THORNE SINCLAIR

Serena.

I straighten quickly, shoving the parchment behind me. “I, I was just dusting.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. Not the usual cruel, mocking one. This one seems amused.

“Dusting,” he repeats, shaking his head. “With your hands all over confidential war reports?”

I open my mouth, searching for an excuse, but nothing comes out. I’m dead. This is it, but then, he laughs.

Not a dry, bitter chuckle but a real laugh. I blink, stunned. Tristan never laughs.

“You really are something,” he says, stepping closer. “You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do?”

My heart races and I step back instinctively, but he just leans against the desk with his arms crossed, watching me like I’m the most amusing thing in the world.

Then, he tilts his head. “Tell me, little thief, what do I get in return for my silence?”

I stare at him, completely thrown off. Where is the usual coldness? The cruelty? The threats?

I hesitate. “Anything?.” I state, totally confused by what is happening.

His smirk widens. “Hmm. Tempting. But you’ll have to do better than that.”

I clench my fists, trying to figure out what game he’s playing. This isn’t normal. None of this is normal.

Before I can say another word, someone enters the chambers. “What’s going on here?”

I turn, and my stomach drops. Tristan?.

I whip my head back to the man in front of me, even more confused. This isn't Tristan?.

My heart slams against my ribs as I realize it is not Tristan.

The man in front of me is smirking, completely unfazed, while the real Tristan stands in the doorway, his eyes cold like it normally is.

That’s when I finally understand. It has been Thorne Sinclair the whole time.

The rumors were true. The second heir, identical to Tristan in every way except in character and personality.

Thorne stands lazily, his smirk never fading. “Just admiring your new slave,” he says smoothly. “I have to admit, she’s quite captivating.”

Tristan’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Thorne winks at me before turning and striding past him, whistling.

I exhale slowly, my heart still slamming against my ribs. I just had a conversation with Thorne Sinclair, and I didn’t even know it.

The day is long and hard, it's like Tristan is even more on edge because of his brother's visit. I’m given errand after errand, barely given time to breathe.

By the time I return to the manor’s main hall, exhaustion clings to my bones. My hands are sore, my feet ache, and the hunger gnaws at me.

Then it happens. I don’t even see the porcelain vase until my elbow knocks it off the edge of the table. It shatters into a thousand pieces, the sound echoing through the chambers.

Silence follows, a slow, deadly silence. Then, Tristan’s voice, sharp as a blade booms “Useless slave.”

I barely turn before he’s in front of me, his hand gripping my chin roughly.

“Mistakes have consequences,” he says, his tone cold and final. “No food. Not a single crumb. Let’s see if you learn obedience on an empty stomach.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m left trembling.

By nightfall, my stomach is twisted in painful knots and my body is weak. I curl up in the corner of the servant quarters, pressing my knees to my chest wishing for death.

Just as I am about to close my eyes, I hear hurried footsteps coming towards me and I look up to see Sylvaine standing before me, a silver plate in her hands.

Not just scraps, but real food. Meat, warm bread, and fresh fruit. The scent makes my mouth water painfully.

She kneels beside me, her expression blank. “Eat,” she says simply.

I hesitate. “Why are you helping me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you, do you not like me?.”, she asks feigning hurt.

I take the plate, my fingers shaking. "Thank you," I whisper.

As I sleep that night, I sleep peacefully happy that for the first time, someone in this gods-forsaken place shows me kindness

The next day, the sun hangs high, casting a harsh glow over the courtyard as I scrub the bloodstains from the training grounds. My back aches, my hands are raw, and hunger gnaws at my insides.

I am invisible here. Just another slave, another forgotten figure.

Until I hear his voice. “She’ll do.”

I freeze, my fingers stilling against the stone tiles. Slowly, I turn my head.

Thorne Sinclair stands a few feet away, his piercing silver eyes locked into mine. A smirk plays at his lips, one that makes my stomach twist, not with fear, but confusion.

The warriors and servants nearby lower their heads, stepping away as if they know better than to interfere.

“You,” Thorne says, gesturing toward me, “come serve in the meeting hall.”

The words send a ripple through the onlookers. A slave? In a high council meeting?

My pulse quickens. “I, I have work here.”

Thorne raises a brow, amused. “Now, you have work there.”

A guard grabs my arm before I can protest, dragging me forward. I glare at Thorne, but he only chuckles, turning on his heel and leading the way inside.

The moment I step into the grand hall, the atmosphere is suffocating.

Elders, warriors, and high-ranking wolves sit in a semicircle around the long oak table. Maps, scrolls, and documents lay scattered across its surface.

I move carefully, my presence barely acknowledged.

Suddenly, the heavy doors slam open, shaking the walls, and a familiar, towering figure strides in.

Tristan Sinclair.

His silver eyes find me instantly, his expression darkening. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he takes slow steps toward me.

Then, he grabs my wrist. Hard.

“She is a slave” he growls, his voice echoing through the hall. “She does not belong here.”

I barely have time to react before another hand clasps around my other wrist.

Thorne Sinclair.

The entire room stills and Tristan’s eyes snap to his twin.

Thorne’s smirk is gone now, replaced by something more dangerous. His grip on me tightens just slightly, his voice smooth but firm.

“Let go of her, Tristan.”

The hall becomes as still as a graveyard suffocating me and I'm sure everyone else.

Two brothers. Two Alpha heirs, with me trapped between them.

I hold my breath. Then, Tristan’s grip tightens but Thorne pulls harder.

A war is brewing which has nothing to do with this incident or me, but I know I’m standing right in the middle of it.