Chapter 3 A Moment's Notice

Mira

The morning fog clung to the streets like regret-heavy, bitter, and unwelcome. I stood at the bus stop with my hands shoved deep in my coat pockets, watching a crow peck at a crumpled burger wrapper on the ground.

It felt like a metaphor for my life.

Sia had used the hot water again. My hair was a tangled cloud of half-frozen curls, clinging to my damn neck like vines.

The worst part? Today was a school event. A cross-pack leadership gala hosted by Crescent Hill-which meant two things: every elite family from nearby packs would be attending, and I would be nowhere near the guest list.

But I had been "invited" in a different way.

"Mira." Professor Lane had said just yesterday, tapping his pen like he enjoyed the sound, "We need help with staffing the event. You've always been... useful. You'll serve drinks and clear plates. Clean up after."

Translation: you'll be invincible. again.

I didn't argue; I never did. What was the point?

By noon the gym had been transformed into a ballroom.

Long velvet drapes swallowed the wall. Chandeliers I didn't even know the school owned hung like captured stars. The floor gleamed under the lights, polished so hard I could see my reflection in it-a ghost in black waiter's clothes.

"Mira, over here!" Khala's voice cut through the bustle like a drill sergeant in stilettos.

She was already snapping her fingers before I reached her. "Table six needs to be shifted two inches left. That runner is wrinkled. And the wine flutes-God, Mira-no fingerprints.

I wrote down my response and nodded, adjusting the runner like my degree depends on it.

By seven o'clock, the main hall was glowing.

The guests began to arrive.

Elegant women draped in silk and moonstones. Men with chiselled jaws and golden pocket watches.

Laughter and low conversation floated around me like perfume I wasn't allowed to wear.

"Draven's arriving at eight sharp," Khala muttered. "He hates lateness. He hates clutter. He hates being spoken to unless necessary."

I didn't ask how she knew all that.

Everyone in Crescent had heard of Evan Draven.

Here is the most powerful private pack in the eastern provinces. Reclusive. Charismatic. Dangerous.

A walking myth wrapped in money and a tailored suit.

We weren't allowed to talk to him.

We were allowed to breathe.

I hovered near Table One, checking placements, when a cold voice behind me said, "That's crooked."

I turned.

Sophie.

She stood with a drink in her hand and fake concern on her face. "Not that anyone expects you to understand symmetry."

I adjusted the knife slightly without looking at her. "It's symmetrical now."

"Ohh, look at that," she smiled slightly. "Our little, little orphan girl can measure. Anyway, you're good with part-time jobs, so obviously."

Before I could respond, Khala appeared, expression tight, "Mira. VIPs just pulled up. Head to the back mezzanine."

Meaning get out of sight.

I obeyed without arguing.

I tugged behind frosted and gold panelling. I leaned against the railing, watching the guest.

I didn't know how, exactly. Just that it did.

Like the air had thinned. Like the walls stood straighter. Like every sound quieted, if only for a second.

He entered.

I didn't see his face at first-only the way the crowd shifted to make way for him. Like a ripple moving through a still lake. Eyes lowered. Spines stiffened.

And then, he stepped into my line of sight.

Tall. Broad. Raven - black hair swept back like a storm barely held together. A jawline sharp enough to slice through silence. He wore a dark suit, but it wasn't the tailoring that made people tremble.

It was him. Presence. The weight of power.

His eyes scanned the room like a blade. And for a terrifying second-I swear he looked directly at me.

His eyes stopped-on me.

No. Not me.

My hair.

I had been bending to collect empty flutes from a tray when it happened. I stood slowly, and I could feel it - his gaze, heavy and unblinking, like he was trying to see through me.

heart thudding. Don't look. Don't draw attention. Don't breathe wrong.

But it was too late.

Something had shifted.

I froze; everything inside me screamed.

My skin pricked. My hands trembled against the marble rail. My head was already tender from the day's migraine-split with pressure.

And then ...

He looked away.

