Three

Chapter Three: Why Are You Here?

Rhea’s POV

I stared at the message until the words began to blur, my pulse beating so loudly in my ears that it drowned out the sounds of the city beyond the riverbank, because knowing that Rowan Nightfall would arrive in seven days made the future feel suddenly tangible in a way it hadn’t before, like a door closing slowly but decisively behind me.

Seven days.

I hadn’t expected that much time, and yet it felt impossibly short, like borrowed air that would run out before I figured out how to breathe on my own again.

Rowan Nightfall.

Even seeing his name on my screen stirred something old and complicated in my chest, a mixture of resistance and familiarity that I had never fully untangled, not even after three years of deliberate distance.

Rowan was nine years older than me, and I had known him since childhood, long before crowns and councils and the weight of sovereignty had settled onto his shoulders. He had been the Lycan heir who visited Ironclaw territory with quiet regularity, tall and composed even in his youth, already carrying himself like someone the world would eventually bend around.

While other children avoided him, intimidated by his presence and his unnervingly calm gaze, I had been assigned to him, quite literally.

“Watch Rhea,” my father used to say. “She’s reckless.”

Rowan had taken that instruction seriously, hovering too close, correcting my posture, warning me when I climbed too high or ran too fast, stepping between me and strangers without ever asking whether I wanted the protection. To everyone else, he had been the future sovereign, respected and feared, but to me he had been an overbearing shadow, a guardian I never requested and never learned how to escape.

Which was exactly why the proposed bond had felt suffocating.

I had never imagined him as a lover, never allowed myself to picture his hands on me or his voice speaking my name with anything other than calm authority, because he represented obligation rather than desire, safety rather than warmth.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag, forcing myself to stand and leave the river before my thoughts spiraled any further.

The café on Crescent Street was nearly empty when I stepped inside, chosen not for comfort but anonymity, because no one there knew who I was or what I had lost, and I needed a place where my name meant nothing at all.

I ordered tea I barely tasted and took a seat by the window, my shoulders tense as I watched strangers pass by outside, their lives continuing uninterrupted while mine felt suspended in an uncomfortable pause.

My phone lay face-down on the table, deliberately ignored, because I didn’t trust myself not to check for messages that would either shatter me or draw me back into something I was trying, desperately, to leave behind.

“Excuse me.”

The voice was calm, unhurried, carrying none of the sharp authority I had grown accustomed to from Alphas, and I looked up instinctively, bracing myself for intrusion.

The man standing beside my table was tall in a way that didn’t demand attention yet somehow held it anyway, dressed simply, without pack insignia or visible markers of rank, his presence contained rather than expansive, which unsettled my wolf more than overt dominance ever had.

“Yes?” I asked cautiously.

“You dropped this.”

He placed my wallet gently on the table, not sliding it toward me, not holding it just out of reach, simply setting it down as though returning lost property were the most ordinary thing in the world.

My heart jolted as I grabbed it and checked the contents, relief washing through me when I confirmed that everything was still there.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended, reflexively defensive.

He didn’t react, didn’t bristle or look offended, simply nodded once as if my response required no correction.

“You look like you could use something warmer than tea,” he said lightly, glancing at my untouched cup. “The weather’s turning.”

“I didn’t ask for advice,” I replied, irritation flaring despite myself.

A faint curve touched his mouth, not a smirk, not amusement at my expense, just acknowledgment. “Fair.”

He turned to leave without hesitation, without lingering, without attempting to prolong the interaction.

Something about that stopped me.

He hadn’t asked my name.

Hadn’t looked at me like I was fragile or available.

Hadn’t pressed.

“Wait,” I said, the word escaping before I could stop myself.

He paused and turned back, his expression open but reserved.

“Yes?”

“You don’t seem to be from around here,” I said, the observation slipping out awkwardly.

“I’m not.”

“Then why help me?” I asked, the question quieter now, less defensive, more genuine.

He met my gaze then, his eyes steady without being invasive, and something in my chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Because you needed help,” he said simply. “That’s usually enough.”

The answer struck harder than it should have, precisely because it lacked motive or expectation.

He gestured to the chair across from me but didn’t sit until I gave a small nod, as though even that minor claim of space required consent.

“Rowan,” he said after a moment. “Just Rowan.”

I hesitated before responding. “Rhea.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rhea.”

Silence settled between us, not heavy, not awkward, simply present, and my wolf, who had been restless and on edge since the night before, stilled in a way that felt cautious rather than fearful.

Interesting.

“You look like someone standing at the edge of something unpleasant,” Rowan said eventually, his tone conversational rather than probing. “If I may offer advice.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You seem fond of advice for someone who doesn’t push.”

“Only when it matters,” he replied easily. “Don’t let anyone decide who you are before you do.”

He stood then, straightening his coat, and left without waiting for a response, without offering comfort or promises or solutions, leaving behind nothing but the faint sense that the air around me had shifted.

I sat there long after he was gone, my tea cold and untouched, my chest oddly lighter despite everything, because for the first time in days, someone had seen me without trying to claim, diminish, or dismiss me.

Later that afternoon, as I prepared for Lina’s farewell gathering, pulling on a dress that felt more like armor than clothing, I found my thoughts returning to the stranger from the café, not because he had changed anything, but because he hadn’t tried to.

The pack hall was already alive with sound when I arrived that evening, laughter and music spilling into the corridor, and as I stepped inside, the weight settled back onto my shoulders, familiar and heavy, because whatever brief calm I had found earlier was not enough to shield me from what waited here.

Lina spotted me immediately, relief flooding her face as she hurried over.

“Rhea,” she said, hugging me tightly. “You came.”

“I promised,” I replied, forcing a smile.

We talked, and for a short while, it was almost bearable, until the air shifted, until whispers rippled through the room like a warning.

I turned.

Leon stood in the doorway.

His arm was wrapped around a woman I recognized instantly, not because I had seen her before, but because her presence explained everything.

Elara.

The countdown had begun.

And whatever seven days would bring, I knew now that I would not survive them by remaining invisible.