Chapter 4

  

  

   Serena

  

  

   I didn’t move for a long time after Kael left the dining room.

  

  

   The air still felt like it held his shadow. Like if I breathed too deeply, I’d disturb it and summon him back in a fury. My chest rose and fell slowly, shakily, as I stared at the doorway he disappeared through. The clinking of silverware, the muttering of kitchen staff behind the walls, the hum of the lights—everything around me returned to normal, but I didn’t feel normal.

  

  

   I had done something I swore I wouldn’t do.

  

  

   I had spoken back to the Alpha.

  

  

   Not for myself.

  

  

   But for my mother.

  

  

   And now… I had no idea what would come next.

  

  

   Her footsteps approached quietly, but I didn’t have to look up to know it was her. The soft rustle of her apron. The hesitant breath she always took before speaking when she was angry but didn’t want to scold me yet.

  

  

   “Serena,” she said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “Come with me.”

  

  

   We walked in silence, the kind that stings more than shouting.

  

  

   She didn’t touch me. She didn’t look at me. And that—somehow—was worse than all the disappointment in the world.

  

  

   When we reached our small shared quarters behind the west hall, she finally shut the door and turned to face me. Her expression wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But it was tired. Older. Worn down in a way I didn’t like seeing.

  

  

   “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  

  

   I opened my mouth.

  

  

   “No—just let me speak first,” she added quickly. Her voice trembled. “Do you understand what you risked?”

  

  

   I swallowed. “I do. But I couldn’t just stand there—”

  

  

   “You should have,” she snapped, her voice rising for the first time. “That’s exactly what you should have done. You should have stood there, kept your head down, and let it pass like we always do.”

  

  

   My chest tightened.

  

  

   “He insulted you, Mom. He humiliated you over a meal—”

  

  

   “I’ve been humiliated before,” she cut in. “I’ve been insulted, overlooked, ignored, dismissed. Do you think this is new to me?”

  

  

   Her words hit hard.

  

  

   I looked down at the floor.

  

  

   “This job, this place,” she continued, softer now, “it’s all I have. I’ve worked here since I was seventeen. Before you. Before everything. When your father—” she paused, then pressed a hand to her chest to steady herself—“when he walked out, this house fed you. It gave us a bed, a roof, a life. Maybe not a good one. But something. Something we could hold onto.”

  

  

   “I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  

  

   “No. You’re not sorry yet,” she said. “You don’t understand what it means to live like this. Every job I applied for turned me away when they found out I had a child and no mate. Here, they took me in anyway. They let me stay. I raised you among wolves because I had no other choice.”

  

  

   Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t cry.

  

  

   She never cried.

  

  

   “You don’t get to throw that away because your pride gets bruised,” she finished.

  

  

   “I wasn’t trying to be prideful,” I said, barely able to keep my voice steady. “I just… couldn’t watch him speak to you like that. Like you were beneath him.”

  

  

   “But I am, Serena,” she said, her voice breaking. “That’s the truth you haven’t accepted. We are humans. In a world that doesn’t belong to us. They are faster. Stronger. More powerful. We are guests in their house. You don’t question the Alpha. You don’t challenge him. You especially don’t talk back to him in public. You think I’m worried about the scolding? I’m worried about what happens when he decides we’re no longer worth the space we take up.”

  

  

   I stood there, silent. Guilty.

  

  

   She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and looked at me again. Her voice was calmer now. Lower.

  

  

   “I need you to do something for me.”

  

  

   I nodded.

  

  

   “I need you to apologize to him.”

  

  

   I blinked. “What?”

  

  

   She stepped closer. “When he returns. You’ll go to him and apologize. Respectfully. Calmly. For speaking out of turn.”

  

  

   “I… but…”

  

  

   “No excuses. Not for yourself. Just apologize.”

  

  

   I hesitated. My pride clawed at the inside of my throat. But when I looked at her—really looked—I saw all of it. The fear. The exhaustion. The desperation to hold on to this place no matter how small her corner of it was.

  

  

   And I couldn’t hurt her any more than I already had.

  

  

   “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll do it.”

  

  

   Her shoulders relaxed slightly, as if she’d been holding her breath since we left the dining room.

  

  

   I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry. For putting you in this position.”

  

  

   She squeezed back, just once. “I know you meant well. But meaning well doesn’t keep us safe.”

  

  

   I nodded. “I’ll fix it.”

  

  

   She looked at me long and hard.

  

  

   “Let’s hope he lets you.”

  

  

   ⸻

  

  

   The rest of the evening passed in a strange haze.

  

  

   I returned to my duties like nothing had happened. I helped with linens. I cleaned the elder’s meeting room. I checked the storage inventory like Marla requested. But my mind never left the tension wrapped around my chest.

  

  

   Would he come back?

  

  

   What would he do when he did?

  

  

   No one said anything to me about the incident. But I saw the glances. The stares. The whispers. A maid named Corrine asked me if I was feeling okay. Another one, Anna, quietly asked if I was “still assigned” to the Alpha’s wing. I nodded without answering either of them properly.

  

  

   I passed by the front windows at one point and saw two black SUVs pulling through the gates. He’d gone out. Maybe to train. Maybe for meetings. But now he was back.

  

  

   And I was running out of time.

  

  

  

   That night, after helping settle things in the east wing, I went to the Alpha’s hallway.

  

  

   My hands were damp with sweat. My palms tingled. My stomach turned over itself with every step.

  

  

   The hallway was still and dim, the lights along the walls casting soft golden glows. His door stood ahead, tall and solid.

  

  

   Room 301.

  

  

   I took a deep breath.

  

  

   Then knocked—twice.

  

  

   No answer.

  

  

   I almost turned around.

  

  

   But then the door creaked open. Slowly. Purposefully.

  

  

   He was there.

  

  

   Standing shirtless again, this time with a towel over his shoulder, hair slightly damp. He’d just stepped out of a shower. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes were unreadable.

  

  

   His gaze locked on mine.

  

  

   My voice wavered, but I pushed through.

  

  

   “Alpha Kael,” I began. “I came to apologize. For earlier.”

  

  

   He didn’t speak. Just listened.

  

  

   “I spoke out of turn. I shouldn’t have interfered. I was emotional, and it wasn’t my place.”

  

  

   Still, silence.

  

  

   I swallowed hard.

  

  

   “I only meant to defend someone I love. But that doesn’t excuse my behavior toward you as my Alpha.”

  

  

   Another pause.

  

  

   “I apologize. Truly.”

  

  

   He said nothing.

  

  

   Then…

  

  

   He opened the door wider.

  

  

   Just enough to step back into the room.

  

  

   I didn’t move.

  

  

   He didn’t invite me in.

  

  

   He didn’t close the door.

  

  

   He just walked toward the window and stood there, looking out at the forest beyond.

  

  

   And then, without turning to me, he said:

  

  

   “You’re brave.”

  

  

   That was it.

  

  

   One sentence.

  

  

   Spoken like an accusation. Or maybe… a realization.

  

  

   Then he spoke again, voice quieter this time.

  

  

   “But bravery doesn’t make you immune.”

  

  

   I nodded slowly.

  

  

   “I understand.”

  

  

   He still didn’t look at me.

  

  

   “You may go.”

  

  

   I stepped back.

  

  

   Turned.

  

  

   And closed the door quietly behind me.

  

  

  

   Back in my room, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  

  

   My mother looked up at me from her bed.

  

  

   “Well?” she asked.

  

  

   “He didn’t yell.”

  

  

   She nodded slowly. “That’s something.”

  

  

   And it was.

  

  

   It was something.

  

  

   But I still didn’t understand what that something meant.

  

  

   Yet.