Chapter 32
ELOWEN
The campus mail room smells like paper and old wood.
I'm checking my box out of habit more than expectation; Tuesday afternoon, nothing usually arrives mid-week. But there's something there. A cream-colored envelope, thick cardstock that feels expensive even through the metal grate.
I pull it out, noting the embossed crest in subtle gold. Ashford family seal.
My stomach drops.
The student worker behind the counter notices. "That looks fancy. Someone getting married?"
"Something like that," I manage, clutching the envelope against my chest.
I make it to the library before I let myself really look at it. My pack is at our usual table on the second floor, quiet corner, away from most foot traffic. Calder, Tyler, and Julian are spread out with textbooks and notes.
I set the envelope on the table between chemistry formulas and pack dynamics theory.
"It’s here," I announce, voice smaller than I'd like.
Calder looks up from his reading, something flickering across his face.
“Snap.” Tyler produces an identical envelope. Julian follows suit.
Each envelope is addressed in formal calligraphy:
Mr. Tyler Vale
Mr. Julian Cross
Miss Elowen Rowan
I open mine with careful fingers. The card inside is even more formal than the envelope.
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ashford
request the pleasure of your company
for dinner at the Ashford Estate.
Saturday, November 21,
6.30 PM for drinks in the drawing room.
Formal attire requested.
"Formal attire," I read aloud. "Requested. Saturday. Before we meet Julian’s family."
I feel Calder's attention sharpen. Tyler and Julian exchange glances.
"It's only dinner," Calder says. "My mother wanted proper introductions. "
"At your family estate," I point out.
"You'll be fine," Tyler assures me. "You've met them before."
"On campus. In regular clothes. Not at their estate wearing formal attire." My hands are shaking. I set the invitation down before I crumple it. "I don't… What does that even mean?"
"Elowen—" Calder starts.
"I need to call Lila." I pick the invitation back up and pull out my phone. "I need… just give me a minute."
I step away from the table before anyone can respond.
"Emergency," I say when she answers. "My room. Can you come now? Please."
"On my way," she says immediately. "Five minutes."
I turn back to my pack. "I'm going to meet Lila. Girl crisis. I'll see you later?"
"We'll be at my place after this," Calder says. "Come by when you're done?"
I nod, already heading for the library exit.
I pace my dorm room waiting for Lila to arrive.
The small space feels even smaller when I'm anxious,narrow bed, cramped closet, desk covered in herbal notes and textbooks. Through the window, I can see campus spreading out below, students moving between classes in the fading afternoon light.
Lila arrives exactly five minutes later, slightly breathless, eyes wide with concern.
"What happened? Are you okay? Did someone—"
"I need to be perfect." I thrust the invitation at her. "Look at this. Look at it."
She takes the heavy cardstock, reads it, lets out a low whistle. "Okay. Fancy. So, you need an outfit for… when is this? Saturday? We have four days. That's doable."
"I don't have anything, Lila. Nothing even close to appropriate." I gesture at my closet helplessly. "Everything I own is student casual or greenhouse practical or—"
"Okay. Deep breath." She sets the invitation on my desk, takes my hands. "Why are you panicking? You've met his parents before."
"That was different. That was campus. This is their home. Their world." I pull my hands free, press them against my stomach where anxiety coils tight. "I need to be perfect for him. For them. For my pack. I need Margaret to see that I'm… that I can…"
"Stop." Lila's voice is firm but kind. "You don't need to prove anything. Calder chose you. The pack chose you. You're already enough."
"But I want to look the part. I want to feel confident." My voice cracks. "I just want one dinner where Margaret doesn't look at me and see all the ways I'm not Victoria Winters."
Lila's expression softens. "Okay. Then let's find you something that makes you feel amazing. Come on. Let's look through your closet. Maybe there's something we can work with."
We spend the next twenty minutes pulling out everything I own. It's depressing.
A simple black dress I wore to a funeral three years ago, too somber, too sad, too associated with grief. A blue sundress that's too casual and too short. Slacks and a blouse that might work for a campus presentation but not for a formal estate dinner.
"This is hopeless," I say, staring at the pile of rejected clothes on my bed. "I have nothing."
"Okay. New plan." Lila starts rehanging things with characteristic efficiency. "We go shopping. There's that boutique in town, the one with the window display that always looks expensive but sometimes has sales. We can—"
A knock interrupts her.
"Elowen Rowan?" A voice calls through the door. "Delivery."
