Chapter 3

  

  

   Serena

  

  

   The moment I stepped into the servant quarters and shut the door, I finally let go.

  

  

   The tears came before I even made it to the bed. I sat on the edge, hands over my face, trying to quiet the sobs as they broke through my throat. There was no one around to hear me—not yet. The other maids were still on their rounds or working in the east wing. For once, the tiny room I shared with my mother was empty, and the silence only made my thoughts louder.

  

  

   He didn’t even let me speak.

  

  

   He didn’t ask. He didn’t give me a chance. He just… yelled.

  

  

   I had knocked over a watch. A mistake, yes. But I didn’t break it. I apologized. I tried. I was careful. But none of that mattered. Not to him.

  

  

   I clutched my apron tightly, my chest burning.

  

  

   Why did it hurt this much?

  

  

   He wasn’t supposed to be kind. He wasn’t supposed to care. But some foolish, broken part of me had hoped that maybe… just maybe… beneath all that cold, there’d be a flicker of understanding. A sign that I wasn’t invisible.

  

  

   But no. I was invisible.

  

  

   A human.

  

  

   A maid.

  

  

   My mother was right all along.

  

  

   “Don’t get comfortable.” “Don’t think you’re one of them.”

  

  

   I wiped my face quickly, as if she could see me through the walls. My tears slowed, then stopped, drying with the help of my sleeve and shame.

  

  

   I stood and adjusted my uniform. My hair was a mess, my cheeks red. I looked like someone who’d been scolded. Someone small. Someone weak.

  

  

   And I hated that it was true.

  

  

   But still—I had work to do.

  

  

   I opened the door again, stepped back into the hallway, and swallowed my pain like I’d been trained to do since I was old enough to carry a broom.

  

  

  

   The rest of the day dragged with a strange, tight tension in the air.

  

  

   Everywhere I went in the mansion, people were quieter. Faster. Less relaxed.

  

  

   It didn’t take long to understand why.

  

  

   Alpha Kael’s presence—like a shadow—moved through the halls, and every time it did, people straightened, stiffened, lowered their eyes. Guards doubled their patrol speed. Maids re-checked already spotless mirrors. Kitchen staff whispered to each other behind doors and flinched at the sound of footsteps.

  

  

   It wasn’t just me.

  

  

   He terrified everyone.

  

  

   By midday, the stories had already spread.

  

  

   “Beta Rowan said the Alpha called the west corridor ’filthy’—and it had been scrubbed twice.”

  

  

   “Mirah brought him fresh fruit and he sent it back without touching it.”

  

  

   “The Alpha corrected the table settings in the council room himself. By hand.”

  

  

   “He shouted at Liam just for leaving a vase slightly crooked on the console.”

  

  

   He didn’t need to raise his voice often, but when he did—it echoed. Deep. Sharp. Final.

  

  

   I passed by the courtyard once while carrying fresh sheets and heard him barking orders at the warriors training outside. His voice cracked like thunder across the field. Even the strongest among them bowed their heads and responded with a simple, “Yes, Alpha.”

  

  

   Perfectionist.

  

  

   That was the word that floated among the staff like a warning.

  

  

   He demanded perfection.

  

  

   And the cost of anything less was fear.

  

  

  

   I tried to stay out of his way.

  

  

   I stayed in the guest wing, cleaned silently, responded to requests from the other staff. No one asked why I’d been reassigned so quickly. Maybe they assumed. Maybe they knew.

  

  

   By late afternoon, I passed by the western stairwell and saw a younger maid hurrying with a tray of tea, her hands shaking so badly the cups clinked together.

  

  

   “You okay?” I asked quietly.

  

  

   She nodded fast but didn’t look at me.

  

  

   “I—I just don’t want to spill anything. Not today.”

  

  

   “Did he say something to you?”

  

  

   “Not yet,” she whispered. “But he’s been watching everything. It’s like he sees the mistake before you make it.”

  

  

   She hurried away without another word.

  

  

   I stood there for a moment, the silence ringing in my ears.

  

  

   And I wondered how someone so composed… so cold… could carry so much pressure inside him. Enough to control a house with a stare. Enough to keep an entire pack on edge.

  

  

   Was he always like this?

  

  

   Or did something make him this way?

