The Thorne clan's main conference hall was built to intimidate.
The walls were high, the floor polished so perfectly you could see your own disappointment reflected in it, and the massive chandelier overhead dripped light like diamond rain. Every sound echoed — every whispered rumor, every shifting of chairs, every heartbeat too loud to contain.
Caleb sat at the very end of the table. Not beside Lucian. Not even adjacent. He was placed by the wall, like an observer. A courteous afterthought.
His clothes were immaculate — as immaculate as they'd forced him to be. The suit was tailored, the tie discreet, his hair carefully brushed back. On the outside, nothing was wrong. But on the inside… every nerve was beginning to scream.
He wasn't supposed to be attending this meeting. But after last night's message — "You won't survive here long" — he wasn't sure what rules applied anymore.
The room filled slowly, almost ritualistically. Clan elders, business partners, board members, wealthy patrons. All men and women whose gazes came with weight and expectation.
He dipped his head politely to each one, but none of them acknowledged him. A few glanced his way, eyes lingering a second too long, then flitted away — as if eye contact alone might curse them.
Lucian entered last.
He didn't need to command attention — it was always given. The air changed when he stepped into a room, turning everything sharp and suspended. His navy suit was darker than midnight, his posture rigid, expression unreadable. With a single nod, the entire room stood.
"Be seated," he said, and everyone sat.
Everyone except Caleb.
He hesitated before slowly lowering himself into his chair.
Lucian didn't so much as glance in his direction.
A senior advisor — Anderson, if Caleb remembered correctly — cleared his throat. "Young Master Thorne, we appreciate your presence," he began in that careful tone all cowards used around powerful men. "As your marriage has recently… progressed, we assume today's meeting will address the inclusion of your spouse into public affairs."
A murmur traveled around the perimeter of the room.
Caleb's posture tightened.
For a moment, he thought—hoped—this was where it would begin. His recognition. His role. His place beside Lucian, even if only in formal title.
Lucian rested his clasped hands on the table. His voice came out soft, controlled, and cold enough to frost breath.
"I will make the matter clear now, so it does not need to be discussed again."
The room froze.
"My spouse will not be acknowledged as a representative or member of the Thorne clan. He will not participate in public events, internal affairs, or any upcoming alliances."
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Caleb stared at the table.
He didn't react. Couldn't. His heart didn't stop — it fell.
Whispers exploded around him like gunfire.
"…Not acknowledged?"
"Did he just—"
"So it's true. He married a Beta."
"I heard the brother was the intended match."
"Then why go through with it at all?"
"Arden's son… what a waste."
Caleb's hands trembled beneath the table. He curled them into fists beneath the cloth, nails digging half-moons into his palms.
Lucian didn't flinch. "This marriage was a political arrangement. That is all. He was chosen to fulfill a contract. Nothing more."
And there it was.
A guillotine disguised as a statement.
No warmth. No hesitation. Not even acknowledgment of Caleb's existence. Just a cold declaration.
Caleb wasn't even humiliated.
He was extinguished.
His presence turned into a rumor, a placeholder, something inconvenient and disposable. He felt the weight of all those eyes — the mocking pity, the thin-lipped amusement, the whispered speculation.
Lucian continued smoothly. "There will be no announcements made regarding the spouse. No celebration. No statement. No acknowledgment. And strategically speaking —" He tilted his head just so. "None is needed."
Everyone nodded along, eager to agree with the devil they revered.
None is needed.
The sentence played in Caleb's head over and over again.
That was how Lucian saw him.
Not needed.
Not wanted.
Not even useful.
A prop that had outlived its purpose.
He let his eyes fall to the floor, fingers numb. Not even betrayal. Just emptiness.
All those years of learning to endure, to sacrifice, to swallow disappointment in dignified silence… and yet nothing prepared him for this.
There had been a moment, however brief, where his voice had mattered. During the wedding attack, when Lucian had shielded him, Caleb had felt something — not comfort, but possibility. A moment where Lucian had acted instinctively, protectively.
But this?
This was deliberate.
A public dismissal. A warning. A label burned into his identity: irrelevant.
The meeting adjourned shortly thereafter, with formalities Caleb didn't hear or care to understand. Chairs scraped. Coats rustled. Power figures drifted toward Lucian like planets toward a sun.
No one approached him.
Not even to pretend.
When the conference room finally emptied, he remained seated, staring at the chair where Lucian had sat. His pulse was somewhere between exhaustion and nothingness.
A shadow appeared beside him.
The smell of cologne cut through the sterile air.
Jaxon Reed, flamboyant, dangerous, and wholly amused, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"Well," he said with a lazy drawl. "That could have gone worse."
Caleb kept his gaze forward. "…How?"
"He could have set you on fire instead of ignoring you." Jaxon smirked. "Progress."
There was no response to that.
Jaxon glanced toward the exit, then back at Caleb. His tone shifted — not softer, but clearer. More intentional.
"You know," he murmured, "you're not really invisible. No matter how much he wants you to be."
Caleb finally looked up.
Jaxon smirked wider, eyes glinting.
"If he doesn't want you…" His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"Others might."
It wasn't a flirtation.
It was an invitation.
Or a threat.
And the moment Jaxon turned and walked away, Caleb felt something unfamiliar stir beneath his numbness — something not like hope. But something dangerous.
A realization.
If he stayed silent, he would drown.
If he stayed still, he would disappear.
And somewhere in that realization, buried under the humiliation and the burn of rejection… was anger.