Warning: explicit material in this chapter
The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of honey-gold and lavender, when there was a soft knock on Opal's bedroom door.
She turned from the mirror, where she'd been brushing out her curls with slow, absentminded strokes. The door creaked open, and Vesta peeked in, holding a garment bag over one shoulder and a small jewelry box in her hand.
"Special delivery," she said with a wink.
Opal blinked. "What's that?"
"An order from the Alpha, hand-delivered by your personal stylist," Vesta said, walking in without waiting for an answer. "Tonight's going to be a bit fancy."
Opal stood, heart thudding. "Fancy… how fancy?"
"Candlelit dinner," Vesta said, her voice warm. "Just you and him. He's been running around like a man possessed all day—setting the table, yelling about the proper way to fold napkins, nearly setting a tea towel on fire trying to make that chocolate sauce thing he likes."
