Third person POV


    The party should have felt like a distraction. It didn''t.


    Lance stood at the railing of his yacht, the silver waters of the harbor stretching out beneath a twilight sky. Music drifted from the deck – soft jazz,ughter, the low hum of conversation – but it all sounded distant, muffled, like it belonged to someone else''s life.


    It was the first clear night they''d had in weeks, so he''d taken advantage of it to have one more good party before it became too cold to do it again.


    He was surrounded by friends, politicians, and half a dozen ambitious alphas-in- waiting, not to mention the beautiful women, but he couldn''t make himself care. The whiskey in his ss had long since gone warm.


    For years, this had been his escape. Noise, people, motion. Anything to drown out the quiet that came when the world stopped spinning. But now, after what Nn had told him, quiet was all he could hear.


    He swirled the amber liquid idly, watching the reflection of city lights ripple across the surface.


    Nn was a child when they broke him.


    He had been so alone, and part of that was Lance''s fault. His brother needed him, and all he did was throw it in his face. He''d left him to Felicity''s machinations. In a small way, Lance felt like he was partially to me for the way things had gone.


    He wasn''t the alpha, but he was still the son of an alpha, and he should have been paying more attention. He should have tried harder to help take care of the pack.


    He could have done something sooner to help Nn, and Ellie, too, for that matter. He''d seen how Nn treated her, and he''d let it happen. Not because he was afraid of speaking up, but because he simply hadn''t cared.


    Lance cringed as he thought about how selfish he''d been all of these years.


    The thought wouldn''t leave him. It gnawed at him, relentless and ugly. He''d spent his whole life angry at a man who''d been trying to survive. Angry because it was easier than admitting he''d never really known him at all.


    He tipped the rest of his drink back and set the ss down with a soft clink. "Brooding at your own party?"


    The voice came from behind him - bright, lilting, andced with amusement. Lance turned, half expecting another well-meaning guest. Instead, he found a woman leaning against the railing a few feet away, holding a flute of champagne. She was tall, with golden-blonde hair swept into a loose knot, tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her dress shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light, and her smile - wide, mischievous trouble attached.


    was the kind that came with


    "I thought you weren''t supposed to start people-watching until at least the second hour," she said.


    He arched a brow. "Excuse me?"


    "You look like a man trying to decide whether to jump or finish his drink," she said, tilting her head. "That''s a very particr kind of mood."


    +25 Bonus


    Lance blinked, a reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And what kind of mood is that, exactly?" "The ''I''m too handsome to be this miserable'' kind," she said without missing a beat.


    Heughed, genuine and surprised. "You always talk to strangers like that?"


    "Only when the strangers aren''t boring," she said. Then she stepped closer, eyes


    glinting “Which, lucky for you, you don''t seem to be."


    He chuckled, leaning an elbow against the railing. "You''ve got nerve."


    "Thank you.


    "I''m sure it was apliment."


    "It was." She smiled, taking a slow sip of champagne. “I''m I, by the way."


    The name clicked faintly in the back of his mind. He studied her more carefully now the subtle steel behind the charm. "I... from the Crescent River Pack?"


    the poise, the confidence,


    "Mm-hmm,” she said, watching him over the rim of her ss. "And you''re Lance. The reluctant prince of Silver Fang. My soon-to-be fiancé."


    He nearly choked. "What?"


    Her smile widened, delighting in his reaction. "Oh, don''t look so surprised. You''ve read the alliance proposal, haven''t you? Our families have been trying to make this match happen since I was neen."


    “I thought that fell through,” Lance said, frowning. “I thought that your parents were angry about the dys."


    “So did I,” I said breezily. “Until my father reminded me that politics, like fashion, has a way of recycling bad ideas."


    Lanceughed under his breath. "So you''re telling me this isn''t a romantic coincidence?"


    "Oh, definitely not," she said with mock solemnity. "Purely strategic. Though I have


    to admit, it''s more fun watching you try to piece it together."


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