Cass’s POV

I stood at the edge of the festivities, observing the crowd. Garret and Victor were weaving through the guests, their eyes sharp, searching for any sign of betrayal. They played the part of gracious hosts, but I knew they were hunting for secrets.

"You’ll do great, my love," Colt murmured, his hand settling on the small of my back.

I turned, momentarily distracted by how striking he looked in the soft, flickering light of the garden lanterns. I reached up to caress his cheek. "Handsome as always."

"And you," he replied, a playful glint in his green eyes, "look exquisite. Perhaps we should abandon this party entirely."

I squinted at him, forcing a smile. "You’re a liar."

"I can dream, can't I?" He chuckled, though his expression sobered as we looked out at the gathering. "I despise these responsibilities."

Our conversation was interrupted when I spotted a figure that should have been confined to the infirmary. "Warrick? What the hell is he doing here?"

Garret and I rushed to his side. "You should be resting!" I hissed.

Warrick leaned heavily against a marble pillar, his breathing labored. "Something is going to happen tonight, Cass. I won't rot in a bed while my pack is in the crosshairs."

"You’re a target, Dad," I said, my voice tight. "You’re a sitting duck."

"Maybe that’s the point," Colt interjected, his voice low. "If he’s here, the focus isn't solely on you."

I stiffened. Colt was right. My father was playing a dangerous game, using himself as a lightning rod. "Fine," I relented, my voice hard. "You stay, but you sit where I can see you. Beck, Archie—guard him with your lives."

Colt pulled me to a secluded table at the edge of the garden, where the shadows offered a fragile sense of privacy. He stood behind my chair, his large frame shielding me from prying eyes, his arms wrapping around me in a possessive embrace. I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin where I had marked him.

"You’ve grown so much," he whispered, his hands sliding down to rest on my thighs.

His fingertips traced the silk of my dress, moving with a deliberate, maddening slowness that made my breath hitch. The danger of being watched by dozens of Alphas—the very people who wanted to see me fail—only made the intimacy more electric.

"Make me feel good," I breathed, my voice thin and desperate.

Colt chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Here? In front of everyone?"

"Yes."

He teased me, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, pushing my nerves to the brink. When he finally found his mark, his touch was masterful. I gripped his wrists, my knuckles white, struggling to suppress a moan that would have betrayed us.

Control it,

I commanded myself, even as my body began to unravel.

The orgasm tore through me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping and lightheaded. Colt muffled my cry with his hand, his eyes burning with dark, predatory satisfaction. "Only for my ears, baby girl," he whispered.

After a quick, frantic cleanup in the restroom, we returned to the gala. I felt dangerously relaxed, the tension in my shoulders replaced by a sharp, focused calm.

"Dinner is starting," Victor announced, his voice tight. "It’s time for your speech."

I approached the head table, my legs feeling steadier than they had all day. As I opened my mouth to speak, the air in the garden suddenly grew heavy, shifting with a sickening, familiar chill.

Every head turned toward the entrance.

Ezra and Oliver strolled in as if they owned the very ground they walked on. Ezra wore a mocking, wide smile, his eyes locking onto mine with the intensity of a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

"Sorry we're late," Ezra called out, his voice echoing over the silent garden. "Traffic was a nightmare."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

How did he get past the wards?

The summit hadn't even begun, and the monster had already arrived at the feast.