal goals. My invention. If I can get it to work.
“Reece.”
I look up, hands braced against the tray.
Heath Gardener stands across from me already dressed for the evening despite the ball not starting for hours. Tension strings his posture tight, the kind that comes from trying to hold together a hundred moving pieces at once.
“I need you working the front with Derrick tonight,” he says. “Refilling drinks, passing out hors d’oeuvres, helping direct guests if they need it. Xavier and Killian’s bartenders have this area handled.”
I nod immediately. “Of course.”
As much as I’d rather stay tucked safely out of sight, it’s not my place to argue.
Heath studies me for a second longer. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The answer comes too fast.
His gaze narrows like he doesn’t entirely buy it, but before he can press further, voices rise from the garden outside where final preparations are still underway. Workers weave through tables draped in gold and cream fabric while strings of lights glow softly overhead.
“It already looks incredible out there,” I say before I can stop myself. “Mari’s really going to shine tonight.”
The instant the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Heath’s brows lift. “Mari?”
Ah, shit.
I immediately grab another crate to busy my hands. “I mean—Miss Gardener. And the guests. It’s going to be a night to remember, I’m sure of it.”
A beat of silence.
Then Heath leans one hip against the bar, arms folded loosely. “Right…”
My stomach drops. He suspects me. Of all the family members in the household to draw scrutiny from, he is the least likely to dismiss my slip-up.
Mercifully, his mother calls his name from somewhere deeper in the house. I’m saved. Heath glances toward the sound before looking back at me one last time.
“Make sure everything’s ready by six,” he says. “Families are probably going to show up ridiculously early.” He exhales in a sharp burst. “Honestly, this whole thing might become a complete disaster.”
“It won’t,” I say before thinking.
“Confident?”
I shrug, trying to recover some dignity. “The Gardeners have always been known to make things appear effortless.”
His expression softens faintly at that. “That’s because no one sees the panic behind the scenes.”
Then he pushes off the bar and heads toward the hallway.
I release a long breath the moment he’s gone.
Unfortunately, Derrick appears almost immediately after, carrying an enormous arrangement of flowers toward the bar. One look at my face and suspicion sharpens his expression.
“What was that about?” he asks. “You and Mr. Gardener?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He drops the flowers onto the counter with a heavy thud. “Why’s Heath looking at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle?”
I focus very hard on unpacking glasses. “Because apparently I’ve forgotten how to speak like a normal person.”
“Ha. That’s not new.”
I shoot him a look.
Derrick snorts. “Just don’t say anything stupid tonight, Reece’s Pieces. Rich people hear one weird sentence and suddenly they think you’re plotting something behind their back. And we definitely don’t need scrutiny right now.”
“I know. I understand.”
His frown deepens. “I hope so. For both our sakes.”
The party has been in full swing for about an hour and the excitement is high. The Monarch just walked in, and I keep passing out drinks to make sure no one’s glass is empty. An army of servants marches through the townhouse tonight to lend a helping hand for the ball.
When I’m sure I won’t be missed, I nab a bottle of rum from the bar and hurry into the kitchen.
In there, it’s like a bomb’s exploded. People scurry around to get trays plated, ovens timed, menus executed. There’s enough food prepared to feed half the city.
It smells divine.
Rita sits on a chair fanning herself with a dish towel and looking exhausted as the staff work around her. The moment she sees me, her eyes sparkle.
“You are officially the hero of the night, Reece,” she says, nodding toward the mixer still running on the counter. “That thing’s been working nonstop to keep us afloat.” She pats her chest dramatically. “And you little marvel, you somehow made it run better than it did brand new.”
My ears burn. “It was nothing, Rita. Really. It was a simple fix. I had fun with it.”
“Well, your ‘simple fix’ saved the ball and my hands,” she says, wiping her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “Now, what I really need is some kind of automatic cooking contraption. Something that could cook the food in a second—five seconds tops.”
I smile faintly. “Like a microwave?”
“I’m not stupid,” she scoffs. “There are lots of things microwaves can’t do, like bake. And besides, they dry food out.”
“What you’re talking about sounds a bit more complicated.”
“Oh, I believe you’d figure it out. Eventually.” Her expression softens as she looks at me. “You’re a good boy, Reece. Smart too.”
Before I can figure out how to respond, her gaze drops to the bottle in my hands.
“Hold on. Is that for me?”
“I know it’s your favorite,” I say, dropping my voice. “And I figured you’d be needing a break tonight. You deserve it.”
She smiles. “What a sweetie you are. And have you see Miss Sunbeam tonight?”
She means Mari. Rita likes to call it a crush, in a tone infinitely more accepting and patient than any Derrick can muster.
“I’m sure she’s busy. It is her first ball of the Season.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
I hand Rita the bottle. “I should get back before someone notices I disappeared.”
“Go on then,” she says, waving me away with her dish towel. “And eat something later or I’ll hunt you down.”
That gets a chuckle out of me as I hurry from the kitchen, weaving through servants carrying trays of champagne and tiny desserts toward the garden doors.
The whole house has come alive now.
Music drifts in from outside, where the dancing has already started beneath strings of lights and silk-draped canopies in the backyard.
Guests move through the halls in beautiful gowns donned with feathers of all colors and lengths and expensive suits with feather accents, laughter echoing off the walls while servants rush to keep up with the chaos.
I cut through the quieter side corridor toward the garden entrance, but my steps slow as I pass the library.
A book rests alone, propped on a small side table near the door and out of place. Strange. A glance around shows the room empty, no one inside, but clearly someone must have pulled this book out to read in the last few hours.
Curious, I step into the room.
The library is darker than the rest of the house, lit only by low lamps casting warm pools of amber across towering shelves. The noise from the party dulls behind the heavy door, leaving behind only muffled music and distant conversation.
I pick up the book. The Neurological Foundations of Every Designation: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Omega Biology.
The title alone hooks me. Who would want to read this? And why?
Carefully, I open it.
The pages are dense with diagrams and medical terminology, with sections divided by designation. Brain structures. Hormonal pathways. Pheromone responses.
Most of it is far above my level, but I keep flipping anyway.
Alpha aggression markers. Beta neurological balance. Delta adaptability traits. Gamma lack of scent glands.
Then I reach the Omega section.
A detailed illustration of the brain spans both pages, thin black labels branching across different regions. But it’s a bolded paragraph that steals my complete attention.
The postauricular endocrine relay located behind the ear plays a significant role in hormonal distribution during Omega heat cycles, particularly in pheromone sensitivity and systemic hormonal escalation.
Wait a minute. Behind the ear?
I stare hard at the diagram.
The relay is tiny, delicate, and connected directly to the body’s hormonal response system.
Something sparks inside me so suddenly it almost feels physical.
If hormones could be interrupted there somehow…redirected before fully dispersing through the body, it could change the way Omegas have their heats. Not stopping it from happening entirely, but easing it. Softening it. Making their need for an Alpha basically obsolete.