The Beta’s Ugly Daughter

Chapter 24

“You're staring”, she said without looking up and my heart nearly stopped beating.

I found myself arriving at the archives earlier each morning, telling myself it was dedication to the project. But when Gail walked through the door with her quiet, measured steps, the lie crumbled. I wasn't there for dusty scrolls or historical records. I was there for her.

"You're here early again," she observed, settling into her usual spot across from me.

Her voice carried that familiar note of wariness, like she couldn't quite believe I kept showing up.

"Had trouble sleeping," I said, which wasn't entirely untrue. My dreams had become a tangle of red hair and quiet brown eyes, of moonlight and archive shadows. "Figured I might as well make myself useful."

She gave me that look, half skeptical, half amused, and something warm spread through my chest. I'd started living for that expression, the way it softened her guarded features just enough to let me glimpse the sharp intelligence underneath.

"Well, since you're so eager," she said, sliding a stack of territorial agreements toward me, "these need cross-referencing with the boundary maps from 1847."

I pulled the documents closer, but my attention snagged on her hands as she sorted through another pile. Careful, precise movements. No wasted motion. I'd noticed she always double-checked the genealogy records, running her finger down each family line twice before moving on.

"Tea?" I asked, already standing.

She blinked up at me. "I didn't ask-"

"Two sugars, no milk." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face. "How did you-"

"Lucky guess." I moved toward the small kitchen alcove, grateful for the excuse to turn away before she could read too much in my expression. When had I started cataloging these details? When had I begun watching her closely enough to notice she preferred her tea sweet but never added milk? When I returned with two steaming cups, she was studying me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.

"Thank you," she said quietly, accepting the cup. Our fingers brushed as I handed it over, and neither of us pulled away immediately.

"Gail." Her name felt different on my tongue now. Heavier. More important.

"Yes?"

"Yesterday, when you mentioned the discrepancy in the Silver Ridge treaty—you were right. I checked with the council records."

A flush crept up her neck. "Oh. Good."

"More than good. You caught something three generations of Alphas missed." I leaned forward, drawn by the way she ducked her head, trying to hide her pleased expression. "You have a gift for seeing patterns others don't."

"It's just attention to detail," she murmured, but I caught the way her shoulders straightened slightly.

"No, it's more than that." The words came out rougher than I intended. "You see connections. You understand how pieces fit together in ways that-" I stopped myself before I could say something foolish. Like how she seemed to understand me in ways no one else did.

The afternoon wore on, and I found excuses to stay close. When she reached for a high shelf, I was there to retrieve the scroll before she could struggle with her small frame. When her stack of documents toppled over, I helped gather them, our shoulders bumping as we worked.

"You don't have to help with everything," she said, but there was no irritation in her voice.

"Maybe I want to." She looked at me then, really looked, and I saw something shift in her expression. Wariness giving way to something softer, more uncertain.

"The Lunar Council archives are requesting these boundary surveys by week's end," she continued, pulling out a thick leather-bound volume. "I need to read through the original settlement agreements to make sure we haven't missed any disputed territories."

She opened the book and began reading aloud, her voice steady and clear as she worked through the formal language of centuries-old documents. I found myself watching the shape of her mouth as she spoke, the way her lips moved over complicated words. The concentration line between her brows deepened as she puzzled through archaic phrasing.

I should be listening to the content. Should be taking notes. Instead, I was memorizing the way she paused slightly before difficult names, the small breath she took before transitioning between sections.

"-and the eastern boundary shall extend from the lightning-struck oak to the- Wyatt?"

I jerked my attention back to her face, heat climbing my neck. "Sorry. Continue." But her cheeks had pinked, and she was looking at me with that expression again. The one that suggested she knew exactly where my attention had been.

"Maybe we should take a break," she said softly.

"Right." I cleared my throat, pushing back from the table. "Fresh air might help."

As we walked toward the door, she stumbled slightly over a loose floorboard. My hand shot out instinctively, catching her elbow to steady her. The touch sent electricity up my arm, and when she looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise, I felt that familiar tug in my chest.

The same pull I'd felt with the red-haired girl under the blood moon. The same inexplicable draw that had been haunting my dreams. My thumb brushed against her arm where I still held her, and her breath hitched audibly.

"Gail," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

"Yes?" But before I could figure out what I wanted to say, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. We sprang apart, and Mira appeared in the doorway, her smile bright and unsuspecting.

"There you are," she said to me. "The ceremony planners need to discuss the final arrangements."

I nodded, my heart still hammering from Gail's proximity. "Of course." As I followed Mira out, I glanced back at Gail. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read, longing mixed with resignation, hope tempered by pain.

And for the first time, as I walked away from her toward my future bride, I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.