Caleb didn't remember getting from the altar to the reception hall.
One moment, the world was cracking open under gunfire, and the next, he was sitting at a table surrounded by crystal glassware and white roses that smelled too sweet to be real. The storm of panic had faded only to be replaced with the suffocating chill of controlled silence. Lucian's men moved through the hall, clearing exits, checking windows, communicating in low tones and urgent gestures.
And Lucian himself—of course—was gone.
After disappearing through the back exit in a swift, controlled stride, the Alpha hadn't returned.
He hadn't taken Caleb with him.
He hadn't so much as looked back.
Caleb pressed a hand to his chest—not over his heart, but lower, over the place where a dull ache kept blooming and blooming, like a wound carved into something that wasn't flesh.
The other guests had been herded toward the ballroom, reassured by functionaries that the situation was under control. Their chatter resumed too quickly, too politely. Whispers replaced screams. Appetizers replaced fear.
Caleb sat there in silence, untouched flute of champagne still flat and warm in his grip.
His wedding day.
It didn't feel like it.
It felt like someone had pressed pause—and then forgotten him entirely.
Across the room, a camera crew hovered. They weren't filming, but they might as well have, the way Caleb felt like every blink, every breath was being watched, documented, judged.
Head high, shoulders squared, smile in place.
But his lips wouldn't curve today.
There were no lies left in him.
"Are you alright?"
The voice was quiet, closer than he expected. Caleb turned—and froze.
Darius Vale stood at his shoulder, the slightest crease between his brows. No fake sympathy, no dramatic pity. Just a plain, simple question, offered like it mattered.
Caleb swallowed. "I'm fine."
Darius's gaze flicked down to the champagne glass still clenched in Caleb's hand. "You're shaking."
Caleb looked down. The liquid rippled violently, catching the chandelier light like a threat.
"It's cold," he lied, softly. The lie tasted bitter, stale.
Darius didn't challenge it. He just nodded once, like he'd heard that same lie before from someone else with shaking hands.
"It was only a scare," Darius murmured. "No one was hurt. They were testing security."
Testing.
This was the kind of life Lucian lived—where gunshots could be called tests and weddings could be swept aside like inconsequential ceremonies.
Caleb hated himself for wanting someone to tell him it was okay to feel scared.
He was just a Beta standing in a room full of Alphas. Who cared if he was shaking?
"Thank you," he managed. It came out weak.
Darius took a step back, but not before dropping two small words that lodged into Caleb's chest.
"If you need anything."
That was all. No lingering gaze. No dramatic tension. Just a flicker of human kindness in a room that felt hostile.
And Caleb wished he hadn't appreciated it so much.
The moment Darius disappeared into the fragile crowd, the whispers returned in waves.
"He won't last long."
"Beta in a seat that wasn't meant for him."
"Lucian should've waited for the Omega."
Caleb breathed in slowly, willing himself not to crumble. They didn't know the truth—not really. They didn't know the bleak, ugly reason he stood in his brother's place. They didn't know that the Omega had run—and Caleb had been placed like a desperate bandage over a wound that was never meant for him.
They didn't know his family had begged him to.
And they didn't know that he had said yes to protect the person who should've been here instead.
Brother… you stole my life.
He had Evan's last message memorized in his bones.
Before Caleb could sink further into the weight pressing down on him, a sharp click echoed nearby. He startled, looking up—
Lucian had returned.
The Alpha moved across the floor like he hadn't just walked into a wedding he'd abandoned—composure intact, tux immaculate, expression unreadable.
His presence sucked all the noise out of the room like a vacuum.
Caleb stood reflexively.
Lucian's eyes slid over him, a glance so brief that it didn't feel like they'd met at all.
"It isn't safe here," Lucian said, voice low. "We're leaving."
No warmth. No concern. Just information.
Caleb nodded, throat tight. "Can I—"
"You don't need to speak. Just follow."
Every word was a command.
Without another glance, Lucian turned to walk toward the private exit. His men flanked them immediately. Caleb followed, silent and aware of every eye pinned to his back.
The hallway was long and dim, the footsteps of guards echoing in sharp sync. They descended a staircase and entered the underground garage where a luxury black car waited with its engine running.
Caleb was guided inside, Lucian slipping in next to him. The door shut with a soft but final click.
Cold, heavy silence filled the space between them.
Caleb stared at his hands. His wedding band caught the faint glow of the passing streetlights. It was too big. He wondered if Lucian even noticed when he'd slipped it on. Probably not.
"Was it dangerous?" Caleb finally asked.
The silence stretched.
"No," Lucian answered at last.
That was all.
Caleb nodded, and pressed his back against the seat. The city blurred by, unfamiliar and unwelcoming.
Lucian sat beside him, powerful and contained, silent as a storm that had already wrought its destruction.
Caleb clasped his hands. "If you want to annul it… eventually… I understand."
Lucian turned his head. For the first time in hours, those cold eyes rested on him fully.
And what he said next shattered something fragile inside Caleb that he hadn't realized was still standing.
"You misunderstand something," Lucian said quietly, voice sharp enough to bleed. "This marriage may be unwanted—but it is mine."
Caleb blinked, heart stuttering.
Lucian's gaze held him in place like a hand around a throat—not violent, but unequivocal.
"Do not touch anything that belongs to me."
The car's interior hummed under the weight of those words.
Belongs.
Not matters. Not deserves. Not is seen.
Belongs.
Like property.
Caleb turned his face toward the window.
And for the first time that night—he didn't just feel cold.
He felt numb.