I didn’t blame him. I was exhausted too. Between overseeing the upcoming dance rehearsals, cross-referencing seating charts with dietary needs, and adjusting seating placements so people didn’t throw a fit about their view being obstructed by a fog machine—it was a lot.
And yet, I still managed to sit through a ten-minute conversation with one of our professors about projected enrollment stats for next year. I even nodded in the right places.
“You’ve really stepped up this term, Callum,” the teacher said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve seen alphas crumble under half the pressure.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” I replied. “Just trying to maintain order.”
“Well, it shows.”
Of course, that’s the exact moment my phone lit up like the castle was on fire.
Bianca.
Again. This was the fifth time.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I answered with a sigh. “Bianca, I remember I told you, if there’s an urgent matter—.”
She didn’t even pause. “Oh, Callum, that’s so mean. You promised to be my practice partner tonight at tonight rehearsal, remember? Everyone’s expecting it.”
I closed my eyes. “And I told you I might not be able to make it. I’m still at school handling guest logistics.”
She huffed. “Well, I already told everyone you were coming, so you have to.”
It was less a request and more a command wrapped in a velvet bow.
“I’ll try to make it,” I said, then hung up before the tantrum fully launched.
I glanced up. The teacher raised a brow.
“Girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “Arranged.”
He nodded knowingly. "That still doesn’t answer my question. Don’t you have a mate? What happened to her?"
I hesitated. “Her name is Liora.”
“Ah. The wolfless girl who made a scene last week?” he said, surprised. “She’s surprised me. Brilliant for her blood. Different from the others. Sharp. The kind who thinks in silence before acting.”
That caught me off guard.
Liora?
I hadn’t really had time to think abut it. All I’d seen so far was her ability to scowl with surgical precision. And nearly take down wolves twice her size.
Still, something shifted inside me. Quiet. Curious.
Bianca, for all her flair and titles, had been struggling in class. Always an excuse. She was tired. She didn’t feel well. She was “too focused on combat training.”
But even there... she hadn’t really delivered. Her last assessment was barely passing.
And yet the student body still followed her like she was dipped in gold.
I finished my conversation with the teacher and exited the hall, just in time for Toby to catch up with a very familiar harried look.
“She sent flowers to my dorm,” he deadpanned. “To my dorm, Callum.”
“Who?”



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