Bold

Stephanie

I arrived early.

Dante wasn't the kind of man you kept waiting, at least not unless you wanted to play a dangerous game.

The tavern was brightly lit, smoky and loud, just the way the rich BlueMoon wolves liked to play poor for an hour.

I slid into a corner booth, crossing my legs and ordering something that burned going down. While the warmth settled in my chest, the stage lights blinked on.

A girl stepped forward.

She couldn't have been older than sixteen, draped in a plain brown dress that hung off her like a burden. Her hands trembled around the mic. And then came the whispers.

“Why is she here?”

“Her mother disgraced the entire bloodline.”

“She should've died with her.”

I turned, frowning. Paper scraps, crumpled receipts and cocktail napkins, flew towards the stage. The girl flinched but didn't run.

“What's going on?” I asked the woman in the booth beside mine.

She didn't even look away from her drink. “That's Celeste. Her mother killed herself last winter. As you know in this community, it's unclean. They think she brought shame.”

My chest tightened. Celeste reminded me of myself when I was younger.

The pianist sat stiffly at the keys, unsure whether to begin, but the girl nodded at him, eyes fierce. The music started — soft, uncertain.

So was the bar. Still loud. Still cruel.

Until she opened her mouth.

One note. That was all it took. One sharp, aching note that cut through the air like a blade and silence fell. A silence so thick even the ice in glasses stopped clinking. And then she sang. Not like a girl trying to impress. Instead, she sang like someone clawing her way out of a coffin. Her voice trembled with grief, with fire, with life, and no one could look away.

When the last note faded, the sickness was absolute.

Then applause. Loud. Reluctant. Honest.

My hand was already in my purse.

I found her backstage, still catching her breathe eyes wide with disbelief.

“You have talent,” I said simply. “But more than that, you have guts.”

She blinked. “I… thank you.”

“I want to offer you a job,” I held her gaze. “Not just any job but also professional training, l, and of course, dignity.”

She stared back at me like I'd given her a sword to fight back with. Her lips parted a thousand doubts behind them, but what came out was a quiet. “Who are you?”

“My name is Stephanie Laurent.” I said.

“Laurent,” her eyes went wide with recognition. “The Laurent?”

I nod.

She narrowed her gaze. “Why? Your family's opera house has a better singer, Vivian.”

“Not after tonight's performance.” I said.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Let's just say the people want something new,” I touched her shoulder. “Don't you want something better?”

“I… I do.” She nods quietly.

I gave her my business card. “Cal me when you're ready.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

I returned to the bar just in time for Dante to arrive.

He leaned against the bar with the kind of arrogance that made even the air flirt with him. When he saw me, he smiled like we shared a secret.

“You're late,” I said, sliding into the seat beside him.

“You're bossy,” he replied, eyes glittering. “But I like that.”

As our conversation flowed, people stared. Of course they did. The forbidden Alpha and the girl with too many secrets.

I reached out, touched his arm lightly and the whole bar exhaled as one.

Gasps. Whispers. Shock.

Dante only grinned. “You're brave.”

I smiled back. “I know what I'm doing.”

I returned home long after the moon had claimed the sky.

The house was quiet, too quiet. And then I heard it.

A giggle.

Low. Familiar. Intimate.

My heart didn't stop. It didn't even stutter. It just… settled into something cold.

I walked into the bedroom and saw them.

Jack.

Vivian.

My fiancé and my sister, twisted in my sheets like animals. Neither of them noticed me at first. I didn't even speak. I just turned away and walked to the living room.

Eventually, they stumbled out to the living room, trying to pretend the night hadn't just shattered itself.

“Steoh — where have you been? We were worried,” Jack said.

I looked at him and lied with the ease of someone who'd learned to survive. “Out.”

I didn't owe him more than that.

The next morning, the kitchen smelled of eggs and Howard's cologne.

He burst into the storm clutching a newspaper. His face was pale, his hand shaking as he slammed it on the table.

There in the front page was me laughing with Dante, touching his arm, the moment frozen in scandalous perfection.

Jack shot to his feet like he'd just been lit on fire. “What the hell is this? You've been cheating with him?!”

I took a sip of my tea. “Interesting choice of words… from a man who shares his bed with other women.”

Howard's eyes widened. Father dropped his fork and Vivian’s face went five shades paler.

Jack stammered. “W - what are you talking about?”

“Isn't it?” I stood slowly, folding the parr in half. “Because if we're throwing stones, I suggest you build yourself a bunker first.”

Father rose to his feet. “Jack, what is Stephanie talking about?”

Jack's mouth opened then closed.

I didn't wait for the verdict. I walked out with my head held high.

Today, I wasn't the broke girl watching from the corner.

I'm the storm they didn't see coming.