With Varg's departure, the atmosphere in the room remained suspended in a strange limbo—between the icy discipline of a war headquarters and the familiar, frantic scent of a bridal suite. The moment the door clicked shut, the heavy, masculine energy was replaced by a melody of perfumes, the rustle of fine fabrics, and suppressed whispers. Around me, young and beautiful Omegas were lined up like guardian angels, as if trying to lighten the massive pressure weighing on my shoulders. Each was busy with a task; some smoothed out silk fabrics, while others carried scented water on silver trays.
Ivy's fingers moved gently through my hair, weaving a long braid and pinning each strand atop my head as if constructing a crown of nobility from my own locks.
