Chapter 8: The silence

Serena

I don’t know what I expected.

Maybe… a glance.

A word.

Even a nod.

But the next morning, Alpha Kael walked past me like I didn’t exist.

As if I hadn’t lain beneath him. As if I hadn’t touched him. As if his hands hadn’t trembled when he whispered my name.

He brushed past in the corridor without a word. I had just finished folding the last of the linen pile and nearly dropped it again, heart leaping at the sound of his footsteps. But he didn’t even look my way. Just walked, straight-backed, unreadable, every inch the Alpha again.

Like nothing had happened.

Like I had never happened.

I stood there in that hall, fists clenched in the fabric I was holding, watching the back of the man who just a day ago had made me feel… something.

Wanted. Seen.

Now I felt like dust.

The days that followed were worse.

Every morning I woke hoping he’d call me aside — say something, anything. A quiet, “We need to talk.” A whispered apology. A flash of guilt. But there was nothing. Just orders barked through his Beta. Tasks reassigned. Duties shifted. I cleaned the dining hall, wiped the glass panels, mopped the ballroom floors. I passed him once in the corridor. He was speaking to Mirah and two elders. He didn’t pause. Didn’t blink. His voice was clipped and calm.

I looked at him for a full two seconds.

He didn’t even glance back.

Something started to rot inside me.

Anger — slow and simmering. And beneath it, hurt. Deep, suffocating hurt.

Two weeks passed.

Then three.

Still nothing.

A month crept by like a punishment, each day longer than the last.

By now, whispers filled the air like smoke. Every hallway buzzed with the same thing: “Alpha Kael and Luna Mirah.” Their engagement was close. The elders were preparing the blessing. A ceremony would soon follow. Her father, Elder Berran, had already boasted about the union to the guards outside the gate.

I heard it all.

Every time I passed the halls where the elders met.

Every time I saw Mirah’s smug face glowing in the reflection of a glass panel.

Every time Kael gave me a task like I was a stranger.

And the worst part?

He never mentioned that night.

Not once.

I kept thinking he’d pull me aside. Tell me he regretted it. Explain it. Own it. Anything. But I was met with silence. Cold, dry silence. No stolen glances. No flash of the man who once kissed me like I was air after drowning.

Just commands.

“Clean the north hall.”

“Bring fresh towels to the private wing.”

“Serve wine during the elders’ council dinner.”

No words beyond duty. No emotion beyond indifference.

It crushed me.

I stopped sleeping well. My body ached in places that had nothing to do with lifting or bending. My eyes burned. I started forgetting things — little things. I almost poured salt into the tea instead of sugar. I scrubbed the same table twice without noticing.

And my mother noticed.

“Serena,” she said one night as we folded laundry together, “you’ve been off for days. Is something wrong?”

“No,” I replied too fast.

She gave me a long look. “Did someone say something to you?”

“No.”

“Is it Kael?”

The way she said his name made my stomach twist. I dropped the towel in my hand and bent to pick it up, hiding my face in the motion.

“No, ma. I’m just tired.”

“You haven’t been eating properly. You’re always distant. If something happened, you can tell me.”

I looked at her — the woman who gave up everything to raise me here, who fought for scraps just to make sure I had shoes and books and warm food. The woman who scrubbed the Alpha’s rooms and told me every day to bow my head and survive.

How could I tell her?

How could I look her in the eyes and say, I slept with him. He used me. Then he walked away like I was nothing.

I couldn’t.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She sighed, clearly not convinced. But she didn’t push. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

I nodded. But I wasn’t fine.

I was unraveling.

At night, I curled on my bed with the blanket pulled high, staring at the ceiling. I thought about that night on repeat — the way his fingers touched my face, the way his breath shook, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.

Had it meant anything?

Or was it just… lust? A moment of weakness? A mistake? Am I just a mistake to him?

Maybe it would’ve been easier if he’d yelled at me. Told me to forget it. Thrown me out like he did back then But this? This silence was crueler. Because it let me wonder. It let me hope. And then it crushed me again.

I hated him for that.

And I hated myself more.

Every time I saw Mirah in her elegant gowns, gliding through the halls like she owned them, something bitter lodged in my throat. She laughed at his jokes. She walked beside him. They were the ones the pack whispered about now. The future Luna. The rightful Alpha.

And me?

I was just the maid again.

Invisible.

Breakable.

Disposable.

My thoughts were all over the place

It made me sick

The headaches came first.

They weren’t sharp or unbearable just constant. A low hum behind my eyes that lingered through every chore, making everything feel twice as heavy. At first, I thought it was just the lack of sleep. I hadn’t been resting well since… since that night. Since Kael’s silence.

Then came the nausea.

