THREAD OF DESIRE

Chapter 10 – Masks on the Stage

POV: Nareth Sol

The rehearsal studio smelled faintly of sweat and polished wood, the mirrored walls throwing back tired faces and restless bodies. Nareth leaned against the doorway, watching Lucian from across the room.

Something in the way he moved—hesitant, unsteady—made the pit in Nareth’s stomach deepen. This wasn’t just recovery from an accident. This was something else, something bigger.

Lucian caught his gaze in the mirror. For an instant, their eyes locked, and Nareth almost stepped forward—almost demanded the truth. But then Lucian looked away, shoulders stiff, as though the weight of his stare burned too hot.

Nareth clenched his fists. The distance between them wasn’t just physical anymore. It was a shadow neither of them knew how to chase away.

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POV: Daelen Pryce

Daelen scrolled lazily through his phone, half-bored, half-restless. Irian hadn’t replied to his last message. That silence bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Omegas weren’t supposed to ignore Alphas—especially not him.

He smirked, tossing the phone aside. Fine. If Irian wanted to play cold, he’d just turn up the heat. He wasn’t here to be ignored; he was here to win.

But the memory of Irian’s steady gaze crept back, unsettling him. That calm resistance had dug under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Revenge was supposed to feel clean, sharp, satisfying. Not… complicated.

He pushed the thought away, convincing himself that the only thing he wanted was to break the Omega. And yet, in the quiet of his room, he couldn’t shake the sense that maybe it was the other way around.

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POV: Taviel Knox

Flashbulbs exploded the moment Taviel stepped out of the van. His practiced smile slipped into place—perfect curve, perfect angle. The idol mask never cracked, not under the blinding lights, not under the endless eyes watching his every move.

Fans screamed his name from behind barricades, their voices sharp with adoration. He waved, the picture of charm, even as exhaustion pulled at his bones.

Beside him, Arwyn Elira walked with his usual grace, long hair catching the light like spun gold. To the world, they were colleagues—just friends in the same circle. But beneath the surface, their thread was different. Tighter. Secret.

As Taviel slipped into the building, cameras finally out of sight, he let his smile fall. Arwyn brushed past him, his fingers brushing against his for the briefest second. A touch hidden in plain sight, more dangerous than any scandal.

“Tonight,” he whispered as he passed. “We’ll talk.”

Taviel’s pulse quickened. He was used to living a life of masks, but Arwyn was the one person who made him want to tear them off.

And that was a risk he couldn’t afford.