"Torin!" I shout, pushing against the wall of Alphas, their broad shoulders and sharp suits forming a barrier as they crowd around Ella, probably trying to beg her for her next dance. My voice rises above the music, desperate, but he doesn’t turn.

Torin is my fated. I know it with every fiber of my being. I smelt him the moment he appeared in front of me during the dance. His scent, animalic musk, primal and intoxicating, wrapped around me like chains, pulling me into a trance.

All I could think about was closing the distance, touching him, claiming him. When his hand touched mine, the butterflies in my stomach multiplied until I thought I might collapse. I don’t understand why he isn’t feeling our bond.

He is my fated mate, not just a scent match. He doesn’t need my scent to know we are made for each other. Perhaps it’s because he is already bonded to another Omega. The very thought makes my blood boil. He’s mine.

I can’t believe the Headmistress set me up with my fated. This is a jackpot, a miracle. I am willing to be a second Omega, willing to share, willing to endure the whispers and the judgment, as long as I can be with him, with them.

"May I have your next dance?" An Alpha steps in front of me, blocking my path, his hand extended.

I bite back the urge to roll my eyes. "I need a glass of water," I say tightly, pointing toward the snack table with a forced smile.

"I’ll get it for you," the man says, rushing off before I can blink.

I take the chance to run, slipping through the back door. The manor’s warmth gives way to the cool night air, the gardens stretching out before me. Torches flicker along the paths, shadows dancing across the rose bushes. I thought I saw Torin head this way. "Torin!" I call, weaving into the low‑cut rose maze, my skirts brushing against the thorns.

"To–AHH!" I scream as a hand lands on my shoulder.

"Relax, it’s me," Ella’s gentle voice says.

I spin, clutching my chest. "What are you doing here? You scared me," I whisper‑shout.

"I was being ambushed, so I came out here for a breather," she sighs, her shoulders sagging.

I relax. I understand. Ella has never liked being the center of attention.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Long story short. I danced with my fated mate during the first dance, and then he ran off. So now I’m trying to find him." I blurt it all out in one breath, clapping my hands together at the end.

"Really? I’m so happy for you, Lori. This is such a rare occurrence!" Ella squeals, pulling me into a hug. Her cherry blossom scent seeps out, sweet and calming, wrapping around me like silk.

"AHHH!" A loud scream followed by a bang shatters the night.

"What was that?" I pull away from her embrace, my heart hammering.

"I don’t know, but it came from the lake," I say, already moving deeper into the maze.

"Psst, where are we going? We shouldn’t head toward the sound," Ella whispers nervously.

"We need to check. What if someone needs help?"

She groans but follows. We crouch at the end of the maze, peering through the bushes. Near the lake, a man kneels, bleeding from his knees, crying and begging. I recognize him instantly, a diplomat from a political pack, one of the big shots we were told to watch for potential prospects.

In front of him stand two terrifying Alphas I don’t recognize. Maybe it’s the darkness, or maybe they weren’t on the list of packs to monitor.

"That’s the man I danced with earlier," Ella whispers.

"The scary one?" My eyes widen.

"No, the diplomat. He couldn’t stop bragging about himself," she jokes, easing my dread.

"Which hand was it, Micky boy? Left or right?" one of the Alphas asks, crouching to the diplomat’s level. His shirt is unbuttoned, his tone mocking.

"It was just a dance. It didn’t mean anything," the man cries, his voice breaking.

What does he mean by "just a dance"? Does this have anything to do with Ella? I pray it doesn’t.

"Right or left, it’s just a hand. It doesn’t mean anything. So pick a hand," the gunman says, his tone sharpening.

Micky sobs, unable to answer.

"Fuck, this is taking too long."

In a swift motion, the man behind him pulls out a gun and shoots Micky in the head. My blood runs cold as Micky slumps lifeless to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Augh, you always end my fun," the gunman says, standing and kicking Micky’s body into the lake. The splash echoes, rippling across the water.

"If you’re going to spy, cover your scent, babygirl," the killer calls out, lighting a cigar. His voice is casual, terrifying. "Come out. You shouldn’t be in those bushes. You’ll get hurt."

"We need to go now," Ella hisses, tapping my back.

"Agreed," I whisper, bolting out of the maze.

We run, skirts flying, hearts pounding, desperate to reach the safety of the manor. I pray the only footsteps behind me belong to Ella. I can’t die tonight. Not tonight. Not on the day I find my fated pack. No. I refuse. That cannot be my fate.