The house was too silent that morning.
Not peacefully silent—wrongly silent, unnaturally still, like the air itself was holding its breath. It weighed on Caleb like a coat soaked through with stormwater: heavy, suffocating, impossible to shrug off.
He had grown used to murmured voices behind doors, the shift of footsteps that paused when he walked by, the quiet dread of passing the Alpha's office. But today?
Nothing.
Not even the servants met his eyes. They drifted around him with clipped steps and lowered gazes, as though he were something inconvenient that had appeared on the floor.
Maybe that was why he needed air.
His argument—if a whisper that died the moment Elias looked at him could even be called one—had shattered the thin sliver of hope he'd been clutching the night before. So Caleb slipped out early, leaving the estate through the main gate on foot. No driver. No guard. Just distance.
Just air that didn't taste like silent judgment.
Aureon's morning market was already alive: vendors shouting prices under bright tarps, warm scents of sizzling food, children darting between carts, couples laughing without fear of any Alpha's gaze. The sound, the color, the normalcy—Caleb breathed it in like medicine.
For a few minutes, he almost felt like himself again. Before the cold guest bed. Before the title "spouse" that meant nothing. Before he'd been trapped in a home where silence was sharper than knives.
Here, no one flinched from him. No one weighed him against Omega standards and found him lacking.
He bought herbs for tea, a few fruits Elias liked though he doubted they'd be eaten, and a small jar of honey that reminded him vaguely of home. He even smiled at a young pair holding hands.
That was when it happened.
A roar of an engine.
A streak of polished black.
A sickening skid.
Caleb turned—too slowly.
The car was already upon him, close enough for him to see the driver's eyes. Or rather, the void where panic should have been. No surprise. No fear. No hesitation.
Just cold intent.
Caleb lunged backward. His bag tore. Fruit scattered across the street. A vendor screamed. The car's tires screeched as it veered, missing him by inches and clipping the corner of a stall.
Shouts erupted. Someone called his name.
The car didn't stop.
It vanished around the curve like it had only ever been a shadow, leaving behind the stench of burnt rubber and the echo of its malice.
For several seconds Caleb stood frozen, trembling, heart hammering so hard it drowned the world out.
He knew.
He didn't know how, but he knew.
It wasn't an accident.
"Caleb!"
The voice snapped reality back into place.
He turned—and saw Darius Vale.
Casual clothes, hands in pockets, posture relaxed. As if he'd been standing there for minutes, waiting. He didn't rush to Caleb's side. He just watched him; sharp-eyed, unsettlingly calm.
"You okay?" Darius asked, voice soft but too measured.
Caleb nodded stiffly. "I'm fine. Just shaken."
He crouched, gathering fallen fruit. His hands shook so much he dropped one twice.
Darius bent down to help him, movements unhurried. His eyes never left Caleb's face.
"That was no accident."
Caleb froze. "You think so?"
"I know so."
Their eyes locked. A cold shiver crawled down Caleb's spine.
Darius placed the last apple gently into his torn bag. His voice lowered.
"You should be more careful," he murmured. "A great many people would prefer you dead."
A faint breeze swept through the market, lifting a scrap of paper across their feet like a warning.
Caleb swallowed. "Why would anyone want to kill me?"
Darius didn't answer.
He rose smoothly and offered Caleb his arm.
"Let me take you back."
Caleb hesitated. Instinct told him not to trust this man—this Rival Alpha whose words felt like traps, whose stare felt like a study, whose presence felt like a chess move.
But the alternative was going back alone to a house where even breathing felt like trespass.
He took Darius's arm.
They walked in silence. Only when the estate came into view did Darius speak again.
"Does he know," Darius said slowly, "how easy it is to lose you?"
Caleb stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
Darius laughed under his breath. "Elias. The Alpha who married you and then forgot you like a mislaid coat."
"That's not—"
"He doesn't protect you," Darius cut in. "Not from the people who want to silence you. Or"—his lips curved faintly—"perhaps he's the one who sent them?"
Caleb stopped dead.
Darius turned with a soft smirk. "Just a thought."
Caleb said nothing.
They finished the walk without another word.
At the door, the butler burst out, breathless. "Sir! Are you all right? We received word there was—an incident."
"I'm fine," Caleb said, waving him off. "It's nothing."
Nothing.
Just almost being killed.
Darius lingered, gaze too focused, too knowing.
"Until next time," he murmured, then slipped away like he'd been cut from the scene.
Caleb stepped into the foyer, air thick as smoke. The mansion felt darker today—walls taller, shadows deeper, silence heavier.
He was halfway to the stairs when movement made him look up.
Elias stood there.
Halfway down the staircase. One hand on the railing. A portrait carved from ice.
Their eyes met.
Caleb waited.
For a question. For concern. For anything.
But Elias simply turned away, disappearing down the hall without a word.
Caleb's breath shook.
As he reached for the first step, his phone buzzed.
One message.
Unknown number.
No name.
Be careful.
This wasn't the first attempt.
Caleb froze.
The blood in his veins turned to ice.
The game had begun.
And now he wasn't sure who to fear more—
The enemies outside the mansion.
Or the ones who held all the keys inside it.