The mountain of RSVPs on my desk had grown to alarming proportions. I'd been sorting through them since dawn, categorizing responses by pack affiliation, dietary restrictions, and status. Each card required a handwritten note in return—a formality that had seemed quaint when I first learned of it, but now felt like an exercise in torture.

My stomach growled, reminding me I'd missed breakfast. Lunch, too, apparently—the clock on the wall showed it was already past two. I ignored the hunger pangs and continued writing, determined to finish before day's end.

A knock at the door interrupted my focus. "Not now," I called without looking up.

The door opened anyway. Kane stood in the doorway, holding a large paper bag that filled the room with the tantalizing aroma of food.

"I noticed you missed lunch," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "And breakfast."

I frowned, setting down my pen. "Have you been monitoring my eating habits?"

"No need to monitor what's obvious." He set the bag on my desk, pushing aside a stack of response cards. "When was the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee?"

The question caught me off guard. I genuinely couldn't remember.

Kane unpacked the bag, revealing containers of grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and sliced fruit. "The kitchen staff told me you hadn't ordered anything all day."

"I've been busy," I said, though my eyes lingered on the food.

"Too busy to eat?" Kane handed me a fork. "Even the most dedicated Luna needs sustenance."

The concern in his voice seemed genuine, catching me off guard. I accepted the fork, too hungry to maintain my resistance. "Thank you."

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The food was exactly what I needed—simple but flavorful, and clearly chosen with care.

"The Silverleaf Pack confirmed attendance," I said, gesturing to one of the sorted piles. "Including their unmated daughters."

"Ah, the famous Silverleaf triplets," Kane remarked. "Their beauty is legendary. I've heard even human models envy their bone structure."

I tried to ignore the twinge of something uncomfortable in my chest. "They'll certainly add elegance to the event."

"And yet," Kane said thoughtfully, "beauty becomes commonplace when it's all a pack values. I've always found intelligence and spirit far more captivating."

Our eyes met briefly before I looked away, unsettled by the implication in his words.

"Your vision for this Gala is remarkable," Kane continued, gesturing to the detailed plans spread across my desk. "Most would settle for replicating past events, but you're creating something unique."

"You've actually read the plans?" I asked, surprised.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

I shrugged. "Most people just nod and pretend to care about the details."

"I'm not most people," Kane said simply. "Tell me about the woodland theme you've chosen for the entry hall."

The request seemed genuine, and before I knew it, I was explaining my concept—the suspended lanterns meant to mimic fireflies, the living trees in silver planters, the musicians hidden among foliage to create an enchanted forest effect.

Kane listened attentively, asking thoughtful questions that revealed he'd not only read my plans but understood the intention behind them. Our conversation flowed with unexpected ease, his genuine interest drawing out ideas I hadn't shared with anyone else.

"You see it as more than just a mating ritual," he observed. "You're creating an experience that honors our wolf nature while celebrating our human refinement."

"Exactly," I said, surprised and pleased by his insight. "The Gala should feel like a natural extension of who we are—both sides of our nature in harmony."

The phone on my desk rang, interrupting our discussion. I glanced at the caller ID.

"It's Raymond," I said, my mood instantly dampening.

Kane raised an eyebrow but said nothing as I reached for the receiver.

"Hello, Raymond," I answered, my voice shifting to the formal tone I now used with my husband.

"Aurora," Raymond replied, sounding distracted. "I need an update on the Gala budget. The council is asking questions about the expenditures."

I put the call on speaker, reaching for the budget folder. As I began reviewing the figures, Kane leaned against my desk, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He started silently mouthing exaggerated versions of Raymond's responses, his expressions so ridiculously dramatic that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"The floral budget seems excessive," Raymond was saying.

Kane clutched his chest in mock outrage, mouthing "Flowers? In spring? How revolutionary!"

I turned away, struggling to maintain my composure. "The arrangements are being created by the Williams Pack as part of our alliance negotiation. Their materials cost is higher, but we're saving significantly on labor."

As Raymond continued questioning individual line items, Kane's silent commentary grew increasingly absurd. When Raymond mentioned the cost of imported wine, Kane pretended to faint across my desk, nearly sending a stack of cards tumbling.

"We need to discuss this further," Raymond said abruptly. "There's something else I need to—"

Kane deliberately dropped a folder, creating a loud thud.

"What was that?" Raymond asked sharply. "Is someone there?"

Before I could respond, Kane leaned toward the speakerphone. "Just me, Raymond. Stopped by to pick up the security plans." His voice was perfectly casual, as though he'd just arrived.

There was a pause, then Raymond said, "Kane. I didn't realize you were with Aurora."

"Just arrived," Kane lied smoothly. "Something you needed?"

In the background, a woman's voice called out. Giana, demanding Raymond's immediate attention for some crisis or another.

"We'll finish this discussion later," Raymond said curtly before hanging up.

I stared at Kane, trying to look stern but failing miserably. "That was completely unprofessional."

"Completely," he agreed, grinning unrepentantly.

A laugh escaped me, genuine and unexpected. "You're impossible."

"Yet here you are, laughing," Kane pointed out. "When was the last time you did that?"

I couldn't remember, which was answer enough.

Kane's expression softened as he looked at me. "You should laugh more often. It transforms you."

"Into what?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Into yourself," he said simply. "The real Aurora, not the perfect Luna mask you wear for everyone else."

The observation was too perceptive, making me feel exposed. I glanced away, uncomfortable with his ability to see through my carefully constructed façade.

Kane moved closer, his hand reaching to tilt my face toward his. "There she is," he murmured. "The woman behind the title."

Before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed me—not the desperate, need-driven kisses of our previous encounters, but something softer, more deliberate. I found myself responding without hesitation, the stack of RSVPs forgotten as he pulled me to my feet.

He reached past me to lock the door, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're beautiful when you actually smile," he said, his voice low. "Do you know that?"

Words failed me as he kissed me again, deeper this time. There was no mate bond pain driving us together now, just a connection I hadn't expected to form. His touch was both passionate and reverent as he lifted me onto the desk, papers scattering to the floor unheeded.

Afterward, as we straightened our clothes and restored order to my desk, an uncomfortable awareness settled over me. This encounter had been different—not merely satisfying the mate bond's painful demands, but something I'd wanted purely for itself. For him.

Kane gathered the fallen papers, handing them to me with uncharacteristic care. "The security team finalized the perimeter plans this morning," he said, his tone shifting to business. "I've increased coverage at the north entrance and added two more guards to the VIP section."

I accepted the papers, surprised. "I didn't realize you'd implemented those changes. That was exactly what I was concerned about."

A small smile played at his lips. "I pay attention to what matters, Aurora."

As he turned to leave, I found myself wondering exactly what—or who—he meant. The Kane I thought I knew wouldn't have noticed my security concerns, much less addressed them without being asked.

He paused at the door, glancing back with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Don't forget to eat dinner," he said. "Even Lunas need their strength."

The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with scattered RSVPs and the unsettling realization that my carefully negotiated "no strings" arrangement with Kane was developing complications I hadn't anticipated.

Strings were definitely forming—invisible but strengthening with each encounter. And I had no idea what to do about it.