Chapter 1 — Broken Whisper

The laundry hut smelled of soap and steam when the rumor slipped in like a draft.

“Have you heard?” Maeve’s voice quivered with excitement as she shook out a linen sheet. “The Alpha will announce his engagement at dusk.”

Ophelia’s hands froze over the washboard. “Engagement to whom?”

“Caroline Hawthorne, of course. Beta Hawthorne’s only daughter,” another maid supplied, eyes gleaming. “They say she saved him once, long ago.”

The words rang in Ophelia’s ears like church bells hammered out of tune. *Saved him?* Dylan had never spoken of that rescue—or of Caroline as anything more than a family friend. Heat bloomed in Ophelia’s chest, equal parts dread and disbelief.

“That’s nonsense.” She forced a smile that felt made of brittle glass. “He would have told us.”

“Tell *us*?” Maeve laughed. “Ophelia, we’re maids. Alphas share secrets with equals, not with servants.”

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By late afternoon the courtyard buzzed with servants hanging silver bunting from balconies. Ophelia caught sight of Beta Hawthorne supervising florists while Caroline glided past in pale lilac satin, her laughter bright as chimes.

Ophelia’s pulse drummed. *Ask Dylan. Face him.* Before courage wilted, she slipped through the herb garden’s side gate, skirts brushing rosemary. At the far end, two voices filtered between hedges.

Caroline spoke first, soft and sure. “I still remember the river, Dylan. You were half-frozen, and I held you until help came.”

Dylan chuckled—low, warm, intimate. “I owe you my life, Caro. No title or ceremony could match what you already mean to me.”

Ophelia’s feet rooted behind a laurel bush. *Please deny it…*

Caroline’s tone turned teasing. “Then swear it tonight—before the council and the moon. Make me your Luna.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then Dylan murmured, “You have always been the one I loved.”

Ophelia pressed a hand to her mouth. The world tilted.

Caroline’s next question sliced the gathering dusk. “And Ophelia?”

“A loyal maid. Nothing more,” Dylan answered. “A pleasant distraction, perhaps, but never my mate.”

Ophelia’s lungs emptied. The fragrant hedge seemed to buckle. Every memory—his gentle hair-tousling, the way his eyes softened when she brought midnight tea—shattered into mocking echoes.

Caroline leaned closer; Ophelia saw only silhouettes. “She may think otherwise. You were careless with your…distractions.”

“I’ll handle it,” Dylan said. “After tonight, she’ll know her place.”

Ophelia stumbled back. A twig snapped under her boot.

“Who’s there?” Dylan called.

She fled, tearing through corridors until the servant stair swallowed her sob. Only when she reached her tiny attic room did she let the tears come. *A distraction. Plaything.* Pain blossomed deep, but alongside it—terrifying—was love that refused to die.

A knock sounded. Elara, the head housekeeper, peeked in. “Ophelia, the Alpha requests fresh wine for the council chamber.”

Her voice stuck. “I…I can’t—”

“Elara?” another maid shouted from below. “We need you in the east hall!”

The housekeeper hesitated, then pressed the wine tray into Ophelia’s trembling hands. “Take it quickly, child.”

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Candles flickered in the council room, illuminating maps and polished armor. Dylan stood at the center, issuing orders, his presence magnetic even as betrayal pooled in Ophelia’s veins.

She set the decanter beside him. “Your wine, Alpha.”

He didn’t look up. “Leave it there.”

Caroline perched on the table’s edge, examining troop placements. “Dylan, darling, shall we move the archers north?”

Darling. The word cracked like a whip.

Ophelia’s throat burned. “Alpha, a moment, please.”

Only then did Dylan meet her gaze—eyes once tender, now unreadable. “What is it?”

Her courage faltered. *Ask him why. Demand the truth.* Instead, she whispered, “Congratulations on your engagement.”

A faint line creased his brow. “Thank you.”

“And…about…us?”

Caroline’s smile turned brittle. “There is no ‘us,’ maid,” she said sweetly. “Mind your duties.”

Ophelia flinched but persisted. “Alpha, have I…offended you?”

Dylan exhaled, impatience flashing. “You’ve done nothing, Ophelia. But understand—my responsibilities extend beyond childhood indulgences. Don’t confuse kindness with promises.”

Caroline laughed once, light and cruel. “Run along. We have real matters to discuss.”

Hot tears blurred the candlelight. Ophelia bowed. “Yes, Alpha.” She fled before her sob could betray her.

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Night deepened. In the laundry yard, Ophelia scrubbed uniforms long after curfew, sleeves soaked. Each stride of the washboard felt like penance. Maeve found her there.

“Ophelia, stop. Your hands are bleeding.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She stared at crimson water spiraling down the drain. “I have to finish.”

Maeve’s expression softened. “He’s a fool, but the pack moves on. So must you.”

Ophelia almost confessed the secret life beneath her heart—the tiny heartbeat she’d discovered weeks ago—but words failed. How could she admit love for a man who’d just broken her?

Maeve squeezed her shoulder. “Sleep. Tomorrow will be chaos enough.”

When Maeve left, Ophelia pressed trembling palms to her abdomen. “Little one,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. Your father…doesn’t understand yet. But I’ll protect you.”

Above, the full moon crowned the battlements, silver and indifferent. In its glow Ophelia made a vow, quiet but unbreakable: *Whatever storms come, I will endure—until the day he sees the truth or I learn to forget him.*

A bell tolled midnight, herald of endings and beginnings. And somewhere inside the stone keep, Dylan raised a toast beside Caroline, unaware that the first crack in his future had already split his past.

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