Their voices hit me before 14

Lyra (Seraphina)

Days passed since the wedding, and the castle had settled into its new rhythm—one where I was no longer the invisible girl sweeping in the shadows.

Now, they called me Lady Seraphina.

Now, they looked at me—servants, warriors, even the omegas who once threw scraps near my feet. Some bowed with trembling hands. Some whispered behind my back. But no one dared spit the word rogue anymore.

I spent my mornings exploring the estate—quietly, alone. The halls I used to clean with a bucket and a rag now felt different. Not because the stone had changed, but because I had.

It was strange being bowed to where I once scrubbed floors.

Lucien had returned to his duties without delay, as if marrying me had been a mild inconvenience on his schedule. He spent his days training warriors in the courtyard, overseeing rogue patrols near the border, and preparing for the pack succession ceremony—where he’d officially take over as Alpha.

We barely spoke.

I didn’t mind.

Much.

***

But what did surprise me was her. Lucien’s new servant. A girl named Marla, barely nineteen, all trembling hands and wide eyes. She was sweet, sure, but clumsy. Too slow. Too unsure.

I watched her once as she tried to make Lucien’s coffee. She burned it. Twice.

Another time, she misplaced the documents he needed for a council meeting and folded his black shirts with the sleeves tucked in. He liked them rolled neatly, just under the elbow line. I knew that. I knew everything.

Lucien said nothing to her.

But I saw the twitch in his jaw. The way he clenched his pen too tight. The sharp sighs he let out when she knocked over the ink bottle or wrinkled the wrong file.

He wasn’t mean. He was silent. And sometimes, that was worse. I watched quietly.

Then, when I knew he’d stepped out, I slipped into his quarters.

***

The door closed behind me with a soft click. The room was a mess, but not chaotic—just wrong.

The coffee tray was crooked. His favorite documents were stacked out of order. His tie rack had three ties crumpled over the edge instead of hanging properly.

I moved with ease, no hesitation. I adjusted the tray, sorted the files by importance—top to bottom, just like he preferred—and walked to the wardrobe.

My fingers brushed over the silk ties. I refolded the black one, aligned the silver pin, and carefully straightened the rack.

It was soothing, in a strange way. Familiar. Quiet.

I didn’t hear the door open.

Not until—

“Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”