"It wasn't a bad idea at all. If you hadn't come, how would I have met you?" he says smoothly, and goddess, why do such words have an effect on me? I don't even know how to respond.
He parts his lips like he's about to say something else, but the sudden vibration of his phone cuts him off. I watch him slip it out of his pocket and lift it to his ear without a word, his face tightening with seriousness as he listens.
"I'm really sorry, something has come up and I have to leave." he finally says, his tone clipped but still polite.
I just nod, unable to say anything else, and I watch him walk away. I don't bother trying to make an acquaintance—why would I? He didn't even ask for my name, and in three days, I'll be married. Tonight is just… a night. A fleeting one.
I turn back toward the glittering skyline, resting my elbows on the cool glass of the balcony, my head leaning against my hands. I lose track of time staring out at the city before finally pulling myself back inside.
The club is still buzzing, just as I left it, but then I hear my name cutting through the noise. Vivian. She's stumbling toward me, relief flashing across her face.
"Oh, thank God—you're here! I couldn't find you anywhere," she blurts, and I can smell the alcohol on her.
She's definitely drunk, but she's trying hard to act sober. I loop my arm around her to steady her swaying frame and guide her to a less crowded corner.
"Where were you?" she slurs.
"I just needed some fresh air. And look at you—I leave for a few minutes and you're already a mess," I scold, taking most of her weight against me.
"We're going home. Right now."
She doesn't argue.
This time, I take the keys. I help her into the passenger seat before circling around to the driver's side. My phone vibrates again—Mom. The screen lights up with her name, showing more than ten missed calls. My stomach twists. I let it ring until it stops, knowing I'll have to deal with the fallout later.
The drive is quiet except for Vivian's soft murmurs. About thirty minutes later, I pull into her apartment complex. Unlike me, she has her own place. I steady her again, her arm slung around my shoulders, and lead her into the elevator. Minutes later, I've got her safely inside her apartment, the city noise fading behind the shut door.
I help her onto the couch, and she slumps down with a dramatic sigh.
"Oh, what would I do without you," she mutters, her words slurred.
"Probably choke on your own shoe," I reply dryly, rolling my eyes as I head toward the kitchen.
I quickly throw together a glass of warm water mixed with honey and lemon—one of those little tricks that sometimes helps with the nausea. Returning to her side, I coax her into drinking it, steadying the glass in her hands. She makes a face but gulps it down anyway.
Not long after, I help her to her bedroom and fish out her nightclothes from the drawer. "Do you need help changing?" I ask, trying to keep my tone patient.
She shoots me a glare, wobbling as she pulls her shirt over her head. "I'm drunk, not five years old," she huffs.
"Such an ungrateful girl," I mutter with amusement, watching her struggle with her pajama top. Somehow, she manages it, and the moment her head hits the pillow, she's out cold.
I stand there for a moment, watching her peaceful face, a smile tugging at my lips, before quietly retreating to the living room.
Picking up my phone, I finally gather the courage to dial my mother's number. She answers on the first ring.
"Where on earth have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you even realize how worried we were? I nearly sent your father out looking for you!" Her voice is a mix of worry and anger, the words tumbling over each other.
"I'm sorry, Mum. I'm at Vivian's place. We were watching a movie, and my phone was on silent mode," I explain quickly.
There's a pause, then a sigh. Her tone softens, though frustration still lingers. "Good thing you're safe. I'll have Javier come pick you up."
"Alright," I reply quietly, lowering the phone. I know this won't end here. I'll definitely have an earful waiting for me.
When I get home, I find my mother waiting in the living room. The house is quiet, which means Dad isn't back yet—a small mercy I cling to. I've swapped out the party dress for one of Vivian's more modest outfits, but the moment my mother sees me, I know it doesn't matter.
She rises immediately, heels clicking against the marble floor as she meets me halfway. Her face is pale with anger and relief all at once, and I brace myself.
"Ella," she begins, her voice sharp enough to cut through the silence. "Do you have any idea how reckless you've been tonight? Leaving this house without a word, without a single guard—you could have been hurt, or worse! What on earth were you thinking?"
I keep my lips pressed together, but her disappointment doesn't stop there.
"You are no longer a child, and that means learning responsibility. If you must leave, you inform someone. You do not vanish into the night as if the rules don't apply to you. Do you understand me?"
Sometimes, I find my mother tiring. Just like me, she had grown up in a strict household, and being a werewolf only made life stricter—especially for the females. Still, it's suffocating to always have someone breathing down my neck. But it is what it is.
"It won't happen again, Mom," I murmur, though my tone is flat.
"It definitely won't," she replies firmly, and I know exactly what she means. It won't happen again because by next week, I won't be under her roof anymore. I'll be someone else's responsibility. Someone's wife.
Her expression softens only slightly as she continues, "Your wedding gown has already arrived. The seamstress has made the adjustments, but I want you to go for one final fitting."
I nod, exhaustion heavy in my bones. "I'll do that tomorrow. Right now, I'm really sleepy."
She doesn't argue, just watches me with that mix of sternness and motherly worry as I turn away. Without another word, I head to my room.