Chapter 6

Henry had always believed that effort could outpace circumstance. If he studied harder, listened and endured hard times, he could outrun the weight of his name. Blackwood Academy became his proving ground.

By the middle of the term, whispers about him still circled like restless crows, but they no longer clung to him. Teachers noticed. His essays were great than most, his answers precise, his determination impossible to ignore. Even the head of mathematics—known for chewing through students’ confidence with nothing but an arched brow—was forced to concede, “You have a natural gift for structure, Henry. Few see the world with such order.”

Henry accepted the compliment. He never boasted, never looked smug, though inside his chest there was a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. For once, he was being measured not by exile or bloodline, but by merit.

But in the corners of his life, mysteries pressed closer.

Every evening, when Henry returned to the apartment Adrian had arranged for him and his mother, there was something waiting. Sometimes a bouquet of lilies, sometimes a basket of fruit and sometimes a sealed envelope carrying nothing but a card with the words: “For all you’ve endured.”

His mother, Evelyn, would laugh and press a hand over her heart.

“It’s because of you,” she told him one evening as she placed a necklace of freshwater back into its box. “The whole town must be proud. My son, the brilliant one, excelling against all odds. People see you, Henry. They see what you’re becoming.”

Henry wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe it was admiration or gratitude that drove such generosity. But the gifts unsettled him. They were too consistent, too deliberate and too… watchful.

Sometimes, when he touched the ribbon on a package or turned over a sealed envelope, he imagined Elias’s stern eyes, the Alpha’s vow still burning in his mind: You know where you belong.

Other times, he thought of the note signed only with “D.”

And then, always, there was Adrian.

The Principal moved like a shadow in Henry’s days. Present everywhere, yet never imposing. He lingered just long enough to check on Henry’s well-being, to offer encouragement, to remind him of his worth. And yet, beneath his smile, there was something unsaid. Something that grew heavier with every stolen glance, every pause between words, every silence too long to be professional.

Adrian wanted to tell him something. Henry knew it. The entire school probably sensed it. But the man held back, restrained by invisible chains.

One afternoon, Henry lingered in the library long after the other students had gone. His books were spread in front of him, but he wasn’t reading. His mind had snagged on too many threads: his mother’s gifts, Elias’s visits, Adrian’s silence.

The sound of footsteps drew his head up. Adrian stood at the entrance, his frame outlined against the last rays of sun filtering through the glass windows.

“You should go home, Henry,” Adrian said. “It’s getting too late.”

Henry shut his book but didn’t rise. “I wanted to finish this chapter.”

Adrian nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on him longer than necessary. Then, he moved closer, whispering his voice. “How is your mother?”

“She’s fine.” Henry hesitated, then added, “She keeps receiving gifts.”

Adrian’s expression flickered, but only for a second. “Gifts?”

“Yes.” Henry frowned. “Every day. She thinks it’s because of me. Because I’m doing well here. But it doesn’t make sense, does it? Who sends something every day without a name?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, though he smoothed his face into neutrality. “Perhaps it’s gratitude. You’ve made an impression here.”

Henry’s instincts prickled. Adrian knew more than he was saying.

“Do you know who it is?” Henry pressed.

The Principal’s lips parted, but then he closed them, shaking his head. “No. But if it troubles you, I’ll make inquiries.”

Henry nodded, though suspicion still lingered.

Silence stretched between them. Henry stacked his books, aware of Adrian’s eyes following each movement. There was weight in that gaze—affection, protection, and something else Henry didn’t dare name.

“Henry,” Adrian called, sitting up with lower voice, rawer than usual.

Henry froze. “Yes?”

Adrian looked like he was standing on a cliff’s edge. For a breathless moment, Henry thought he was finally going to say it—the words dying between them. But then Adrian shook his head, offering only a smile.

“Nothing. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Henry sighed, tension rushing out of him. A part of him was relieved, another part… disappointed.

That night, Evelyn hummed while preparing tea. The latest gift—an ornate bracelet—glimmered on her wrist.

“They must adore you, even if they don’t sign their names, the meaning is clear. This is their way of saying, ‘We believe in Henry.’”

Henry stirred his tea without drinking. “Do you really think it’s because of me?”

“Of course. Who else could it be?”

But Henry wasn’t convinced.

He fell asleep with restless thoughts.

The following week, Henry’s reputation at school shifted again. No longer just the scholarship boy, he became the untouchable star. Every perfect exam score, every loud presentation, every brilliant response in class fueled both admiration and resentment.

The whispers didn’t fade—they transformed.

“He’s brilliant, but you know why. The Principal’s feeding him answers.”

“No, I heard he tutors him after hours.”

“Either way, he’s not normal. No one learns that fast.”

Henry kept walking, chin lifted, but his chest ached. He didn’t cheat. He didn’t take favors. He earned everything with sweat and sleepless nights. But rumors had their own gravity, pulling truth into distortion.

Adrian noticed.

One morning, Henry arrived early to class and found a folded note on his desk. Adrian’s handwriting, precise: Do not let them break you. What you build here is yours.

Henry’s throat tightened. He slipped the note into his pocket and carried it with him all day.

Still, Adrian’s silence became heavier.

Every time he looked at Henry, there was longing. Every time he nearly spoke, there was hesitation. The students felt it, the teachers noticed, and Henry—caught in the middle—burned with questions.

Why wouldn’t Adrian just say what he wanted to say? Why protect him so fiercely, why fight Elias, why burn the Alpha’s letter, if it was only duty?

Henry didn’t know if he wanted the answer.

Then came another note under his door.

This one wasn’t Adrian’s handwriting.

It was bold, sweeping. A single line:

“The gifts are not from who you think. Meet me. Soon.”

No signature. No location. Only a card embossed with an unfamiliar crest—a wolf encircled by a crown.

Henry turned it over in his hands, his heart pounding in his chest.

Was it Elias? Damien? Someone else entirely?

When he showed the card to his mother, Evelyn smiled. “Whoever it is, they want you to know you’re not forgotten. Isn’t that wonderful?”

But Henry didn’t feel wonderful. He felt hunted.

That evening, Henry found Adrian waiting outside the apartment.

“I needed to see you,” the Principal said with a calm voice but his eyes turbulent. “Are you safe? Has anyone approached you?”

Henry hesitated. “Why do you care so much?”

Adrian stilled. His hand twitched at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach out. “Because…”

“Because what?” Henry pressed, his chest tightening.

Adrian’s eyes burned, the words trembling on his lips. But then, as always, he swallowed them down. “Because I gave my word to protect you. That’s all.”

Henry’s stomach bit.

He wanted to believe it. He wanted to accept the simplicity. But deep down, he knew the truth was heavier.

Adrian wasn’t just protecting him. He was holding him. Keeping him and wanting him.

And still—Henry couldn’t decide if that terrified him, or made him feel less alone.

Later that night, Henry lay awake, the card with the wolf crest under his pillow, Adrian’s note pressed against his chest, and his mother’s bracelet glinting under the lamplight.

So many threads pulled at him—Elias’s vow, Adrian’s silence, the mysterious gifts, and now this new shadow leaving signs at his door.

He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to tear free from all of it. But instead, he whispered into the dark:

“What do you all want from me?”

The night gave no answer.

Only the echo of his own voice, trembling with fear and hope.

And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Henry shivered, knowing it wasn’t just a wolf. It was a call, a reminder.

That his life was no longer his own.