Page 33 of Violet

“You reallyarea battle-ax, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never been called that before,” she says. The nickname doesn’t seem to faze her at all, and that only angers me more.

I’ll never fucking forget what she did. And I’llneverforgive her.

“Stephan,” she begins, “why are you on my island again?”

Her island.I huff at that.

“I’m here for entertainment, Monarch, nothing more.”

“How’s Penrith?”

“Ask her yourself.”

“Watch your tongue, Stephan. I’m your?—”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That’s what you are.”

“What the blazes are you upset about now? You’vemade money, whored yourself out to the world, and now you’re mad because I asked about Penrith? You came back for the summer, crashed this Season’s second event, andwithoutan invitation, I might add… And you’re dressed like you’re participating in the Season. Like you’re looking for a mate. Have you finally come to your senses?”

I scoff. “I’m not looking for a mate.”

Sophine hands her glass to her Omega, slides a finger across the tablet’s screen, and then she starts to type on the virtual keyboard at a feverish pace.

“Oh, but you are. As of now. I’ve added you to the list of eligible Alphas for this Season.”

She’s kidding. She’s got to be kidding.

As if reading my mind, she flips the screen so that I can see it. And there’s my stage name right at the top of the list—Asher St. James.

Fuck.

A growl rumbles low in my throat. “I’m not on the market. Never will be.”

She stands to her full imposing height, her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t Emporia. You can’t play a role here. So now, I expect you to take part, be a gentleman, court one of the many pretty Omegas, maybe find a mate.”

“Screw you. I had a mate.”

“Language!” Sophine snaps. “You need a morefittingmate.”

Rage coils in my gut.

More fitting? IlovedCeeCee. Even if she wasn’t an Omega, she was everything to me.

“You bi?—”

But her stare stops me in my tracks, spiked with a silentthreat. As much as I want to curse her, I know—from experience—it will only hurt me way more than help. She holds too much power as the Council leader, the Monarch, or whatever.

Frederick steps forward and presses a mini tablet in a sleek leather case into my hand.

I close my fingers around it, my muscles stiff.

That’s when a slow, satisfied smile lifts her lips. “Welcome to the Season, Stephan.”

Girls swamp me when I get back into the ballroom. One squeals, fangirling, and a blonde dressed like a bird starts pushing them all out of the way, grabbing for my mini pad.

“A dance for me, Mr. St. James?” she asks.

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