Chapter 3: Shadow of the Thief

The throbbing in my head had become a constant companion, a dull percussion to the symphony of my misery. The encounter in Silas’s study had left me raw. The memory of that magnetic pull, the fleeting crack in his icy armor, and the subsequent, brutal reinforcement of it, played on a loop in my mind. He was a coward, yes, but a coward chained to a throne of duty. And I was his prisoner.

Days bled into one another within the gilded cage of Blackwood Manor. I avoided Lucas, whose presence now felt like sandpaper on an open wound. I avoided the pack members, whose whispers and pitying glances followed me like ghosts. I sought solace in the only thing that had ever been truly mine: my designs.

The Blackwood pack’s wealth was built on architecture and design, and a major new eco-lodge project was the talk of the estate. It was a dream commission, one that Lucas had boasted he was the lead designer for. The irony was a bitter pill. I’d poured my soul into the initial concepts months ago, sketching visions of structures that harmonized with the forest, inspired by the way moonlight filtered through the leaves. I’d shown them to Lucas, seeking his opinion.

Now, needing an escape, I decided to visit the main design studio housed in the east wing, hoping to lose myself in the smell of drafting paper and the quiet hum of creativity. Maybe I could find a quiet corner and sketch for myself, just to remember what it felt like to create something beautiful.

The studio was a vast, open space flooded with morning light. And there, pinned prominently on the main presentation board for all to see, were my designs. My ‘Moonlight Veil’eco-lodge concepts. Every line, every curve, every note I’d scribbled in the margins about sustainable materials and lunar-inspired light wells.

But the title block didn’t bear my name.

It bore Lucas’s.

A cold, sickening dread washed over me, so potent it momentarily overshadowed the bond’s ache. This wasn’t inspiration. This was theft. A complete and utter plagiarism of my life’s passion.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” a voice purred behind me.

I spun around. Lucas leaned against the doorway, a smug, triumphant smile plastered on his face. “The elders are thrilled. They say it’s my best work yet. The presentation to the client is next week. This will secure my position as the pack’s lead designer.”

Rage, white-hot and pure, burned through the fog of my pain. “Those are mine,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the effort to control it. I pointed a shaking finger at the board. “Every single sketch. You stole them.”

His smile didn’t falter; it widened. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Stole? That’s a strong word for a nobody Omega who should be grateful for the scraps she’s given. You showed me some doodles. I… refined them. Made them worthy of the Blackwood name.”

“You liar!” The word tore from my throat. “You couldn’t ‘refine’ a stick figure! You have no talent, Lucas! None! This is all me!”

His face darkened. The charming mask slipped, revealing the petty, jealous creature beneath. “Watch your tongue,” he snarled, grabbing my upper arm. “Who do you think they’ll believe? The Beta heir to the Blackwood legacy, or the unstable Omega who throws herself at her fiancé’s uncle, trying to cause a scandal to escape her pathetic life?”

The accusation was so vile, so perfectly aimed to exploit my deepest humiliation, that it stole my breath. Tears of pure, impotent fury welled in my eyes.

“Ah, look,” he mocked, seeing my tears. “The little Omega cries. Is it because you lost your designs? Or because you lost your chance to be Luna? Face it, Chloe. You have nothing. Your designs? They’re mine now. Your future? Tied to me. And my uncle?” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “He’ll never acknowledge a bond with his nephew’s cast-off. You are nothing but a family disgrace.”

The words were a physical blow. A disgrace. Nothing.The pain of the bond and the agony of this betrayal merged into an unbearable crescendo. I wrenched my arm from his grasp, a sob catching in my throat, and fled the studio.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just ran, blind with tears and rage. The opulent hallways of the manor blurred around me. My only thought was escape, to get away from the theft, the lies, the crushing weight of it all.

And then, a different pull joined the chaotic storm inside me. Not the panicked need to flee, but the deep, insistent, achingpull of the mate bond. It was a compass needle swinging wildly, then settling, tugging me down a specific corridor. My feet, seemingly of their own volition, followed its lead. It was a siren’s call, promising a solace I knew, logically, it couldn’t deliver.

I rounded a corner and stumbled to a halt.

Silas was there, standing by a tall window, speaking quietly with Marcus. He turned at the sound of my ragged breathing. Our eyes met.

And everything stopped.

The bond surged, a silent, powerful wave that crashed over us. I saw his gaze drop to my face, to the tears streaking my cheeks, to the raw, shattered expression I knew I wore. For a single, unguarded moment, the ice in his stormy eyes completely melted away. It was replaced by a flash of something fierce, protective, and devastatingly tender. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his chest. His hand twitched at his side, as if to reach for me.

In that moment, he wasn’t the Alpha bound by duty. He was the man whose soul was tied to mine, seeing my pain and reacting with a primal, visceral need to make it stop. My own wolf whimpered in response, a surge of desperate hope momentarily eclipsing the betrayal. ‘He sees. He cares.’

It lasted only a heartbeat.

“Alpha Silas!” a sharp, melodic voice cut through the tension like a shard of glass.

Isabella emerged from a connecting hallway, her perfect figure clad in sleek hunting leathers. She slid her arm possessively through Silas’s, a triumphant smirk on her beautiful face as she looked me up and down, taking in my disheveled, tear-stained state.

“There you are,” she purred, ignoring me completely. “The hunting party is waiting. You promised you’d lead us today.” She tugged on his arm, pulling his attention away from me.

The spell was broken. The tender concern in Silas’s eyes vanished, shuttered behind the familiar, impenetrable wall of duty. He gave a curt nod to Marcus, then allowed Isabella to lead him away, without a single backward glance.

I stood alone in the corridor, the echo of Lucas’s words—“a family disgrace”—mingling with the chilling finality of Silas’s dismissal. The brief flicker of solace the bond had offered had been nothing but a cruel illusion. I was utterly, completely alone. The thief had my work, and my fated mate had chosen a hunt over my heartbreak.

The pain in my chest wasn’t just from the bond anymore. It was the sound of something inside me finally, irreparably, breaking.