Juniper
They call themselves a glam squad. An army of three, they descend upon my suite with steel cases and an air of grim determination. One for hair, one for makeup, one for the dress. They work in silence, a well-oiled machine turning me from a librarian into… something else. A product.
The dress is a deep sapphire silk that leaves my shoulders bare. It feels like a whisper against my skin. The stylist, a severe woman named Colette, zips it up with a decisive tug.
“Mr. Rourdan chose it himself,” she says, her first words in an hour. Her tone implies this is a great honor. It feels like being branded.
I look at my reflection. The woman staring back is a stranger. Her eyes are shadowed, her lips painted a soft rose. Her hair is swept up in an intricate knot at the base of her neck. She looks elegant, polished, and completely hollow.
“He is waiting for you downstairs,” Mrs. Davenport announces from the doorway, her presence as subtle as a guillotine.
My heart begins a frantic, trapped-bird flutter against my ribs. The performance is about to begin. I walk out of the room, the silk of the dress hissing against the floor.
Jack stands at the bottom of the grand staircase. He is wearing a black tuxedo tailored so perfectly it looks like a second skin. He is a masterpiece of dark, severe beauty. A king in his castle. His pale grey eyes sweep over me, a slow, clinical assessment. There is no warmth, no admiration. Just evaluation.
“You are punctual,” he says. It is not a compliment.
He holds out his arm. I place my hand on his forearm. His muscle is like stone beneath the fine wool. A jolt, sharp and unwelcome, shoots up my arm. His skin is shockingly warm.
We walk to the car in silence. The vehicle is another long, black phantom, identical to the one that brought me here. It smells of leather and Jack’s clean, cold scent.
“The event is a benefit for the Children’s Literacy Fund,” he says as the car glides through the gates. “It is one of my corporation’s primary charities. You will find it… suitable.”
I stare at my hands, laced in my lap. “A charity for books. You have a sense of irony.”
His head turns slightly. I feel his gaze on me. “Your role tonight is simple. You will stay by my side. You will smile. You will direct any questions you do not understand to me. And when you look at me, you will look at me as if you are the happiest woman in the world.”
“And how should you look at me?” I ask, the words sharper than I intend.
A beat of silence. “I will be convincing,” he says. The finality in his tone ends the conversation.
The gala is a supernova of light and sound. We step from the car into a blinding storm of flashing cameras. Jack’s hand moves from my elbow to the small of my back, a gesture of proprietary guidance. The pressure is firm, inescapable.
“Smile, Juniper,” he murmurs, his voice a low command meant only for me.
I lift my chin and force my lips into a curve. It feels like a grimace. We move through the crowd, a sea of diamonds and designer gowns parting before us. Jack is gravity. Everyone is pulled into his orbit.
“Jack, marvelous to see you out,” a portly man with a booming voice says, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Arthur,” Jack nods, his expression unreadable. His hand on my back tightens slightly.
“And this must be the lovely bride we’ve been reading about,” Arthur says, his eyes twinkling at me. “Juniper, is it? My dear, he kept you a secret for far too long.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bainbridge,” I say, my voice steady. I know him. Arthur Bainbridge, CEO of a rival tech firm. I’ve read his company’s quarterly reports.
“He’s a lucky man,” Arthur’s wife, a woman draped in pearls, adds. “How ever did you two meet? The papers have been so vague.”
I feel Jack tense beside me. This is the first test. “It was in a library, actually,” I say, letting a soft, reminiscent smile touch my lips. The lie feels surprisingly easy. “He was looking for a first edition of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations. I helped him find it.”
Arthur roars with laughter. “A book! By God, that’s perfect! Jack Rourdan, brought to heel by a Roman emperor and a beautiful librarian. Who would have thought?”
Jack’s hand on my back doesn’t move, but I can feel the change in his posture. A subtle shift. It’s not approval. It’s… less than disapproval.
We move on, a slow procession through a room of sharks. Jack introduces me to people whose names are headlines and whose companies shape the world. I smile, I nod, I say the right things. The librarian in me files away their faces, their connections, their whispered asides. It’s not charming them. It’s data collection.
We are standing near a towering ice sculpture of a swan when she appears.
Livia.
She is a vision in blood red, a dress that clings to her every curve and leaves little to the imagination. Her fiery hair is a beacon in the crowded room. She glides towards us, a smile on her face that is all predator.
“Jack, darling,” she purrs, placing a hand on his arm, a gesture of familiar intimacy. “You finally decided to grace us with your presence. And you brought your… wife.”
Her green eyes rake over me, dripping with condescension. “Sapphire. A bold choice. It almost gives you some color.”
“Livia,” Jack says. His voice is flat. He does not remove her hand.
“Everyone is just dying with curiosity, Juniper,” Livia says, her voice loud enough for those around us to hear. She is creating an audience. “We know all about the Rourdan lineage, of course. It’s practically legend. But no one knows a thing about you. Tell us, what pack do the Vances claim allegiance to? Who is your Alpha?”
The question drops into the small circle of listeners like a stone. It’s a poisoned dart. She is outing me. Exposing me as a human, a nobody, a woman with no status in their world.
Silence. All eyes are on me. I can feel Jack’s rigid stillness beside me. He is waiting for me to shatter.
I take a small sip of the champagne a waiter had handed me earlier. I look Livia directly in the eye. I smile.
“That’s such an interesting question, Lady Livia,” I say, my voice calm and clear. “It makes me think about the very nature of allegiance. My family has never sworn fealty to an Alpha. Our allegiance has always been to history. To the preservation of knowledge.”
I let my gaze drift over the influential humans and, I suspect, wolves in our small audience.
“My lineage is one of teachers and archivists. We don’t have territories or ancient blood feuds. We have stories. All of them. Including the histories of the great packs, their treaties, their triumphs.”
I turn my smile back to Livia, making it a little brighter, a little sharper. “I believe the measure of our worth isn’t in the strength of our ancestors, but in the world we build for our descendants. A world that requires new alliances. Stronger bonds between our two peoples. That’s the future I’m interested in. The one Jack and I are building together.”
The silence that follows is different. It’s not hostile. It’s thoughtful. Arthur Bainbridge clears his throat, a look of genuine impressiveness on his face. Someone murmurs, “Well said.”
Livia’s smile is frozen on her face. Her eyes are chips of green ice, filled with fury. Her plan has not just failed. It has backfired spectacularly. I didn’t just answer her question. I changed the entire game board.
Jack’s hand on my back, which has been a point of cold pressure all night, suddenly feels warm. His thumb moves in a slow, almost imperceptible stroke against the silk of my dress.
It is the most shocking thing that has happened all evening.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Jack says, his voice a low rumble. He steers me away from the circle, leaving Livia standing there, her mask of civility cracking.
We don’t speak again until we are back in the car, the city lights a blur outside the tinted windows. The space between us feels electric now, charged with an uncomfortable, unspoken energy. The silence is heavier than it was before.
He stares out his window, his face a mask of shadows and angles.
“She underestimated you,” he says, his voice quiet. He doesn’t look at me.
It’s not an apology. It’s not praise. It’s a simple statement of fact. And coming from him, it feels like a tectonic shift.
I don’t know what to say. The woman in the sapphire dress, the one who spoke of alliances and the future, has vanished. I am just Juniper again. The girl who was bought and paid for. The girl who is sitting next to a man who is more monster than myth.
I look at our reflections in the dark glass. The handsome billionaire and his charming new wife. The perfect couple. The first deception was a success.
I wonder how many more there will be.
