The grand hall glimmered under chandeliers that sparkled like trapped constellations, music floating like silk through the air. Isabella stepped in, and the room seemed to pause. Every head turned. Every conversation faltered.
The moment she walked across the marble floor in her golden gown—backless, sleeves cascading elegantly, hugging her hourglass figure like it had been made for her alone—every boy in the hall found himself staring. And yes, partners were ignored. Conversations died mid-laugh. Drinks paused mid-air. All of them were captivated.
Her hair, a cascade of red-wine curls, tumbled behind her shoulders all the way to her waist, glowing in the chandelier light. Smooth, bare skin gleamed softly, enhanced only by a touch of mascara on her lashes, a glimmer of lip gloss, and dazzling earrings that crowned her like a princess from a forgotten fairytale.
And yet, the most dangerous gaze in the hall belonged to Theodore Alpha. He was standing a few steps back, eyes sharp and calculating, his jaw tight, every muscle coiled with restrained power. He watched as every boy in the hall gravitated toward her, their smiles awkward, stammering, desperate to catch her attention.
No, he thought, voice low and dangerous even to himself. She's mine. Every other thought, every other fool? Irrelevant. And yet…
He gritted his teeth, holding back a growl that threatened to shatter the composed elegance he always maintained. The fiery red of her hair, the gentle curves revealed by her gown, the effortless radiance of her skin—all of it stirred a primal possessiveness he refused to acknowledge aloud.
And then… it happened.
Out of nowhere, like a flash of chaotic charm, the Alpha of enemy pack—blond, mischievous, with a grin that screamed trouble—slipped to Isabella's side. Without a hint of hesitation, he bent and kissed her hand with exaggerated gallantry, his eyes flicking slowly toward Theodore as if daring him to react.
"Oh, Isabella," he purred theatrically, "how could anyone resist?"
Isabella raised an eyebrow, a wry smirk forming. "Really? Dramatic much?" she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
The enemy Alpha's grin faltered slightly under her sarcasm, but deep down, he couldn't deny the truth: she was breathtaking. He wanted her. But his little stunt was for one purpose alone—to ignite Theodore Alpha's wrath.
Theodore's eyes darkened instantly, a sharp flash of jealousy slicing through his composure. His fists clenched lightly, jaw tightening. Every muscle radiated control, power, and the subtle threat: she is mine.
The Enemy Alpha, sensing the silent danger, kept his playful smirk fixed, flicking a corner-of-the-eye glance at Theodore, who was now stepping forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator moving toward its prey.
Isabella felt it—the tension, the silent electricity. Every gaze, every whisper, every heartbeat in the hall seemed to orbit her, yet the only presence that truly mattered was the one that burned like fire from across the room.
The hall hummed around her, but time itself seemed to pause, suspending her between charm, danger, and desire. And in that suspended heartbeat, the golden gown, the cascading curls, the effortless glow, and the sharp, simmering jealousy of the Alpha created a tableau that was at once dreamy, intoxicating, and wickedly funny.
Because somewhere between the Enemy Alpha's ridiculous theatrics and Theodore's barely restrained growl, Isabella realized: she had never, in all her ordinary human life, felt more alive—or more dangerous.