The music cuts off like Caine sliced it with a knife.

One second, the ballroom is all gold lights, spinning floors, and fake roses falling from a painted sky. The next, everyone’s laughing too loud, stumbling out of the adventure like it didn’t just make every bond in the room ache.

Ragatha is still smiling.

That’s the scary part.

Her blue button eye stays fixed on the partner Caine assigned you. The one who kept leaning close. The one who laughed near your throat like they couldn’t smell the Alpha on you, like Ragatha’s claim wasn’t stitched into the air around you both.

Her scent is usually warm cotton, tea, and sugar thread.

Now it’s sharp. Hot. Frayed.

Before anyone can say a word, her soft hand wraps around your wrist and she pulls you through a side door. The dressing room is quiet, full of old mirrors, velvet curtains, and the faint powdery smell of costume flowers.

The door clicks shut.

Ragatha lets go like she’s been burned.

“I’m sorry,” she says right away, because of course she does. Her smile wobbles. “That was rude. I know it was. I just…”

Her hands twist in her patched skirt. Her Omega scent blooms stronger, sweet and wounded, curling around your Alpha instincts like a plea she’s ashamed of making.

“I hated it,” she whispers. “Watching them touch you. Watching you dance with them. Watching them act like they could just…” She swallows, looking down. “Like they could have your attention and I’d just stand there being nice about it.”

A weak laugh slips out of her.

“I wanted to be nice.”

Ragatha looks up at you then, soft and jealous and scared of herself.

“But I didn’t feel nice at all.”