The first thing Caleb felt when he woke up was silence — thick, heavy, and unfamiliar. The bed he lay in was massive, its sheets crisp and pristine, untouched by warmth or comfort. He blinked up at the dimly lit ceiling, taking in the chandelier overhead and the empty stretch of room around him. A room far too large, far too cold… and far too far away from the master suite.
Guest room.
That was what Mr. Han had called it when guiding him down the east wing of the estate last night. Not "your room." Not "the marital chamber." Not even "your temporary space." Just a guest room. As if he were a visitor. As if he could leave at any time.
As if he didn't belong.
Caleb sat up slowly, his body heavy with emotional fatigue. The pillow beside him was perfectly fluffed, the faint scent of lavender like a cruel joke — tranquil in a place that was anything but. He hugged his knees to his chest for a moment, burying his face in the comforter just to breathe in something soft. For a moment, he could pretend.
Knock.
He straightened immediately.
A young servant entered, her expression polite but guarded. "Mr. Arden," she said with a small bow. "Breakfast is now being served in the dining hall."
Mr. Arden. Not Caleb. Not Beta. Not anything that indicated welcome or belonging.
He nodded, offering a trembling smile. "Thank you."
She didn't meet his eyes as she silently backed out and closed the door.
Caleb sat in the silence a few minutes longer. He wasn't naïve—he knew what this marriage was. A transaction. A replacement. But a small, still-hopeful part of him had assumed there would be… something. Some civility. Some humanity.
But Lucian Thorne was not a man who believed in courtesy for the sake of comfort.
He dressed quietly, choosing the soft cream sweater and dark slacks he'd packed—a human contrast to this house's crushing coldness. As he walked through the mansion, he tried not to look at the walls too closely. Portraits of dead ancestors watched him with disapproval, oil-painted eyes full of accusation.
He stepped into the dining hall and stopped short. The table stretched like a runway — so long it could seat thirty. But only two chairs were set: one at the head…
…and the other at the complete opposite end.
As if proximity was contamination.
Lucian sat already, perfectly groomed, perfectly composed, eating a slice of brioche as he scrolled through his tablet. Without a single glance upward.
Caleb's heartbeat quickened. He walked in with steady steps, pulled out the chair at the very far end, and said, just loud enough to be heard across the echoing hardwood floors:
"Good morning."
Silence.
Lucian didn't even flinch at the sound of his voice.
Mr. Han appeared like a phantom, bowing before pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups. Caleb tried to hold the teacup with steady fingers. The clock ticked.
Forks clinked softly.
Lucian sent a message.
Caleb began to eat, though each bite tasted like regret.
After five minutes, he tried again.
"…I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help," he said, voice gentle, cautious.
The Alpha remained still.
Caleb swallowed and tried again, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "I understand that this situation is… difficult. And not what either of us wanted. But I don't want to fight. If there's anything that needs doing, or anything I can—"
Lucian's head lifted.
And the look he gave Caleb hollowed out his chest.
His blue eyes were made of frost. They held no anger, no grudging tolerance — only indifference sharpened into disdain.
"Don't pretend you matter," Lucian said, every word soft enough to be intimate, every syllable sharp enough to cut.
The fork in Caleb's hand blurred.
For a moment, he wondered if Lucian was trying to destroy him — or if he truly didn't see him at all.
"That will be all," Lucian said — not to the staff, not to the room.
But to Caleb.
Dismissed.
Shamed.
Already regretted.
Mr. Han cleared the plates, and Caleb stared at the empty porcelain as if something inside him had been served up and scraped away.
He didn't remember how he stood, how he left — only how desperate he suddenly was for air.
The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly under his trembling steps. Everything in this house was designed to be impressive. Majestic. Powerful.
Yet Caleb had never felt more small.
He stood in front of a wall-sized window, watching gardeners trim hedges in practiced silence. He realized it was the first time he'd seen anyone outside the household staff. And even then, the gardener bowed so carefully, avoided looking him in the eye so intentionally, that Caleb's chest tightened.
They weren't afraid of him.
They were afraid for him.
He wandered down corridors that knew more secrets than whispers. At one point, he stopped in front of a closed door. Lucian's office. A polished silver plaque identified it plainly.
Rules.
Boundaries.
No entry.
A physical manifestation of the invisible walls dividing them.
"Nothing in this house is yours," Caleb muttered under his breath, haunting himself as he walked away.
Evening sank like a shadow over the mansion. Servants passed him like drifting ghosts, speaking only when spoken to. Whispering when he passed by.
Everything about this place was built to control. To intimidate.
The guest room looked exactly the same as that morning… but felt more like a cell now.
Caleb sat on the edge of the bed, hands limp in his lap. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear every lie he'd told himself before coming here.
Maybe it won't be that bad.
Maybe he'll treat me with respect.
Maybe I can make this work.
But Lucian had no space for maybes.
And Caleb had nowhere else to go.
He glanced toward his phone — silent and still on the nightstand. No missed calls. No texts. No voice messages. His family had probably moved on already, relieved. Only Evan had hugged him the night before. Only his brother had cried.
It's better this way, they'd all said.
It's your duty.
This will save us.
But what was left to save inside him now?
Caleb shook as he picked up the phone, wishing for any drop of human connection — just something that would remind him that he still existed.
The phone suddenly buzzed.
Caleb's breath caught.
Not unknown.
Unfamiliar.
A text.
Unknown Number:You won't survive here long.
His vision narrowed around the words.
Someone was watching him.
Someone was warning him.
Or worse… threatening him.
And in that moment — in the silent, cavernous mansion filled with portraits of powerful men and cold legacies — Caleb understood the truth.
Lucian's cruelty wasn't the danger.
The danger was everything around him.
Everything unseen.
And Caleb Arden, the Beta no one wanted, no one defended, and no one believed in…
was alone.
Completely and fatally alone.