Cecilia's pov
The dinner party wrapped up.
Sebastian emerged looking perfectly sober—piercing eyes clear, stride steady. But when he handed us the room card and told us to take care of the check, Beta Sawyer and I exchanged glances. Our Alpha was definitely drunk.
Amara seemed more put-together tonight than yesterday. She hurried to Sebastian's side on quick, dainty steps, tugging at his arm with familiar ease that made my wolf go crazy inside me.
"Want to come to my place?" she purred. "I have that whiskey you like."
"No." Sebastian's rejection was immediate, clipped—the single syllable leaving no room for negotiation. That was pure Alpha attitude—short, direct, absolute.
We continued down the corridor, the tension still thick in the air.
Then it happened.
Sebastian's boot caught
