Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 110

Chapter 110: The Empty Booth

Meanwhile, at the university auditorium, the fundraiser was already buzzing. Backstage, Kira stood in front of a small mirror, smoothing down the front of her burgundy dress for the tenth time.

Her hands felt clammy as she pulled out her phone again, tapped Derek’s name, pressed it to her ear, and waited.

The mobile you are calling is not available at the moment. Please try again later.

She pulled the phone away, her chest tightening. Derek had promised. He had sat in that kitchen, his hand over hers as he told her he would not leave her to face this room alone.

He knew what tonight meant. It was not just a fundraiser for her university club; it was her debut as a Queen who could actually lead.

A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach, a weight that she could not explain. It was more than just nerves. It was a sense of wrongness, as if the very air around her had turned sour.

It had been there since she arrived, sitting quietly beneath the surface of everything she was doing, a feeling she could not name and therefore could not address.

"Kira! Oh my goddess, Ki"

Jessica burst through the curtain, her face flushed with excitement. She looked like she was about to levitate off the floor. "You have to see this! The auditorium is absolutely packed. I mean, standing room only at the back!"

Kira quickly shoved her phone into her clutch bag, forcing a smile onto her face. "Is it really?"

"It is a miracle!" Jessica grabbed Kira’s hands, squeezed them hard, and did a little hop. "You are a miracle worker. Do you realise what you have done? For the first time in literally years, we have high-ranking Lycans and werewolves sitting in the same hall. No growling, no snapping, no one tearing anyone’s head off. They are actually behaving!"

Kira laughed despite herself. "It’s the power of being married to the Lycan King. His name did most of the work."

Jessica scrunched her nose and let out a playful huff. "Stop that. Stop being so modest and just take your flowers, Ki. You did the work. You sent the invites. You built the club. Derek is just the... well, the very handsome cherry on top."

Kira chuckled again. "I suppose so."

"You look stunning, by the way," Jessica added, stepping back to admire Kira’s gown. "You look like a Queen."

The emcee poked his head through the curtain, checking his watch. "Mrs Wolfe? You are up. We need the opening speech in sixty seconds."

Jessica gave Kira a final, encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Go get them, Boss Queen."

Kira took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her hips. She stepped out from the wings and onto the stage.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the scale of it hit her like a wall of warm air. The stage lights were blinding, but beyond the glare, she could see rows upon rows of faces.

Goddess, there are so many of them.

What if he didn’t show up? What if the empty royal booth became the only thing anyone remembered tonight?

"Good evening, everyone," she began. Her voice came out clearer than she felt. "Thank you for being here tonight. My name is Kira Wolfe nee Thornclaw, and I am the founder of the Student Welfare and Reintegration Club..."

She spoke about the students they had helped; the ones who had been displaced by pack wars or left behind by the rigid hierarchies of their society. She played a montage video on the large screen behind her, showing the faces of the people whose lives had been changed.

As the video played, she glanced at the front row. The Alphas and Lunas there were not listening to her stories of charity; they were looking at their watches. They were looking at the doors.

When the lights came back up, the applause started slowly and then built, rolling through the tiers until it filled the space. Kira stood at the microphone and let it settle before she spoke again.

"Those stories," she said, "are why we are here tonight. Every pound raised, every bid placed, every moment you spend with us is another chance for someone to start again."

She paused. "The auction begins shortly. Please take your seats and take your time with the boards. Every item has a story behind it, and every bid matters more than you know."

She gave a small bow and began to walk off the stage. The applause came again, but she could already feel the shift in the room.

The whispers started. They were soft at first, but grew in volume until the hall was buzzing with an agitated energy. People were no longer looking at the stage or the charity brochures. They were leaning toward each other, their heads bent in hushed conversation.

She saw the students in the upper tiers leaning together, saw the swift, sideways glances toward the unoccupied section, and she knew with the particular knowledge of someone who had staked her credibility on a promise the room was beginning to suspect had not been kept, that the next few minutes would tell her everything about where she stood.