"Mira!" A voice snapped. "What are you doing?"

I turned, dazed.

Langston has appeared behind me, red-faced. "You're not cleared for the mezzanine. Go down and help with the wine station. Now."

I nodded numbly and slipped past him.

Back at the service bar, I fumbled with a tray of glasses. My breath came too fast, heart racing. The migraine flared so hard behind my left eye like lightning threatening to split my skull.

"Mira?" Someone whispered.

I turned too fast and nearly dropped that tray.

"Khala's brows pinched. "You look pale. Go stand outside for five minutes and don't pass out near the CEO."

I nodded and stumbled through the side door into the cool night.

The wind hit my face like a slap.

And then-

I smiled.

Earth. Pine. Smoke. Salt.

I turned toward the scent.

He stood at the far end of the terrace.

Alone.

Hands in his pocket. Eyes on the stars.

He didn't look at me, but my legs moved anyway.

Two steps forward.

I stepped closer, the stone under my heels muffling my approach.

He didn't turn but I felt him notice me- the way his shoulders straightened.

Another step, the scent of him grew stronger.

"You followed me," he said, voice low, without looking away from the sky.

"I was just... maybe," I muttered.

He finally turned, his gaze caught mine.

"You shouldn't be out here." He said, his voice low but deep.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I'm here."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"I mean," he said taking a step foward to me "You might not go back inside the same person you were when you came out."

"Really?" I said.

And that earned me a faint, dangerous curve of his mouth. "You're braver than you look."

"I'm not brave, I said quietly."

"Curiosity gets you into trouble."

"And you're trouble?"

"Absolutely."

I stepped an arm length away, my breath catching when his hand rose to brush a hair from my cheek. His knuckles lingered again my cheek tracing down to the corner of my jaw.

The terrace was quiet except for the wind and the soft cling of glasses from inside.

His fingers slid lower resting lightly at the base of my throat.

"You're cold," he murmured. One hand in my throat and the other came to my hip, fingers curling into the fabrics of my dress, and he pulled me closer.

Should have stopped him. But something in my chest tightened and Instead of stepping away, I just stayed, helpless. My body surrendered to him.

He bent his head, his breath brushing my cheek before his lips found the line of my jaw.

It was nothing like I imagined.

I'd never been this close to someone so deliberate, so certain of the effect they were having on me. My mind flickered- uninvited to the moments Sia's voice carried through my wall. The gaspes the broken moan, the shameless way she let pleasure spill into the air like it was the only language she spoke.

I wondered what it would be like to sound like that.

"You're not saying no?" He asked.

I didn't answer.

His kiss deepened, his hand sliding from my waist to the curve of my hip, then lower, cupping me through.

A soft sound escaped me- half gaspe, half moan. His thumb brushed slow deliberate circles over me, and it sent a pulse of heat between my legs.

I should have cared that Khala might come out any second looking for me, that anyone could step outside. But I didn't, all I cared about was that each moment of his hand made me breathe hitch higher, the sound spilling into the air before I could stop it.

He simply gathered the fabrics in his hand, his knuckles brushing my tighs as he pulled it upward. I let him.

When the silk bunched at my ribs, he broke the kiss, eyes fixed on mine, as his fingers found the clasp at my shoulder. On thug and the strap fell loose and then the other.

The dress slipped away like water pulling at my feet.

The cold night air pricked over my bare skin. His gaze tracing every line and curve as if memorizing me. He stepped close, one hand rising to cup my jaw, tilting my face so I couldn't look anywhere but at him.

"Turn around," he said

I did, the stone railing cool against my hip. His palm skimmed down my back, lingering just long enough to make my breath catch.

I waited for it- for his hand to roam lower, for that first bold touch that would shatter the the tension and send me into the sound I'd dreamed of making.

Instead, he stilled,

I turned, startled to see him already a step back.

Then-

His head turned slowly.

He blinked.

Turned away. And just like that he walked away, leaving me half covered, my heart racing.

I walked back into the hall without a word.