The Alpha's Second Chance

Chapter 6- The First Meeting

Lyra POV

Two weeks later

It has been two weeks since I last saw Silas. Since then, I’ve kept my head down, and thankfully, nothing has happened. There are rumours about him and that anyone who breaks into his estate goes missing; however, thankfully, I am still here.

Recently, however, there have been whispers at the café that Mr. Vane has actually left his estate—though no one seems to know why. This surprised everyone; it’s well known within the town that Mr. Vane and his right-hand men never leave their grounds. Instead, they always summon people to them.

When we first heard the rumour, Gabby had looked up with concern, and since then, whenever I enter the café, she sighs in relief at seeing me alive again another day.

The bell above the café door chimed, a sound that usually signalled a welcome distraction, but today it only made my skin prickle. Since waking up this morning, the feelings from the nightmares two weeks ago have reappeared and are stronger this time. For the past two weeks, I have been having the same nightmares nightly, but the emotions following them have slowly been ebbing away. But this morning they had come back with a vengeance, and this had put me on edge.

I wiped the same spot on the laminate counter for the fourth time, my ears straining to catch the conversation from the booth in the corner.

"He was seen near the old Mill Road," Mrs. Gable whispered, her voice tight with a mix of fear and excitement. "In that black sedan. You know the one."

"Nonsense," her companion scoffed, though he leaned in closer. "Mr. Vane doesn't breathe the same air as the rest of us. If Silas or his men actually left their estate as the rumours say, it’s only because they’re looking for something they lost."

The rag in my hand froze. Something they lost.

The memory of Silas’s eyes—dark, calculating, and far too focused on me—flashed through my mind. For weeks, the silence from the estate had been my only sanctuary. I had convinced myself that I was just another face in the crowd, a momentary curiosity he’d already forgotten. But the rules of this town were written in stone: the Vanes stayed behind their gates, and the world came to them on bended knee. If the gates were open, then it meant that the balance had shifted.

I look down at my hands and realize they were shaking. I quickly tuck them into the pockets of my apron, glancing toward the front window. The street outside looked normal, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, but the shadows stretching across the pavement felt heavier than usual.

"Lyra? Order's up," the cook calls out, snapping me back to reality.

I take a deep breath, forcing a mask of indifference onto my face. I couldn't afford to be curious. In a town like this, curiosity was a luxury that people like me couldn't afford—especially when it involved men like Silas Vane.

The remainder of my shift passed in a blur of steam and the scent of roasted beans. Every time the door opened, my heart performed a jagged little rhythm against my ribs, only to settle into a dull thud when it turned out to be a regular or a tourist. I tried to rationalize it. Why would a man who owned half the county care about a girl who served coffee? I was a footnote in his life, a brief distraction in a world of high-stakes power. After all, I am simply a barista; there is nothing special about me—other than sneaking into his estate. Surely he would not come after me for that, right?

Yet, the rumours of him leaving the estate felt like a cold draft under a locked door. Silas wasn’t a man of whim; he was a man of calculated intent. If he was out, he was hunting.

Just get home, I told myself, stripping off my apron. Lock the door, turn on the TV, and disappear.

The café was closing in five minutes. The air had turned sharp with the evening chill, and I knew the walk home would be lonely. I poured myself a final cup of coffee—black, scalding, and bitter—to keep my hands warm for the trek. I needed the heat to ground me, to stop the trembling that had started the moment I heard his name whispered in the booth.

I pushed through the swinging kitchen door, my bag slung over my shoulder, and the steaming cup gripped firmly in my hand. I wasn't looking at the entrance; I was looking down at my keys, fumbling to find the one for the deadbolt I planned to slide home the second I walked through my front door.

I reached for the heavy glass handle of the front door just as someone pushed from the other side.

The collision was sudden and absolute. It was like hitting a wall of solid muscle and expensive wool. The lid of my cup popped off under the impact, and a wave of dark, burning liquid splashed upward, soaking into my thin sweater and scalding my skin.

"Damn it," I gasp, stumbling back and clutching my chest as the heat blooms across my skin.

"Careful," a voice rumbles.

It wasn't a voice of apology. It was a voice of command—deep, smooth, and terrifyingly familiar. I look up, my breath hitching in my throat. Silas Vane stood in the doorway, the golden streetlights silhouetting his broad shoulders. He didn't look bothered by the coffee staining his own coat; his dark eyes were fixed entirely on me, shimmering with a look that suggested he hadn't just stumbled into me by accident.

The heat of the coffee was a sharp, stinging reality, but it paled in comparison to the sudden chill that swept over me as Silas stepped fully into the café. He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my upper arm to steady me. His grip wasn't tight, but it was possessive, a silent reminder that I couldn't simply bolt into the night like every fibre of my being is telling me to do.

"You're shaking, Lyra," he notes quietly. It wasn't a question. He watched a bead of coffee drip from the hem of my sweater, his expression unreadable, yet his presence filled the small, empty café until the walls felt like they were closing in. How did he know my name?

I tried to pull back, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I—I'm sorry, Mr. Vane. I wasn't looking where I was going. Your coat... I can pay for the cleaning."

The absurdity of the offer hung in the air. He could buy the entire store and everyone within it without checking his bank balance.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "The coat is of no consequence. But you..." He stepped closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The scent of rain and something expensive clung to him. "You’ve been remarkably hard to find lately. I began to think you were avoiding me."

"I’ve just been working," I managed to say, my voice sounding thin and foreign to my own ears. "I'm just a barista. My life isn't very exciting."

"Is that what you told yourself after you left my estate?" He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet. "That you were just a girl who went where she didn't belong and could simply walk away?"

He reached out with his free hand, his thumb brushing a stray drop of coffee from my collarbone. The contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the temperature of the drink.

"I don't like losing things, Lyra," he whispered. "And I certainly don't like it when things I've found decide to hide."