The sound of clinking silverware never felt so sharp.
Caleb sat at the far end of the long dining table, posture rigid, hands folded in his lap as if he were a stranger in his own home. He could count the distance — thirty-seven steps from his seat to Lucian's. It was the same table they'd eaten at the morning prior, but this time, it was filled with people.
And one person in particular had made all the difference.
Evan.
The Omega sat directly to Lucian's right, dressed in a soft blue button-up shirt with delicate embroidery at the cuffs, like he was born for soft lighting and adoration. Servants moved silently around them, placing dish after dish — roasted meats, delicate soups, fine breads, and desserts that looked like jewels. Everything polished. Everything perfect.
Except Caleb.
"Do you remember when we got caught in the warehouse district during the raid?" Evan said, laughing mid-sentence, eyes bright with nostalgia.
Lucian's lips curved — the barest hint of a smile. "You threw up in a barrel to avoid being noticed."
Evan gasped dramatically, slapping Lucian's arm. "That was one time! And I was, like, fourteen!"
"You were old enough to know not to panic in front of a hostile Alpha crew." Lucian took a slow sip of wine, head tilting just slightly as he looked at Evan. Somehow, the tone was sharp and fond at once. "But you did well. Better than some adults I know."
The table chuckled. Even some of the guards smiled behind their plates.
Caleb did not.
The knife in his hand wavered as he tried to cut through the roasted vegetables on his plate. He could barely taste anything. Yes, the food was exquisite. But each word exchanged between Lucian and Evan was another silent blow. Every laugh was a reminder that there was a connection there — one Caleb would never have. One he had never been offered.
Even back when he and Lucian first married, he hadn't seen this version of the Alpha. Open. Engaged. Almost… human.
It made it hurt more.
Caleb's eyes flickered sideways — toward the Rival Alpha, Darius Vale, sitting across from him. Darius had been invited at Lucian's request — a strategic move to show unity among the regional Alpha clans. But Darius was barely looking at the table. No, his eyes were elsewhere.
On Caleb.
Watching every micro-expression, every subtle flinch. Studying him.
And Caleb became terrifyingly aware of how visible his pain must be.
He forced his hand steady and continued cutting. "Pass the salt," he murmured to the nearest servant, voice barely audible.
Evan shot him a pitying glance.
"Oh Caleb," Evan said suddenly, folding his napkin neatly. "I forgot to ask — how are you adjusting to being Mrs. Thorne?"
The room went still.
Caleb froze.
Lucian glanced at him briefly, expression unreadable.
"I prefer Caleb," he said quietly, polite but firm.
Evan shrugged, looking halfway between pity and condescension. "Right, of course. I just wasn't sure what your title is. Since none was given at the wedding."
Caleb felt that like an open slap.
Evan said it with a smile — but it was war.
Lucian barely moved. "Titles aren't a priority."
"Except yours," Evan teased, smirking under his lashes. "You've always been very particular about those."
Caleb lowered his eyes. There was no winning this table. No place he could sit without drowning.
"That's enough," said Darius casually, twirling his wine glass. "Some of us are trying to eat without gagging."
Evan blinked, caught off guard.
"You're awfully outspoken tonight, Darius," Lucian said, tone polite but edged. "Wine too strong?"
"No. Just not a fan of staged dinner theater," Darius said, smiling without warmth. "The room feels crowded with people trying too hard."
He didn't look at Evan.
He looked directly at Lucian.
And for a moment, silence fell like a veil.
Then Evan laughed, too loudly. "Well, if someone's feeling insecure, that's not my fault."
"It's certainly not your fault you're here," Darius murmured.
Evan's smile flattened. Lucian's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Caleb sat there, wanting to disappear.
He didn't like any of it — not the defensiveness in Darius, not the thinly veiled bitterness in Evan, not the unwelcome flashes of emotion in Lucian's eyes.
All he wanted was to eat dinner without being dissected like a bargaining chip.
He quietly reached for his water glass when Evan's voice cut through the air:
"You know, Lucian and I used to eat like this all the time. On missions, on trips—he was always so busy, but we made time to share meals. It was… comfortable." Evan's gaze slid to Caleb, filled with practiced innocence. "This must feel strange for you."
Caleb set his glass down carefully. "It does."
Evan's face lit up, as if Caleb had handed him ammunition.
But Caleb wasn't finished.
"But strangeness isn't always a punishment." His tone was mild, polite. "Sometimes it's preparation."
Evan blinked.
Lucian stared.
Darius smirked.
Caleb continued eating in silence, but the tiny ripple he'd caused was unmistakable.
He didn't fight back often.
But when he did, he did so with quiet teeth.
The rest of the dinner passed in measured tension.
Lucian asked Evan about his last assignment and whether he was still training with the Arden clan's special forces. He didn't look at Caleb even once. And Caleb didn't say a word unnecessarily. The food was divine, but every bite was ash.
When dessert came — a beautifully layered mille-feuille — Caleb excused himself quietly.
"Leaving already, dear brother?" Evan voiced, raising his brows. "You barely touched your food."
Caleb paused. "I've had enough for today."
Darius watched him go, expression unreadable until Caleb reached the door.
Lucian didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even look at him.
Caleb walked out with his back straight and his heart bleeding.
He was halfway to the stairs when he heard a door close behind him. Slow steps followed.
Lucian's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"Caleb."
He turned.
Lucian stood in the hallway, expression unreadable in the soft lighting. The distance between them felt wider than the estate.
"You will sit down for dinner when I choose to eat," Lucian said, each word detached and cold. "And you will behave appropriately. That includes enduring whatever company I allow."
Caleb stared at him, mouth tight, eyes hollow.
Lucian's gaze hardened. "And another thing," he added, stepping forward just enough for the air to crackle between them.
"Don't get used to sitting at my table."
And with that…
Lucian walked past him. Leaving nothing behind but darkness and the taste of knives.