Chapter Seventeen: Wolves Hear Footsteps
The first whisper reached Lucas Grace the way all dangerous news should—quietly, politely wrapped, so it didn't sound like a threat until it was too late.
He was in his glass-walled office, high above the city. The sky outside was a dull gray, matching his mood. A junior aide stood by his desk, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else. The young man's fingers were tight around a tablet.
"Sir," he began, voice carefully neutral. "There's been some… talk."
Lucas didn't look up from the financial report he was pretending to read. "What kind of talk?"
"About your sister, sir. Aira."
That made Lucas lower the papers. He placed them neatly on the desk, aligning the edges perfectly. "Go on."
"She's been seen. Several times now. With a man."
The air in the room seemed to cool by a few degrees. Lucas leaned back in his leather chair, the picture of calm. "Seen where?"
"A café off campus, the one with the blue awning. Walking along the river path last Wednesday evening. And… she attended the Royce family's charity gala two weekends ago. As a guest."
The name Royce hung between them, heavy and undeniable.
Lucas was silent for a long moment. "The Royces," he repeated, his voice flat.
"Yes, sir."
"Do we have confirmation? Pictures?"
"Some, sir. From our contacts. They're not the clearest, but… it's her."
With a slight jerk of his chin, Lucas dismissed the aide. "Send everything to me. Now."
Alone, the calm mask slipped. His jaw tightened. He pulled the tablet toward him and swiped through the uploaded files.
The images were grainy, taken from a distance or from bad angles, but they were unmistakable. There was Aira, her face tilted up in a laugh at a small café table. There she was on the riverwalk, her long dark hair blowing in the wind, walking beside a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a dark coat. In one shot from the gala, she was looking up at the man beside her with a soft, open expression Lucas had never seen on her face before. It was a look of trust. Of warmth.
The man's face was often turned away or shadowed. But Lucas didn't need a perfect portrait. He recognized the imposing stature, the controlled way of moving, the air of quiet authority that surrounded him even in a blurry photo.
"Rowan Royce," Lucas said to the silent room. His voice was low, almost conversational, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of his desk.
Of all the men in the city. Of all the families.
He stood up abruptly and walked to the window, looking down at the streets below as if surveying a kingdom. A cold, tactical clarity settled over his anger.
"So," he murmured. "My quiet little sister has finally made a move. And what a move it is."
---
Marcus Grace learned the news that evening in the dining room of the Grace estate. The room was vast, echoing, and always too cold. He sat alone at the head of a table long enough to seat twenty, pushing food around a china plate with a silver fork.
Lucas didn't sit. He stood opposite his father, hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers.
"She's a young woman at university," Marcus said finally, his voice tired. "She's allowed to have friends. To socialize."
"She's a Grace," Lucas countered, his tone deceptively smooth. "She's allowed nothing that doesn't serve the family. You taught me that."
Marcus's eyes, the same cool gray as his son's, flickered up. "Who is he?"
Lucas slid the tablet across the polished wood. It stopped perfectly in front of his father.
Marcus picked it up. He scrolled slowly. The only sound was the faint tap of his finger on the screen. When he looked up, his face was like stone.
"A Royce."
"Yes."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. The old feud between the Graces and the Royces wasn't just political rivalry; it was a deep, quiet trench of bad blood, failed deals, and private wars fought in boardrooms and dark alleys.
Marcus stood up, turning his back to his son to stare out at the manicured gardens. "This is… problematic."
"It's more than problematic," Lucas said, his voice losing its polite edge. "It's a strategic vulnerability. She's a weakness, walking right into the arms of the enemy. She doesn't even know she's holding a knife to our throat."
Marcus whirled around. "Don't you dare turn this into one of your chess games, Lucas. This is your sister."
"Exactly," Lucas shot back, not backing down. "Which makes her my piece to protect. And right now, she's placing herself on the wrong side of the board."
Marcus sank back into his chair, looking older than he had a moment before. "Does she know? Who he really is?"
Lucas shook his head, a humorless smile touching his lips. "From what we can gather? No. She thinks he's just a handsome, mysterious man who buys her coffee. She's always been naive about affection." He paused, then added the calculated blow. "Just like Mother was."
Marcus flinched as if struck. He closed his eyes for a beat, a wave of old grief and frustration passing over his face. When he opened them, his decision was made. "End it," he ordered, his voice firmer now. "Cleanly. Quietly. Make her see reason before the Royces get any ideas. Before they think they can use her."
Lucas nodded, the perfect picture of the obedient son. "I'll handle it."
But as he turned and walked from the dining room, his expression was anything but obedient. It was sharp, interested, and cold. Lucas Grace didn't simply end threats. He examined them. He learned their shape and their weight. And then, if it was useful, he used them.
---
I knew none of this. My world was still small, and warm, and centered on the sound of a single voice.
I was in my dorm, curled on my bed with my knees tucked to my chest. My phone was pressed to my ear.
"You really don't have to walk me back from the library every single night," I said, smiling even though he couldn't see it. "I've been walking myself home for years."
"I know," Rowan's voice came through, low and steady. "I want to."
"That's not a real reason," I teased gently.
"It's the only one that matters to me."
I laughed, a soft, happy sound that felt strange and wonderful in my quiet room. The nervous flutter in my chest was becoming a familiar friend. "Sophia says you're spoiling me rotten."
"Sophia has opinions on everything."
"She does," I agreed. "But she likes me. She told me."
There was a pause on the line, just a fraction of a second too long. "She does," Rowan finally said. "That… matters a great deal."
I missed the new tension woven through his words, the subtle way his answers had grown shorter, more guarded over the past day. I was too wrapped up in the simple, dizzying joy of being cared for.
"So, tomorrow?" I asked, hope making my voice shy. "The usual coffee after my philosophy seminar?"
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "I'll be there."
We said our goodbyes, the words simple but feeling like promises. After the call ended, I hugged my phone to my chest, closing my eyes. A feeling of rightness settled over me. For the first time in my life, someone was choosing me. Not out of duty, not for appearance, but just… because.
I didn't see the dark, unmarked car parked across the street from my dorm. I didn't notice the man inside, lowering a long-lens camera into his lap. I didn't know that my class schedule was now highlighted on my brother's desk, or that my father was in his study, drafting a list of new "guidelines" for my life at university.
I just knew that I felt seen. I felt safe.
Far away, in rooms of silent power and polished lies, two wolves had caught the scent of something new in their territory. Their ears were pricked. Their eyes were watchful.
Love, innocent and hopeful, had just wandered onto a battlefield it never knew existed.
And the hunt had already begun.