Chapter 2

Rhea

Lucian's stare found me. The world went still.

Then it collapsed.

"Move," barked a voice behind me. A guard.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—" I scrambled up, clumsy knees screaming. 

He didn't Listen. No one ever did. 

He didn't let me finish. His hand closed around my arm and yanked hard, dragging me down the hall as filth dripped from my hands, shame clinging heavier than the trash.

I glanced back once. Lucian still stood there, silent as stone. Watching.

He didn't speak.

He didn't stop them.

They threw me into the broom closet beside the kitchens and locked the door.

I sat there, trembling, in the dark.

No one brought food. No one came to check. Hours passed—or maybe only one. The stone is cold. It sank into my bones, my stomach twisted—wasn't from hunger, rather it was fear.

Was he going to report me?

Would I be stripped of my duties? Sent to the outskirts? Cast out?

No one cared what happened to omegas like me. One misstep and we vanished. Just like my parents had.

I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. Maybe if I stayed small enough, I could disappear before anyone decided I deserved worse.

But the door creaked open.

I blinked against the sudden light—and then I saw her.

Lyra.

She stared at me—mud-splattered, red-cheeked, pathetic.

Her brows knitted, though it wasn't worth it I was worth getting angry for. 

Then she stormed in.

"I told you not to send the dress back."

I blinked. "What?"

She shoved a bundle into my arms. Pale blue satin. Silver beading. Moonlight in fabric.

"You're still coming to the party," she said, voice clipped. "They locked you in here? Seriously? Because of trash?"

I didn't answer.

Because yes, it was because of trash. But it was also because of me.

"Sometimes I hate this place," she muttered. "Hate how they treat you. Hate how you let them."

That stung more than it should've.

"I'm not like you," I murmured. "

I don't float above it. I drown in it.

She sat beside me on the dusty floor, wrinkling her nose. "You don't have to float. You just have to stand up."

A beat passed. Then, surprisingly, she laughed.

"You should've seen Mira's face when she found out Cassian sent me a gift and not her. Priceless."

My smile faltered.

Cassian.

Of course.

I forced a laugh, but it came out wrong.

We sat together in silence, me clutching the dress I didn't dare wear, her fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

It felt almost like when we were younger. Before she learned how to walk like royalty. Before I learned how to kneel.

But even now, even here—she glowed.

And I stayed dimly beside her.

"Get ready," she said finally, rising. "Wear the dress. Come late. Make them notice."

And then she was gone.

• 

The grand hall was made of gold.

Or maybe it just looked that way in the candlelight—soft and flickering against high arches and crystal chandeliers. Laughter echoed from every corner. Dresses shimmered. Music soared.

And me?

I stood at the entrance, frozen.

The gown clung to my body like it wasn't meant for me. The bodice hugged my ribs, delicate sleeves brushing my shoulders. My hair had been twisted up with a shaky hand, curls falling loose around my face.

People turned to look.

Not because I was beautiful.

Because I was wrong.

Mira's sneer arrived on cue. "They must be letting the help attend now."

I couldn't breathe.

I should've left.

But then I saw her.

Lyra. At the center of it all, radiant and laughing, the very axis of the room. She met my eyes and smiled, proud and sure.

So I stepped in.

Step. Step. Step.

Don't shrink.

Don't break.

Don't bleed.

I made it halfway to the drinks table before I felt it—him.

Lucian.

He was near the window, half in shadow. His back straight, one hand curled around a glass of something dark. His gaze cut through the space like a blade.

And it landed on me.

I stopped breathing.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He didn't do anything but look.

And gods, it was worse than a slap.

Because this time, he saw me.

No trash. No uniform. Just me.

My heart roared in my ears.

And then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

Gone.

The spell broke.

The air returned.

But everything in me still ached.

I turned to flee—but someone stepped into my path.

I turned.

Froze.

He stood there—the same face.

Not Lucian.

Cassian.

The second-born.

The Wildcat.

Hair is a tousled mess. Tie undone. Shirt half-wrinkled like he'd dared the wind to fight him.

But it wasn't the clothes.

It was the way he wore the room.

Like it answered to him.

And his eyes—

They found me.

Not passed through me. Found.

His smirk curved slowly. "Didn't think you'd wear it."

The dress. Lyra's dress. No—

His.

I should've known.

"I didn't…" My voice cracked. "Lyra said—"

"She says a lot of things." He stepped closer. "But I gave it to her. For you."

For me?

No one gave me things. Not without a catch. Not without blood.

"You look good." His tone softened. Just enough to scrape.

I didn't know what to do with that. The words. The wantbehind them.

No one ever wanted me seen.

"…Thank you," I managed.

He tilted his head, amused. "You talk now?"

"I talk sometimes."

"You should do it more. Especially when you look like that."

Heat surged up my neck.

This was dangerous.

Compliments were dangerous.

They made you think you were something.

"You… look good too," I said. Too quiet. Too slow.

But he heard it.

He grinned like it mattered. Like I mattered.

Then his hands rose—lightly, resting on my shoulders.

"Relax." His thumbs brushed once. "If you fit to be here Lyra wouldn't have sent you an invitation."

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't blink.

He let go before I melted.

"Enjoy the party," he murmured. "It's yours too."

And then he was gone.

The air-cooled. My skin didn't.

My heart stayed loud.

But it didn't matter.

He wasn't mine.

He was Lyra's.

He wasn't mine.

He was Lyra's.

But I wanted to stay a little longer just because he said I could.

"Hey!"

Lyra's voices crawled from behind. Spinning through the crowd.

"Been looking everywhere," she said, tugging my hand. "You vanish like mist."

I let her pull me. I always did.

She talked, laughed, glowed.

But something—something—shifted.

Her grip slowed.

Her nose twitched.

Then her smile died.

"No," she whispered. "You didn't."

I blinked. "Didn't what?"

Her pupils thinned. Her breath hitched.

"The mongrel has pled."

It meant nothing.

Until it meant everything.

The heat in my bones.

The ache in my chest.

The unbearable pull—

My mate.

Near.