The knife was what he noticed first.
Pinned into the hard wood of his bedroom door—an elegant handle, sharpened metal, gleaming beneath the dim hall light. Beneath it, a folded piece of parchment. The paper looked old-fashioned, crisp, held in place by the blade like a threat not meant to be overlooked.
Caleb's heart stopped, then thundered to life.
He stepped closer, breath trembling as he gently tugged the note free. His fingers shook as he unfolded it. Four words were all that stared back at him, written in harsh red ink, the edges of the letters sharp, jagged, almost gouged into the paper.
"Leave the Alpha or die."
For a second, he couldn't breathe. The world narrowed until there was only those words, burning into his mind like a promise. Or a warning. His throat closed, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, as if that would steady the panic clawing up from his gut.
Someone wanted him gone. Gone from Lucian's side. Gone from this house. Gone from this world.
His pulse raced. For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility of a prank—but he knew better. What had happened in the past weeks wasn't coincidence. First, the coldness from Lucian. Then, the near-collision with the speeding car. The whispers behind fans at the gala. The way his place seemed to shrink while others took over.
And now—death, spelled out.
Caleb didn't go to bed. He couldn't. Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress, note clutched tightly in both hands, the knife resting beside him like an accusation. His mind spun through names and faces. The Omega brother. The Rival Alpha. Those faceless board members who scoffed at him when they thought he couldn't hear.
Or worse… someone inside the household.
When dawn finally came, he stood up, dizzy from lack of sleep. He made his decision.
Lucian was reviewing documents in his office when Caleb entered. The Alpha didn't even glance up.
"How many times have I told you to knock," Lucian muttered, scribbling a signature in confident strokes.
Caleb ignored it. He stood there silently until Lucian finally raised his eyes—cold, sharp, dismissive.
"What is it now?" the Alpha asked.
The words caught in Caleb's throat for a heartbeat—but he pulled the note from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
Lucian's gaze flicked to it. Then back to Caleb's face. He didn't touch it.
"I received this in my room last night." His voice was surprisingly steady, even though his chest felt like it would cave in. "Someone pinned it there with a knife. Someone's threatening me, Lucian."
Seconds passed. A pause long enough for hope to form—a breath, a pause—but instead, Lucian leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh.
"Caleb," he said, voice flat, "do you have any idea how many threats I receive on a weekly basis?"
Caleb stared at him. "This one wasn't for you."
Lucian's brow arched. "No. It involves you, and that makes it my concern, and I'm telling you to calm down. You're being dramatic. I don't have time for baseless paranoia."
A hollow laugh escaped Caleb before he could stop it. "Paranoia? The last time I was outside I almost got hit by a car. I'm being followed. I'm being watched. Now I'm being threatened. How is that paranoia?"
Lucian's expression didn't shift. "That incident with the car was probably an accident. As for the rest—someone's trying to get under your skin. And it's working."
Caleb felt the floor drop away. There was no concern. No protector in the room. Just a man who looked almost annoyed that his spouse was afraid for his life.
"So that's it?" Caleb whispered. "That's all you have to say?"
Lucian's gaze returned to the paperwork. "There's nothing happening here that requires my intervention. If someone wanted to harm you, they would've done it. End of discussion."
That was when something in Caleb broke.
Not loudly. Not violently. But quietly. Like a string that had finally been pulled too tight.
He recoiled. Took two steps back, eyes blurring. He had known Lucian was cold. He had known he wasn't wanted. But this—this was another level. He wasn't just unloved. He was disposable.
And Lucian had just confirmed it.
"I understand," Caleb said, voice quiet. "Thank you for your time."
Lucian didn't respond.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Caleb spent it pretending everything was fine. He laundered his own clothes. He ate alone in the small breakfast nook. He pulled out books he no longer had energy to pretend to read.
Night crept in like a storm.
He kept the lights on in his room. Double-checked the lock even though the mansion's hallways were full of controlled security and CCTV. Still, he felt exposed. A rabbit in a beautifully furnished den full of wolves.
Outside, the sky darkened until it was ink.
Caleb sat on his bed, wearing a loose shirt, with a book still open in his lap—unread. He tried to distract himself. Folded and unfolded the note. Counted the breaths between creaks in the house. Listened to footsteps in the hallway, always wondering if they were approaching his door.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him toward sleep. His eyes fluttered, book slipping from his fingers—
A sharp snap.
Not loud. But sudden. Like metal shifting in the dark.
Caleb jerked upright, pulse exploding.
The door clicked.
Someone was unlocking it.
No knock. No voice. Just the quiet scrape of metal sliding into place.
His breath froze. He jolted from the bed, heart in his throat. Whoever they were—they were inside the house. They were coming into his room.
He scanned wildly for something—anything—and grabbed the only weapon in sight: the knife from last night, still on his bedside table.
His fingers trembled around the hilt as the doorknob turned, slow and deliberate.
The door edged open.
And in the crack between light and darkness, a shadow slipped in silently.
Caleb backed away, heart slamming against his ribs—he didn't scream. He couldn't. The figure stepped farther into the room, featureless in the dark, just breathing—steady, almost calm.
Then the click of the door locking behind them echoed like a gunshot in the empty room.
Caleb's voice finally broke through, raw and trembling:
"Who's there?"
No answer. Just slow, approaching footsteps.
His grip tightened around the knife—but his hand was shaking so hard he barely felt in control of it.
The figure moved closer.
And just before the moonlight revealed their face—
A voice whispered in the dark, soft and chilling.
"You should've left when you had the chance."