I exchange confused glances with Lila. "I didn't order anything."
"Maybe one of your alphas did?" She waggles her eyebrows. "Secret gift? Romantic gesture?"
I open the door to find a delivery person holding a large flat box, plain brown cardboard with my name on a simple white label. Nothing fancy. No company logo.
"Sign here, please."
I scribble my signature, take the box. It's lighter than I expected but substantial.
I set it on my desk, pull the simple string tie. The box opens easily.
Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is fabric so soft I gasp when my fingers touch it.
"What…?" I lift it carefully. A dress unfolds in my hands, deep burgundy that catches the light like wine, the kind of color that makes you think of autumn leaves and firelight and warmth.
Cashmere. It's cashmere.
"Holy shit," Lila breathes. “Elowen, this is like... stupid soft. Touch this. Touch it!."
"I am touching it." My voice sounds strange. Distant. "I can't believe fabric can feel like this."
There's more in the box. I pull out each item with careful hands:
Simple leather boots in warm cognac, ankle-height with a modest heel. Quality I can feel in the supple leather, the careful stitching.
A wrap in cream cashmere, soft enough to make me want to cry.
And then, nestled in more tissue, a small velvet pouch.
I open it with shaking fingers.
A necklace spills into my palm. Simple and beautiful, a delicate gold chain with a small pendant. I hold it up to the light and my breath catches.
It's a pressed flower preserved in resin. Not any flower. Lavender. The same lavender that grows in the greenhouse where we first met.
There's a card tucked in the pouch. Tyler's handwriting, cheerful and warm:
For my sunshine. You brought light into all our lives. Thought you should wear a little piece of where it all started. Wear this and remember: you're already perfect.
"Oh my god," Lila whispers. "That's so sweet I might cry."
But there's more. Another small box, this one contains earrings.
Simple studs, raw emerald crystals, unpolished and natural. They catch the light like tiny pieces of forest, green and earthy and completely unpretentious.
The note with them is in Julian's precise handwriting:
Elowen. Raw emeralds. Unrefined. Natural. Beautiful without needing to be polished into something they're not. Like you. (Also, they match your eyes.)
I press both notes to my chest, blinking against tears.
And at the bottom, a note on plain cardstock. No embossing. No formality. Just Calder's handwriting in black ink:
You don't need these to impress anyone. But you deserve to feel as beautiful as you are. Wear them for you, not for them.
- Calder
I press the note to my chest, blinking against sudden tears.
"Okay," Lila says, voice thick with emotion. "That is what a good alpha does. Not flashy. Not showing off. Just... seeing you and choosing perfect."
"He knows me," I whisper. "He knows I'd hate anything too fancy. He knows I like simple things. He knows…" I look at the dress, the boots, the wrap. "He knows my size. How does he know my exact size?"
"Because he pays attention." Lila takes the dress from my hands, holds it up against me. "Try it on. Right now. I need to see this."
My hands shake as I change. The dress slides over my head like water, settles against my skin with a whisper. The cashmere is warm and soft and feels like being hugged.
It fits perfectly. Of course it does.
The neckline is simple: a gentle cowl that drapes without revealing too much. Long sleeves. Hem just below my knees. Nothing flashy. Nothing trying too hard.
Just beautiful fabric, perfect cut, exactly my style but elevated into something I'd never buy for myself.
I slip on the boots. They fit like he measured my feet himself.
"Look at yourself," Lila demands, turning me toward the mirror.
I do.
The burgundy makes my skin glow warm, my hair rich. And my eyes—
"Oh my god," Lila whispers. "Your eyes. Elowen, your eyes. That color makes them look like actual emeralds."
She's right. The deep wine-red brings out every hint of green, makes them luminous in a way I've never seen before.
I look like myself. But more. Better. Confident.
"He really knows you," Lila says quietly.
"Like, really, truly knows you. Not who he wants you to be.
Who you are." She picks up the necklace, examining the pressed lavender.
"And they all see you. The dress from Calder.
Lavender from where you met from Tyler. Raw emeralds because you're beautiful without polish from Julian. That's a pack who pays attention."
I touch the jewelry, the notes, the soft fabric. "I didn't even know I could feel this beautiful."
"You always were beautiful. Now you just have armor that feels like being seen." She squeezes my hand. "You're going to walk into that estate and Margaret Ashford is going to see exactly what her son sees. Someone worthy of him. Someone perfect for her pack."
"I'm still terrified."