Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sophia

The announcement about the London match hit the pack group chat while I was still in bed staring at the ceiling. Royalties from different kingdoms, big public event, one full week away.

My name was already on the possible travel list because of Kellan. The second I saw it my stomach dropped. London meant planes and new faces and cameras and no place to hide if everything went wrong.

I kept reading the same message over and over like the words might change if I stared hard enough. My wolf paced under my skin the whole time, restless and too loud.

I was still sitting there in yesterday’s shirt when the knock came. Three hard taps. I knew that sound. I opened the door and Kellan stood there in a black jacket, hair still damp, looking at me like he had every right to be on my doorstep this early.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We’re going out.”

I blinked at him. “Out where?”

“Date. Real one. Or as fake as you want to call it.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re taking this fake thing a little too far, don’t you think?”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and shut the door behind him. “Nothing is ever too real if it involves you. You’re too pretty to sit in this apartment all day. You should be out. With me.”

That voice. Low and steady and full of that alpha command that made my knees want to give out even when I was annoyed.

I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be sweet or if this was just how he threatened people he liked. Maybe his love language was ordering me around until I gave in. I wanted to tell him to leave. I wanted to lock the door and pretend none of this was happening. But my wolf was already screaming the same word over and over. Ours. Ours. Ours. If the kingdom ever found out I had two real mate pulls they would call me cursed and worse. Half-human and double-bonded. I would never live it down. Still I heard myself say, “Fine. Give me twenty minutes.”

He waited in the living room while I changed. I stood in front of the mirror and pulled off the old shirt. My hands shook a little because the London message still sat in my head like a heavy stone. I chose a top that sat lower than I usually dared and jeans that hugged my hips tighter than they should. The top showed the soft line of my collarbone and a little more of my chest. I told myself it was only for the cameras we might face later, but that was a lie. I wanted him to look. I wanted to see what his eyes did when the fabric clung the right way.

When I came out he looked me up and down once and nodded like he approved. “Better,” he said. “You look like you belong outside.”

“I look like I’m trying too hard,” I answered.

“You look like mine,” he said, and the words made my wolf push hard against my ribs. We left without more talking.

First stop was the shopping street in the nicer part of town. The sun was bright and the sidewalks were already busy with people who had no idea what a pack group chat or a double bond even meant. Kellan walked close enough that his arm brushed mine every few steps. He did not take my hand, but the space between us felt claimed anyway.

He walked me into the first store. Soft music played and the air smelled like new fabric and perfume. I reached for a plain gray sweater that looked safe and baggy, the kind I always bought so no one would notice me. He pulled it out of my hands and put it back on the rack.

“No,” he said. “Not that.”

He took a soft blue top from another rack. The neckline was lower. The fabric looked like it would sit close to my skin. “Try this.”

I held it against myself. “It’s too open.”

“It’s perfect for you. Go.”

I went into the fitting room. The mirror showed me the same half-human girl who was terrified of London and of being found out. I put the top on. It hugged my chest and made my waist look smaller. When I stepped out Kellan was already sitting on the little couch outside the rooms. His eyes moved over me slowly.

“Turn around,” he said.

I did, slow, feeling my face heat up. “It’s too much.”

“It’s perfect. We’re taking it.”

I went back in and tried the next one he had chosen, a soft cream dress that sat right on the curve of my hips. When I came out again he did not speak at first. His jaw was tight and his eyes were darker than usual.

“You look good,” he said finally. “Too good. Come closer.”

I stepped closer. He reached out and fixed a small fold in the fabric near my waist. His fingers brushed my skin through the thin material and my breath caught. My wolf made a soft sound inside me that only I could hear.

“This one too,” he said. “We’re taking both.”

I tried on four more. Each time I stepped out he looked at me the same way, eyes dark, jaw tight. I started wondering if he was getting hard just from watching. The thought made me feel reckless and warm at the same time. I wanted to know. I wanted proof that this fake thing was not entirely fake for him either.

When I came out in the last dress, a deep green one that made my chest look fuller and my legs longer, I “tripped” a little on purpose. My soft weight landed fully against him where he sat on the couch. I waited. Nothing. No bulge. No reaction I could feel. Just his hands steadying my hips like it was nothing, like I was only a package he needed to keep from falling.

Mood hit me fast and ugly. Heat flooded my face and something sharp twisted in my chest. I got up, muttered something about needing air, and walked back into the fitting room before he could say anything. Inside I pressed my hands to the mirror and tried to breathe. My wolf was restless again, pacing and pushing, because she did not understand why he stayed so calm when I was right there on his lap.

I changed back into my own clothes and came out with the dresses folded over my arm. He stood up and took them from me without a word. At the counter he paid for everything. Bags and bags of soft fabric and careful stitching. I tried to protest once.

“You don’t have to buy all of this,” I said.

“I do,” he answered. “You need them for London. And I like seeing you in things that fit the way they should.”

We left the first store and went into the second. This one had more skirts and fitted pants. He pulled three skirts from the racks while I looked at the safe options on the back wall. Every time I reached for something loose he shook his head and handed me the one he had chosen.

“These will sit right on your hips,” he said. “Try them.”

I tried them. One after another. Each time I stepped out of the fitting room he told me to turn. Each time I turned and felt his eyes on the places the fabric clung. My face stayed warm. My wolf stayed loud. I kept waiting for some clear sign that his body reacted the way mine did, but he stayed steady and controlled the whole time.

In the third store he chose tops that showed more chest and soft jackets that would look good under camera lights. I tried them all. He watched. He paid. The bags grew heavier and the afternoon grew warmer. We walked between the stores with him carrying most of the weight and me walking close enough to feel the heat of his body.

After the last clothing store he stopped in front of a nail place with soft chairs and bright lights. “In here,” he said.

“I don’t need nails done,” I told him.

“You do for London. And I want to watch.”

I sat in the chair. A girl with kind eyes started on my hands. Another girl came over and began working on my hair, washing it and brushing it until it felt soft and clean. Kellan sat in the chair next to me the whole time. He did not look at his phone. He did not look at the magazines. He just watched me. Every time I glanced over he was already looking back.

The girl painting my nails asked if we were together. Kellan answered before I could speak.

“Yes,” he said. “She is mine.”

The simple words made my stomach flip. My wolf pushed hard again, happy and hungry at the same time. I stayed quiet and let the girls finish their work. When they were done my nails shone soft pink and my hair fell around my face in smooth waves. I stood up and the girl handed me a small mirror.

Kellan stood too. He looked at me for a long moment, eyes moving from my hair to my face to the new nails and back again. The shop was quiet except for the soft music and the sound of my own heartbeat.

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the clean soap on his skin and the faint scent of his wolf under it. His voice was low and steady when he spoke, the same voice that had ordered me to get dressed that morning and the same voice that made my knees weak even when I wanted to argue.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Don’t argue.”