Juliana insisted on throwing a birthday feast, saying it was for the Lowe pack's benefit—to show the Westbrooks still valued their "adopted" she-wolf, so I'd have some clout when I joined them. The event was massive, packed with high-ranking wolves from every pack, all glittering under chandeliers.
I wore a custom gown, my makeup flawless, but I felt like a puppet, strings pulled by Juliana as she paraded me around, my smile stiff and fake for every guest. Damian sat at the head table, looking sharp in his suit, playing the devoted mate. He served me food, leaned in to check if I was okay, his performance so perfect he could've won an Oscar.
Then Hazel walked in.
She wore a loose dress, flat shoes, and a subtle curve at her belly that screamed pup on the way. She glided to Damian's side
