Caleb Arden stared at his reflection in silence.
The ornate mirror towering before him reflected not just fabric and features—but a stranger. A porcelain doll dressed in ivory and gold, eyes listless, spine straightened by practiced habit.
Standing still like a decorative object, his mother's voice pressing into his ear like fingers around his throat.
"Don't forget to smile," Lyra Arden said.
She didn't look up from smoothing the fine silver embroidery on his sleeve. "You're representing the family. No matter what you feel—this is an honor."
Caleb nodded.
Honor.
Not sacrifice.
Never that word.
"It'll all be over soon," Mira Arden added gently from the corner. Unlike Lyra, she watched him with softer eyes. She looked tired. Guilty. But she said nothing further.
The fitters circled him like vultures, tugging ribbons, pinning fabric, fluffing delicate layers of fabric meant to flatter his Beta figure. Every adjustment made him feel smaller.
"My baby," Lyra cooed, "you were made for this kind of moment."
Caleb kept still.
Inside, he felt like a mannequin — stiff hands, empty eyes, silence pushing against his ribs.
Outside the venue, hushed chaos.
Rumors dripped like poison across scrolling screens and whispered corridors.
He's refusing to pick out a ring.
The Alpha isn't coming to rehearsals.
They say he might not show up at the wedding itself.
The Beta's all alone.
Some laughed. Some pitied. None stepped in.
Lucian Thorne, the most feared Alpha in the sector, had not made a single appearance since the announcement ceremony. He worked through the chaos in his encrypted office, reviewing surveillance feeds and eliminating enemies like usual.
Marriage?
He could care less.
Or so he insisted.
Inside the dressing room, Caleb was instructed to raise his arms.
"Higher," the fitter pressed, irritated. "Do you want wrinkles on your sleeves?"
"I'm sorry."
Not sorry.
Just tired.
He felt like an exhibit—delicate, expendable, locked under glass.
Then a knock.
The door opened without waiting for permission.
"Is he ready yet?" a crisp voice said.
Caleb's head snapped up.
Darius Vale stepped in, eyes sweeping over the swarms of fitters before settling on Caleb.
He looked past the shiny fabrics.
Past the perfect posture.
Straight to the exhaustion Caleb couldn't hide.
"Give us a moment," Darius said.
The fitters hesitated. Lyra opened her mouth to protest, but one look from the Rival Alpha and they scattered like startled birds.
Caleb didn't know whether to bow or stare.
He settled for: "Did you need something?"
"No." Darius looked at him, expression neutral. "I'm just making sure you're still standing."
Caleb flinched.
No one had ever checked on him for that reason alone.
He looked away. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," Darius said calmly.
Caleb found a smile then—thin and practiced. "You're very observant."
"Only when it matters."
Silence stretched between them.
And then Darius stepped closer.
Not touching. Just close enough to feel his presence.
"You look good," he said. And it wasn't a compliment. It was an observation—quiet, sincere.
Caleb exhaled. "Flatter me any more, and I might think you're trying to steal the groom's position."
Darius paused.
And for a fleeting moment—his eyes softened in amusement.
"I wouldn't dare," he murmured. "Unless I thought you might welcome it."
Caleb froze.
His breath caught.
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
The tension held steady like a taut line. Not romantic. Not passionate. Just—charged.
"I'll be watching," Darius added, low.
Caleb swallowed.
"Why?"
Another pause.
"Because someone should."
The words echoed—a mirror to the hallway hours ago.
And just like before—they settled in Caleb's chest like a weight and a comfort all at once.
The moment fractured when Lyra cleared her throat sharply.
"Enough," she said, stepping forward, reclaiming her territory. "If you're done flirting, we have a schedule to keep."
Darius didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Only looked at her once—with eyes cold enough to freeze skin—and then quietly exited without a sound.
Caleb stared at the closed door long after he left.
Meanwhile—
Lucian stared at the silent phone beside his desk.
It buzzed every few minutes with notifications about the wedding.
Most of which he ignored.
Except for one.
A photo.
Not of the event.
But of Darius.
Standing beside Caleb.
Just a split second caught from a back hallway.
Caleb looking up.
Darius leaning close.
Lucian's grip tightened around his stylus until it snapped.
He should not care.
He did not care.
But suddenly, he was moving.
Turning off monitors.
Grabbing his coat.
Because rage was irrational, and so was jealousy.
But betrayal?
Even imagined betrayal?
That was unforgivable.
Caleb was just stepping into a new coat when air shifted behind him.
He turned.
And froze.
Lucian stood in the doorway.
Black suit tailored. Hair imperfect as if he'd run fingers through it. Cold eyes darker than the hall he'd just left.
Everyone in the room went silent.
Lyra immediately dipped her head. The fitters dropped into awkward bows.
Caleb opened his mouth — not to greet him…
But because he was shocked the Alpha had shown up at all.
"Y-You're here," he said softly.
Lucian didn't respond.
He was too busy taking in every detail.
Caleb's suit.
Caleb's trembling hands.
Caleb's eyes—wide and uncertain.
His voice was colder than the room.
"I won't be repeating myself."
He stepped forward.
Close enough to trace seams.
"Don't expect this kind of attention again."
A pause.
Then—
"This is the last time I check on you."
Not visit you.
Not come for you.
Just check.
Duty. Not care.
And then he added, barely above a whisper—
"You're not as replaceable as you think."
Caleb didn't speak.
Because it wasn't the softness that stunned him.
It was the confusion hidden beneath it.
Lucian looked away then, jaw hard.
"Be ready."
He turned.
And walked out before anyone could breathe.
Lyra's eyes gleamed with triumph.
Mira watched with worry.
Caleb?
Caleb just stared at the door.
Still feeling the ghost of the Alpha's gaze on his skin.
Not knowing whether to fear it.
Or hope for it.