Failed Trap

Calla’s POV

I waited silently in the corner, pressed against the cold stone wall, heart hammering so loudly I swore they could hear it. Familiar, sharp, impatient voices started echoing from further down the hall.

My father’s.

I could picture him even before I saw him—shoulders straight, face full of false worry, acting like the devoted parent who had “lost” his daughter in the Alpha’s quarters. But I knew better now. I’d lived this scene once already. He wasn’t here out of concern. He was here to trap Lucien and me shamelessly.

The Elders murmured among themselves, their footsteps slowing as they approached the Alpha’s chamber.

“Ulric,” one of them said, “are you certain she’s here?”

“I’m certain,” my father replied, speaking with heavy, self-righteous confidence. “My daughter went missing after the feast. We must make sure she’s safe. For both families’ sake.”

Safe. Right. I almost laughed.

Then the sound of the latch turning made me freeze. The door opened, and I caught my breath.

Alpha Lucien stepped out.

His hair was a tousled mess, his chest bare under the half-buttoned shirt he’d thrown on. He looked exhausted, his voice rough with sleep and irritation—the kind of man who could command silence without even trying.

“Why,” he said slowly, his golden eyes narrowing, “are you standing outside my room at dawn?”

The Elders bowed immediately. My father didn’t.

“I was looking for my daughter,” he said, putting on that fake concerned tone he’d perfected over years of politics. “She hasn’t returned to her chambers. I fear she might have… overstepped last night.”

Lucien’s jaw tensed. “Overstepped?”

“I merely mean—”

“No,” Lucien interrupted, his voice was cold but sharply warning. “What do you mean, you think she’s in my bed?”

The hallway went silent.

My father flinched, but he didn’t back down. “Alpha, please. I meant no disrespect. But you must understand, her reputation—”

“My reputation,” Lucien cut him off sharply, his eyes turning hard as stone, “is not yours to weaponize.”

He stepped forward, and the Elders stepped back, giving him space.

My father stood firm.

"If anything has happened, Alpha, I'm sure it wasn't her fault. But there are rules—boundaries. The girl is young and impulsive, and she must be held responsible. You are an Alpha. An example to others. Your actions matter, and your reputation is of great concern."

"To you, perhaps," Lucien snapped. "But not to me."

My father's face tightened, his anger and frustration clear in the tension of his shoulders.

"You cannot ignore this, Alpha. You cannot—"

"Stop," Lucien ordered, his voice hard and final. "Stop talking."

He glared, and the whole room went silent.

"My patience is thin, Elder. And your tone is far too presumptuous. If you value the title you cling to, I suggest you tread carefully. I am not the boy you knew."

"That's what worries me."

"It should. Because the boy you remember was far more merciful than I am."

Silence.

I swallowed, the memory of this exact conversation flashing in my mind like lightning. But the difference was staggering. In my past life, I hadn’t been there to stop it. The door had opened, and I’d been inside—disheveled, half-dressed, drugged and confused—while they all stared at me like a criminal caught red-handed.

This time, I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Lucien crossed his arms, looking down at my father. “If she’s missing, why search here? Do you think I collect lost daughters in my quarters?”

The Elders shifted uncomfortably. One of them cleared his throat. “Alpha Lucien, perhaps—”

But my father wasn’t listening. He was sweating now, eyes darting toward the half-closed door behind Lucien, desperate to peek in and confirm his little scandal. “Forgive me, Alpha,” he said tightly, “but I cannot rest until I see for myself.”

Lucien’s voice dropped an octave. “You’ll see nothing without my permission.”

That was my cue.

I stepped out from behind the corner, letting my footsteps echo deliberately across the hall.

All heads turned.

“Father,” I called, my voice was too calm. “You don’t have to look any further. I’m right here.”

His head snapped toward me, eyes wide with shock and something like guilt. “Calla?”

I stopped in front of them, chin lifted despite the racing of my pulse. “I wasn’t lost. And I wasn’t in anyone’s bed.”

Lucien shot a quick, sharp look at me, his expression impossible to read. I could tell his instincts were wrestling—should he be angry or just curious?

I folded my arms. “Next time you want to protect my reputation, maybe start by not dragging the Elder Council into my private life.”

The silence that followed was delicious—tense, sure, but I owned it.

For once, I was the one in control.

Lucien let out a slow breath, studying me with that same sharp, calculating expression he used in battle. “Looks like your daughter can handle herself, Beta Ulric,” he said finally, his voice sounding like it was almost amused.

My father stammered, “I—I was only—”

“Leaving,” I said. “That’s what you were doing.”

And for the first time in my life, he did.

He turned on his heel, the Elders trailing after him in awkward silence. The moment their footsteps faded down the corridor, I felt the heavy, intense weight of Lucien's eyes on me.

When I finally looked up, he was still watching me, head tilted slightly, with a calculating look in his narrowing eyes, like he was trying to piece me together.

“You’ve changed,” he said quietly.

I met his stare without flinching. “Maybe you just never bothered to look before.”

His lips twitched, barely holding back a smile. “Maybe.”

And then he turned, disappearing back into his room, leaving me alone in the hall with the sound of my own heartbeat and the faint warmth of victory burning in my chest.

I kept walking, only to see my father and the Elders walking away in the distance.

But then my father froze mid-step when he saw me, his hand gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles went white. His eyes darted over me—hair messy, clothes thrown on in a rush, skin still flushed from the passionate heat I hadn’t yet shaken off.

“Where were you?” he demanded sharply with suspicion. “I didn’t see you in your room.”

My pulse quickened, but I forced a calm, tired smile. “I went out for air,” I said smoothly. “The festival bonfire smoke was suffocating. You know how it triggers my headaches.”

He narrowed his eyes. “At this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied quickly, stepping forward, chin raised. “I took a walk near the training grounds. Is that a crime now?”

“Then why are you coming here?” my father asked, his tone colder now.

I straightened, meeting his stare without flinching. “Because I heard voices and came to see what was going on. I thought maybe someone broke into the Alpha’s wing.”

He studied me for several long seconds, searching for cracks in my words. But this time, I didn’t falter. Not like before.

“I don’t appreciate you sneaking out at night,” he said finally.

“And I don’t appreciate being treated like a prisoner,” I countered softly but firmly. “I’m not a child anymore, Father.”

The look in his eyes shifted—part anger, part confusion, and maybe… a flicker of fear. Because for the first time, he couldn’t predict me.

“Go back to your room,” he said finally in a low voice. “We’ll talk about this later.”

I nodded, masking the storm brewing behind my calm expression. “Yes, Father. We will.”

Then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there in the dark, alone and uncertain.

It was the first time I'd ever really stood up to him, and it felt... powerful.

I smiled to myself as I walked back to my room, the adrenaline fading, replaced by a strange, new sense of satisfaction.

For the first time in a while, things were looking up.