The mansion was never silent.
Even in the early hours, when the halls were empty and moonlight bathed everything in silver-blue shadows, the place breathed. The marble floors held echoes of footsteps long gone. The air was thick with reminders of conversations that had shaped fortunes and destroyed families.
And tonight, beneath the hum of electricity and distant ticking clocks — there were voices.
Caleb froze halfway up the east staircase.
One of them was unmistakably Lucian's.
The other was muted, deep. Someone on the other end of a call.
Caleb hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He had only wandered, sleepless, trying to calm the storm in his chest.
But some words… refused to be ignored.
"I regret this marriage."
Lucian's voice was low — not like the sharp anger he'd used before, but something colder. Controlled. Worn.
Caleb's pulse stumbled.
He flattened himself against the wall, every breath shallow.
There was a pause — the voice on the phone murmured something, too gentle to make out.
Lucian's reply was colder.
"It should have been him. Elias knew what this life meant. He was raised for it. He never would've hesitated the way… he does."
Caleb didn't need to hear the rest.
He knew exactly who he was.
His fingertips dug into the railing. It felt like his bones were giving out under the weight of the words. Under their truth.
He stepped away quietly. Carefully.
He didn't allow his footsteps to echo — because if Lucian stopped and saw him here like this…
He didn't know what would happen.
He didn't want to know.
The halls blurred as he walked. A ghost in a place that was never meant to hold him.
The corridors stretched like a labyrinth, and somewhere between the west wing and the empty tea room, Caleb finally realized …
He didn't know how to breathe anymore.
He reached his room — small, separated, a gentle lie wrapped in expensive bedding — and closed the door with trembling fingers.
The silence there was different.
Sharper.
Colder.
He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his watch mechanically, placing it with slow precision on the nightstand.
Then the ring.
Then his cufflinks.
All symbols of a marriage that lived only in public — not in hearts or homes.
He folded his hands in his lap — and finally broke.
He didn't sob.
There were no tears left.
Just numbness.
A quiet, blank stillness that was somehow worse than pain.
An hour passed.
Or maybe many.
Time felt like glass around him — fragile, reflective, threatening to shatter with a touch.
Someone knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply.
Caleb startled, looking up.
It was one of the younger servants — the one who had poured tea yesterday. Her eyes flicked nervously toward the hallway before closing the door behind her.
"M-Mr. Arden?" she whispered.
Caleb blinked. "Yes?"
She swallowed, then bowed deeply.
"I… I'm not supposed to say anything, but…" She wrung her hands. "Please don't take it personally."
Caleb stared at her, uncomprehending.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice.
"The Omega is in the private lounge right now."
The words hit like a blow.
Caleb didn't react at first.
Just… stared.
Until meaning finally caught up with him.
Not in a guest room. Not in a separate wing. In the Alpha's private lounge.
The one space Lucian had declared off-limits to Caleb.
The place Caleb had never even seen.
The servant bowed again, guilt gripping every movement. "I'm sorry. I'm just… I didn't want you to hear it from someone cruel."
Before Caleb could muster a response, she left — quick, silent, vanishing like a shadow.
The room felt smaller again.
His chest constricted.
So that was it.
While he was desperately stitching together the ruins of his dignity — his brother was sitting beside the only warmth in this mansion.
The warmth wasn't his. Never was.
And deep down, Caleb had known.
But hearing it — knowing it — hurt in a way nothing else had.
Even the silence felt heavy with betrayal.
He stood.
He needed to breathe.
He walked to the door.
His fingers touched the doorknob.
But something was wrong.
The air in the hall was colder than usual.
Still.
Too still.
He pushed the door open — and stopped dead.
A glint of metal caught the dim light.
A knife was stabbed into his doorframe.
Pinned beneath it, a small folded piece of paper.
Caleb's heartbeat dropped.
His breath vanished.
Everything his body had forgotten how to feel came crashing back in a single shudder.
Hands shaking, he pulled the paper free.
His name was written in large, jagged letters.
Caleb.
He unfolded it.
Beneath the name were only three words.
Get out. Soon.
The hallway seemed to blur.
His pulse thundered. His vision shook.
And for the first time since entering this mansion, Caleb finally understood—
The coldness wasn't the worst part.
The cruelty wasn't the worst part.
The isolation wasn't the worst part.
The worst part…
was that now, someone wanted him gone.
Not just emotionally.
Not just socially.
Physically.
Permanently.
And the night had never felt colder.