The mansion was too big.
Caleb had never understood how a space could be both magnificent and empty at the same time. Every wall gleamed; every chandelier was a masterpiece; every hallway was silence waiting to swallow him whole.
Lucian didn't walk. He moved—purposeful, clipped steps that echoed once and disappeared—like even the sound feared lingering behind him.
Caleb followed from a distance.
No words had been spoken since they stepped out of the car. Not even a glance. Lucian didn't need to look at Caleb to ensure he was obeying. That was another thing Caleb had already learned without being told:
Alphas didn't check. They just expected.
The staff stood in a line as they entered, heads bowed. "Welcome home, Master," they greeted in unison.
Caleb felt the sting of being invisible—the "welcome" did not extend to him.
Lucian didn't acknowledge them. He reached the grand staircase and finally paused, turning just enough to address Caleb with cool detachment.
"Your room is down the west wing," he said. "It was prepared this morning."
Caleb's hands tightened at his sides. "We're not… sharing a room?"
Lucian arched a brow, like the question itself was absurd. "There is no need."
The words hit harder when spoken aloud. No need. No point. No shared space, no shared vows—not even an attempt at pretense.
Caleb bowed. "I understand."
He didn't.
Not truly. Not fully.
But he understood enough to know his expectations should be set to zero.
Lucian turned away, already done with the conversation. But just as he started climbing the stairs, Caleb spoke again—because if he let silence take him, he feared it would eat him alive.
"Earlier, during the attack… you protected me."
Lucian paused.
"I only did what was expected of me," he said without looking back. "I protect what is mine."
Mine.
The single word froze Caleb.
He swallowed dryly. "That doesn't make this a marriage."
At that, Lucian did turn—just his head, just slightly—eyes cold enough to frost the air between them.
"This is an arrangement," he said. "We fulfill a contract. Nothing more."
There it was.
And somehow, hearing it plainly hurt worse than all the unspoken cruelties.
Lucian resumed his ascent, and Caleb stayed rooted to the spot until the Alpha vanished from sight—and sound.
Only then did the staff approach him. A soft-spoken maid with kind eyes bowed slightly.
"This way, sir," she said. "I'll show you to your room."
He nodded and followed her down a long corridor. Left turn. Right turn. Past a courtyard that reflected moonlight on still water. It was beautiful. Clinical. Loveless.
When the maid finally opened a door, she said softly, "If there's anything you need… please ask."
Caleb managed a grateful smile. "Thank you."
She hesitated—wanting to say more, maybe—then bowed and left him alone.
His room was stunning.
A four-poster bed draped in silk. White sheets. Pale gold accents. A balcony overlooking the distant city lights. A walk-in closet already filled with clothes tailored to his measurements.
It was all too much.
All too empty.
Caleb stood in the center of the room and realized he hadn't breathed since he stepped inside.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed—barely a dip in the mattress—and let tears fill his eyes.
Not enough to fall. Just enough to blur the edges of the world.
His wedding night, and the only body in his bed was his own.
He glanced at the phone on the nightstand. Notifications blinked. His parents had sent photos of him at the altar. Smiling. Looking beautiful on command. Comments from cousins. Messages from strangers. Gossip headlines.
And one text.
From Darius Vale.
Are you alright?
Just three words.
But god… they were more human than anything he'd received all day.
Caleb stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the screen. If he replied, would it be betrayal? Would Lucian even care?
Probably not.
He typed back:
I don't know.
He deleted it.
Typed again:
I'm fine.
Deleted it.
He typed again. This time, he sent it before he could second-guess himself:
Thank you for asking.
No more. No less.
The reply came within minutes.
If you ever need a place to breathe, let me know.
A place to breathe.
Caleb set the phone down carefully, like too much pressure would shatter him.
For a moment, he wondered if anyone would care if he simply disappeared. Was he doing anything that needed him? Was he contributing? Was he anything more than a borrowed piece in a political game?
He walked to the balcony, letting the cool night air touch his face.
Below, somewhere across the mansion, a light turned on.
Lucian's study.
He was awake too.
Working.
Unbothered.
Caleb stared at the window until his chest tightened, and he turned away.
The bed looked too big. The room too clean. The air too still.
This isn't a home, he thought.
It was a prison with a better view.
He slipped into bed anyway, still wearing the last remnants of wedding attire—shirt unbuttoned, hair undone, vows forgotten.
In the dark, the phone buzzed.
A notification.
From an unknown number.
Do not touch anything that belongs to me.
The screen burned like a brand.
And all Caleb could do was curl inward quietly, because even in silence—
Lucian found a way to remind him what he was:
Possession.