  

  

   Either way, I knew one thing: this house was his world.

  

  

   And I was just a human trying not to break anything else.

  

  

   The sun had begun to set, casting soft gold light through the wide glass windows of the eastern hallway. Everything looked calm on the outside. Still. Warm.

  

  

   But inside me, the storm hadn’t passed.

  

  

   I’d kept my head down all day. I folded, cleaned, organized, answered to orders. No one had said anything about this morning’s incident in Kael’s room. Maybe no one knew. Or maybe they were all too busy surviving their own close calls with the Alpha.

  

  

   I hadn’t seen him again. Not directly.

  

  

   But I felt him.

  

  

   His energy moved through the house like a second heartbeat. Loud. Sharp. Present.

  

  

   By early evening, I was sent to deliver fresh towels to the upper floor. On my way back down the main stairwell, I heard it—raised voices from the formal dining hall.

  

  

   And one of them was his.

  

  

   I slowed my steps and stepped lightly down the last few stairs. I stayed near the wall, careful not to be seen, but I didn’t have to get too close to hear the harsh tone that silenced all other sound.

  

  

   “Is this what passes for seasoning here?” Kael snapped. “The meat is overcooked. The sauce tastes like water. And this—this rice is nearly burnt.”

  

  

   Silence followed.

  

  

   Then, a voice I knew too well.

  

  

   “I—I followed the usual recipe, Alpha. The same one served to your father—”

  

  

   “I’m not my father,” Kael growled.

  

  

   My stomach twisted.

  

  

   It was my mother.

  

  

   I moved closer without thinking. She stood beside the long dining table, her hands wringing together in her apron. Her eyes were lowered, her posture tense.

  

  

   Kael stood at the head of the table, barely touched food in front of him, silverware abandoned. His expression was pure stone. Cold. Dismissive.

  

  

   “I don’t want excuses,” he said flatly. “I want competence.”

  

  

   “Alpha, with respect—”

  

  

   “With respect,” he cut in, his voice rising, “I expect the staff under my roof to meet the most basic expectations. If this is what your years of experience have produced, maybe it’s time someone younger took over the kitchen.”

  

  

   My mother flinched—not visibly, not loudly, but I saw it. In the twitch of her fingers. In the way she pressed her lips together to swallow whatever pain she didn’t want him to see.

  

  

   And I—

  

  

   I couldn’t stay silent.

  

  

   I stepped out from the shadows before I could stop myself.

  

  

   “She does her best,” I said.

  

  

   Kael turned.

  

  

   His eyes landed on me.

  

  

   Deadly calm.

  

  

   “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  

  

   “I know,” I said, voice shaking but firm. “But I’m giving it.”

  

  

   My mother’s eyes went wide. “Serena,” she hissed, taking a step toward me. “No—stop. Go back. Now.”

  

  

   I shook my head once.

  

  

   “She’s been feeding this estate for years,” I continued. “The warriors, the elders, the sick in the clinic—all of them eat her food and none of them ever complained. You don’t have to like it. That’s your right. But you don’t have to humiliate her.”

  

  

   Kael’s expression didn’t change.

  

  

   But the air in the room thickened.

  

  

   “I suggest you stop,” he said quietly. “Now.”

  

  

   My mother reached out to grab my hand, her voice full of panic. “Serena, please.”

  

  

   But I stepped just slightly forward, not closer to him—just straighter.

  

  

   “She’s not just a maid,” I said. “She’s a person. We all are. And we’re trying. All of us. Maybe you’re used to being feared, but that doesn’t mean you have to be cruel.”

  

  

   A long, sharp silence followed.

  

  

   Kael just looked at me.

  

  

   Not blinking. Not moving.

  

  

   Then, without a word, he turned.

  

  

   And walked out.

  

  

   He left everything behind—his plate, his drink, his anger. He walked straight through the door and down the hall, disappearing into the golden light without looking back.

  

  

   The silence that followed was heavier than his presence.

  

  

   I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  

  

   My heart thundered in my chest.

  

  

   My mother turned to me slowly.

  

  

   “What have you done?” she whispered.

  

  

   “I don’t know,” I breathed.

  

  

   But I did know one thing:

  

  

   When he came back… I might not have a job anymore.