Alpha of Evenings

"The Alpha of Evenings was alive!" Saskia Laurent's vision blurred, the room spinning as her knees threatened to give way. Stellan Evenings was supposed to be dead. Yet there he stood, larger than life, descending the red-carpeted staircase. For a moment, all she could do was stare, frozen between shock and disbelief. The man she had spent months studying, the man she had impersonated by pretending to be his mistress in front of Wolfsong Vale's elite, was not only alive—he was here. Alive! The realization settled in like a slow burn, mixed with an unexpected rush. She had never met him, only created his image from the fragments she'd pieced together in her research. And yet, she had worn his name like a mask, pretending to be his mistress in high society circles. Now, that mask felt like a noose tightening around her throat. When he found out what she had done, he would destroy her. "Good God, I can't believe it," the Alpha of Dune muttered under his breath. "Evenings is here." Saskia's eyes followed Stellan Evenings as he moved with unmistakable confidence, his dark hair catching the chandelier's light, his posture masculine and unyielding. He was exactly as she had imagined—no, even more. Every step felt powerful, the kind that sent shivers through the room. Her heart hammered in her chest, urging her to run. But she couldn't move. She was fixed to the spot, like everyone else, bound by his presence. For the briefest moment, it seemed as though time itself held its breath. The glamorous crowd—royalty, celebrities, the most influential figures in the Vale—stood in stunned silence. Even the chandeliers appeared frozen in mid-twinkle. Then, as if released from a spell, whispers filled the room. Excitement, disbelief, curiosity—it rippled through the crowd like wildfire. Saskia's stomach churned. She had believed the man to be long dead. His absence had stirred rumors, but she had never imagined this. The elusive Alpha of Evenings, known for avoiding public events, had chosen tonight—of all nights—to return from the dead. And she had spent months weaving very compelling lies about him. She wasn't the only one rattled. The Prime Minister, Anna Wiktor, had handpicked the guest list for the Red Gala, a symbol of elite standing across the kingdoms. Every year, the most powerful names gathered under its crystal chandeliers. Every year, although an invitation along with a handwritten letter was sent specifically to him, describing what an honor it would be to host him, Stellan Evenings remained absent. Until tonight. But to Saskia, this wasn't just a societal shock—it was a disaster. No one knew what she had done—not yet. When Stellan Evenings learned about the scheme she had created, the lies she'd spun in his name, it would all be over. Everything she had worked for, her careful plans, would collapse like a house of cards. Her pulse quickened as she spotted Hugo–the Alpha of Sojorn at the edge of the ballroom. His usually bright hazel eyes now flickered with concern as he moved closer to her. "Look," he whispered, his voice low enough to be swallowed by the murmur of the crowd, "this could get messy. I think you should leave before he gets to you." Saskia forced a smile, though her trembling fingers betrayed her. "Don't be silly, Sojorn. Stellan isn't going to cause a scene here." He gave her a sidelong glance, his expression half amused, half worried. "You've turned him into a public spectacle, Saskia. Trust me, he won't take kindly to that." The Alpha of Sojourn was right, as usual. Through her research on the Alpha of Evenings, Saskia had learned that he was not one to play the games of high society. He lived by his own rules. And yet, she had taken those rules and twisted them to her advantage. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. It wasn't the time to fall apart. She had now spent five months in Wolfsong Vale, desperate to make headway and growing impatient with her lack of progress. Her contacts had dried up, and now it had finally come to her notice that her most expensive source, Abbejon, had lied about the Alpha of Evenings being dead. This false information was apparently made up just to make a quick profit. She had used that information for the past three months to impersonate one of Stellan Evenings' mistresses, believing that since he was supposedly dead, it would provide an opportunity to enter his circles by posing to be one of his lovers. Even though Abbejon had used the Alpha's long absence from the Vale to fabricate his death, Saskia had been just desperate enough to believe it. Now, it was all about survival. She needed to act fast before her well thought out plan crumbled before her very eyes. She fanned herself briskly, trying to cool the flush rising to her cheeks. The crowd shifted, and all of a sudden, Saskia's heart stopped when she realized the people in front of her were parting to make way for him. Even the Alpha of Sojorn took a step back, just after he had slid a note into her purse. Saskia couldn't notice anything else. All her attention was focused on the person moving towards her. She suddenly felt exposed, standing alone in the middle of the ballroom with Stellan Evenings striding toward her like an approaching storm. His very person was overwhelming, Saskia decided. She had created images in her head and heard stories about the man, but nothing compared to the raw intensity of him in the flesh. He gave off a kind of dangerous intelligence, and something else—something that stirred deep inside her, a rush she couldn't quite explain at the moment. His sharp brown eyes were steady on hers, and a spark of recognition passed between them. Or perhaps it was curiosity. Either way, it sent a jolt of energy through her, reigniting something that had lain dormant for years, even her deepest fears. It felt as though she was back on that particular beach, with the goad trees swaying in the wind as she watched the woman dive into the ocean and never surface again. Her breath stopped as Stellan Evenings paused just inches from her. The rest of the room blurred into a distant hum, with all eyes apparently on them. She had to do something. Anything. And quickly. "Sir," Saskia whispered, so softly that only he could really hear, "I'm so glad you're alive." Then, in a move born of desperation, she closed her eyes and let her body go limp, hoping the surprise would give her the perfect moment she needed. In the moment, she felt two strong hands catch her before she could come in contact with the ground. It was definitely his touch. It was firm yet gentle, holding her with a surprising ease. "Very clever, Miss Laurent," he said for her ears only. His voice was a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "I was curious to see how you'd get yourself out of this mess." Saskia's heart raced, but she kept her eyes closed, pretending unconsciousness as his arms tightened around her. His scent, clean and firey, filled her senses, stirring something quite intoxicating. She had never felt like this. She felt vulnerable yet strangely safe in this man's hold. Peeking through her lashes, she caught a glimpse of her gown draped over his arm as he carried her through the hall. His presence seemed to hold enough power to part the crowd effortlessly. "Step aside, would you," he said, his tone was commanding but composed. "My friend needs to get some air." The crowd moved as though they were enchanted, and there were whispers filling the room in their wake. Saskia Laurent remained still, letting herself be swept away by the chaos she had created. As they exited the building, a sleek dark blue Maybach waited at the bottom of the steps, its engine silently purring. The car door opened as Stellan carried her inside, then closed behind them with a soft click. Saskia finally opened her eyes, meeting his gaze once more. She tried to muster a smile, but not even the faintest hint of one touched his lips. She was definitely in trouble now.