Caleb had never eaten at a table so long it felt like it should come with a map.
He sat at the far end of it, in the same spot he'd been placed the morning before—distant from the head seat, as if he were merely a guest with a temporary pass to exist here. The porcelain plate gleamed, untouched, and the silverware was aligned perfectly, intimidatingly.
A soft rustle at the doorway.
Lucian entered like a storm disguised in human shape.
No announcement. No warning. No flicker of warmth.
He moved with the same efficient precision he applied to everything—cold, clean, calculated.
A maid rushed to pull out the chair at the head of the table, but Lucian dismissed her with a flick of his fingers. He sat, posture immaculate, every movement as controlled as his voice.
Silence wrapped around the room like frost.
Caleb forced himself to sit straighter.
"Good morning," he said, trying for polite neutral.
Lucian didn't look at him. Didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge him in the slightest.
Caleb's fingers curled around his napkin. He tried again.
"Did you sleep well?"
Nothing.
The tension grew teeth.
Caleb turned toward his plate, swallowing whatever remained of his dignity. He cut into the omelet and chewed quietly, feeling every second stretch.
Was this how every meal was going to be?
Lucian finally spoke without shifting his attention.
"You will stop speaking to me in private," he said, voice icy smooth. "We have nothing to discuss."
Caleb blinked, stunned by the directness. He managed a nod, the only gesture his pride would allow.
"I understand."
Lucian took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes as emotionless as polished glass.
Caleb stared at the table, feeling like a ghost inhabiting someone else's life. Everything around him looked alive—sunlight filtering through villa windows, the smell of fresh coffee, the soft footsteps of staff—but everything felt dead.
He wondered if Lucian had been raised like this.
Silence without warmth.
Discipline without kindness.
Power without tenderness.
If so, Caleb pitied him. Then felt guilty for pitying someone so terrifying.
The dining room doors opened again.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," came a voice that immediately shifted the air.
Darius Vale.
Rival Alpha. Smiling like sin and silk beneath tailored black.
Caleb's spine straightened instinctively. Lucian didn't move at all—but his jaw did tighten, just barely.
"It's rare to see you awake this early," Darius teased, strolling in like he owned the place.
"I'm not on your schedule," Lucian replied, voice flat.
"No one's ever been," Darius quipped, casually taking a seat—not at the middle, not at the head—but next to Caleb.
Caleb looked up, eyes wide. "Ah—good morning."
"Good morning," Darius said, glancing at him before smirking slightly. "You look much better today."
It was a gentle thing to say. And somehow, that made it dangerous.
Lucian remained silent.
Darius leaned in just a little, lowering his voice. "I heard the wedding night was… quiet."
Caleb flushed. "It was… uneventful."
Lucian's eyes flicked up—one second, sharp, assessing. Then back down again.
Darius grinned. "Uneventful is generous."
Caleb tried not to smile—but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Just a little.
Darius slid something across the table. A small wrapped box, understated, tasteful.
"For you," he said.
"For—me?" Caleb asked, startled.
"Belated wedding gift," Darius replied, leaning back. "Consider it a welcome to hell, with chocolates."
Caleb couldn't help it—a small laugh escaped him. Quiet, but real.
Lucian's fist tightened around his fork.
Caleb opened the box carefully. Inside was a simple silver ring. No gemstone, no inscription, just… elegant. Neutral. Beautiful in its restraint.
"It's—" Caleb couldn't find the word.
"Yours," Darius said softly.
Caleb's eyes flickered up—for a moment, he wasn't invisible. He wasn't a transaction. Someone saw him.
Lucian set his fork down.
Hard.
The sound was sharp. Final. Dangerous.
Caleb stiffened immediately.
Darius only smiled more deeply.
Lucian rose to his feet without warning. Every head in the room bowed except Caleb's—because he was too frozen to move.
He finally spoke—to Caleb.
"You are not to accept private gifts from other Alphas," Lucian said, voice clipped. "Especially not in my home."
Caleb stared at him, hurt and humiliation blooming under his skin. "It's just a ring. Nothing inappropriate."
"Everything is a statement," Lucian countered. "Even chocolate."
The silence grew claws.
Darius lifted his cup and sipped, utterly amused. "Some people would call this jealousy."
Lucian didn't look at him.
He only stared at Caleb.
Cold. Implacable. Entire.
Then, clear enough for everyone to hear:
"You will follow my rules if you wish to stay here."
No raised voice. No theatrics.
Just authority so absolute it felt like the air bowed beneath it.
Caleb swallowed.
And nodded.
Even though his heart was screaming.
Lucian didn't wait for a reply. He left the dining room without another word.
Darius glanced at the doorway, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I guess breakfast is over."
Caleb stared at the ring in his palm.
And wondered—
Who would he become in a house where even breathing felt like trespassing?