Subtle at first. A wave of dizziness when I stood up too fast. The way the smell of scrambled eggs in the kitchen made my stomach turn, even though I’d eaten it almost every day without complaint. One morning, I nearly threw up after tasting a spoon of soup I was helping to prepare.

“You need to sit down,” my mother said sharply, watching me pale in the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, wiping my mouth and forcing a smile. “It’s just the heat.”

She didn’t buy it.

But she didn’t push—at least not yet.

The days continued, and so did the signs.

My body started aching in strange places—my lower back, mostly, and the inside of my thighs. My legs felt heavier. Some nights, my chest felt… swollen. Sore. I adjusted my uniform twice before giving up and sewing the buttons differently to loosen the pressure across my bust.

Still, I told myself it was nothing. Just exhaustion. Stress.

How could it be anything else?

My thoughts were always spinning. Every time I passed Kael in the hallway, something clenched in my stomach. His voice, his scent, even his laugh in the distance haunted me. How could my body not be reacting strangely with all this emotional weight I was carrying?

But I knew I was lying to myself.

I knew.

I just wasn’t ready to hear it out loud.

The final push came one afternoon when I nearly fainted during laundry rounds.

I’d been helping carry a basket of dried sheets across the courtyard when the sunlight spun around me like a whirlpool. My knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to steady myself against the nearest pillar. The world steadied a second later, but the sweat on my skin stayed too long.

My mother saw it happen from across the garden.

That night, she confronted me again.

“You’re going to the clinic,” she said simply.

“I’m just tired, ma.”

“Tired doesn’t make your eyes hollow and your lips pale. It doesn’t make you gag in the morning or sleep through your chores. You’re going. Tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I’m scheduled to clean the east hall—”

“I’ll cover for you.”

I looked at her, trying to argue. But her face was set in that way it only was when she refused to be moved.

“I said you’re going. And you’ll thank me later,” she said.

The next morning, I left early for the in-house clinic on the other end of the estate. It was nestled beside the training grounds, a small but fully equipped facility with two nurses and one full-time doctor who served the entire pack.

Dr. Lenna was already in her white coat when I arrived.

She looked up from her files when I stepped in and blinked in faint surprise.

“Serena? Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’m… not feeling great.”

“Come. Sit.”

She guided me gently into the examination room and shut the door behind us. The space was cool and smelled like antiseptic and lavender. I sat on the edge of the bed as she took my vitals, listened to my heartbeat, and asked me a series of soft, professional questions.

I answered them one by one, pretending like I wasn’t shaking inside.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” she asked.

“A few weeks.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yes.”

“Fatigue?”

“Yes.”

“Breast tenderness?”

“…Yes.”

She paused, her pen still in her hand.

“When was your last cycle?”

I blinked.

Silence.

I tried to remember. I counted backward in my head.

And then I froze.

“…Almost two months ago,” I whispered.

Her eyes met mine. “Has anything changed recently? Have you been sexually active?”

I stared at the wall behind her.

“Once,” I said. My voice barely audible. “Just… once.”

She didn’t ask who. She didn’t press.

She nodded gently. “Let’s do a quick test, then.”

She stepped out, and I sat there, heart hammering against my ribs, hands clenched in my lap.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

But I already knew.

My body had known for weeks.

Still, I prayed silently for her to return and tell me it was a hormone imbalance, a vitamin deficiency, anything but the truth I couldn’t face.

When she returned ten minutes later, she didn’t say anything at first.

She just shut the door quietly, walked to the counter, picked up the test strip, and turned to face me.

Her expression was soft. Almost maternal.

“You’re pregnant, Serena.”

The words hit like a slow-moving earthquake — quiet at first, but unstoppable.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

The word rang in my head like a bell tolling for something I hadn’t prepared for. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes began to sting.

She said a few other things — something about how far along I might be, and how I’d need supplements and rest, and how I should schedule a proper scan — but I barely heard any of it.

All I could think about was the cold way he looked through me.

The way Kael hadn’t said a word in a month.

The way I’d laid in his bed and woke up alone.

Now I carried a piece of him.

A secret growing inside me.

I nodded mechanically through the rest of the visit and accepted the paper bag she handed me — iron pills, folic acid, a mild nausea prescription.

“Take care of yourself, Serena,” Dr. Lenna said softly as she opened the door.

I forced a smile and walked out with my feet made of stone.

The morning sun felt cruel.

The sky was bright and blue, mocking me as I walked back across the courtyard with a secret that could destroy everything.

I hadn’t cried yet.

Not even as I stepped into the laundry wing and pretended to check on bedsheets. Not as I tucked the paper bag deep into the pocket of my apron. Not even when I caught my reflection in a glass panel and saw how pale and hollow I looked.

But inside?

I was breaking.

Because I had no idea what to do next.