Chapter 2
1144 Words
The afternoon after the board meeting stretched into a silence so thick that I can hear myself breathing.
Caleb dropped me at the manor gates without a word, then vanished into his private study. The heavy oak doors sealed behind him, his Alpha aura pulsing like a warning sign: and a Keep Out sign written boldly on the door.
I wandered the halls of Blackwood Estate feeling more like a ghost in someone else’s museum than a woman in her own home.
My feet carried me to the West Wing a part of the house I usually avoided.
Portraits of long dead Blackwoods stared down at me: men with Caleb’s fierce brow, women with eyes like chipped flint.
At the end of the corridor stood a tall gilded mirror that caught the dying light.
I stopped in front of it.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up. I unbuttoned the white Chanel jacket, the stiff fabric finally releasing its grip on my ribs. Underneath, my skin felt raw, itchy, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. I pulled the pins from my hair one by one. Silver-blonde waves tumbled loose and messy over my shoulders.
The woman in the mirror looked expensive. Polished.
Exactly the kind of arm-candy an Alpha billionaire would display.
“You shouldn’t be up here, Ella.”
I jumped, clutching the jacket to my chest like armor.
Mrs. Halloway stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded, face carved from decades of secrets. Forty years with the Blackwoods, and she still looked at me like I was a temporary stain on the family tapestry..
Oh s**t Mrs halloway.. You scared me.
“I was just… walking,” I said, trying to sound casual.
Her gaze slid to my loose hair. Something flickered across her face pain, maybe pity before she locked it down behind professional ice.
“The Master prefers your hair styled, dear. He says it keeps the distractions away.”
“Distractions from what, Mrs. Halloway?” I stepped closer, heart thudding. “Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing a costume. Did he… did he have someone else before me? Someone who wore white suits and pearls?
She went rigid. For one heartbeat I thought she might crack open. Then she glanced over her shoulder toward Caleb’s study, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Mr. Blackwood saved you from that wreck. Gave you a name when you had none. That should be enough for any girl.” She paused. “Don’t go digging in the garden, Ella. You’ll only find bones.”
She turned and hurried away before I could breathe another question.
Bones.
The word lodged in my throat like a splinter.
I retreated to our bedroom his bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress, knees drawn up. I reached for my phone out of habit. The screen lit up with headlines:
Alpha Caleb Blackwood to Make Major Announcement at Annual Solstice Gala
The comment sections were already a bloodbath.
Is he finally marking her?
She doesn’t even have a wolf. What’s the point?
She’s got no scent. Placeholder vibes.
He’s still mourning the True Luna. Look how he dresses that girl like a living memorial.
My stomach twisted.
Fuckin media I mummured as I flung the phone onto the duvet.
I stood up, restless, and crossed to the tall antique armoire in the corner the only piece Caleb had insisted on bringing from his childhood home. He always kept it locked.
Today, though, the door sat slightly ajar. A thin sliver of shadow beckoned. Celeb must have just left the room.
My hand shook as I pulled it open.
No suits. No shoes.
A shelf of perfume bottles dozens of them. I lifted one: the rose scent I wore every day. Another: lavender. Another: jasmine. All half-empty.
I reached deeper into the dark and my fingers closed around a small velvet jewelry box.
Inside lay a single photograph.
A woman stood on a cliffside, wind tearing at her silver-blonde hair.
She wore a pale blue dress the exact shade Caleb had chosen for me to wear to the pack ceremony. She was laughing, head thrown back, and the man holding her from behind was a younger, softer Caleb. Happier Caleb.
But it wasn’t the hair. It wasn’t the dress.
It was her face.
Every line of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes, the curve of her smile it was mine. Or rather, I was hers. Though her shade is a little darker than mine but......
My blood turned to ice.
“What are you doing?”
The voice cracked like thunder.
I spun. The photograph slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor.
Caleb filled the doorway.
Suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms and dark ink. His eyes weren’t amber anymore they were molten gold, predatory, furious.
“I... the door was open,” I whispered.
My voice cracked. “Caleb, who is she? Why do I look exactly like her?”
He crossed the room in three long strides. He didn’t glance at the photo.
He gripped my chin hard enough to sting and forced my eyes to his. The biological pull I usually craved twisted into something sharp and frightening.
“That,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “is none of your f*****g concern.
"Is she dead? Did you kill her and replace her with me?"
You are Ella. You are my Ella. And you will never touch my private belongings again.
Do you understand?”
“But Caleb.... ”
“Do. You. Understand?
The Alpha command slammed into me like a physical blow. My lungs emptied. The tiny, dormant spark of my wolf inside me whimpered and curled tight.
“Yes,” I choked out. “I understand.”
He released my chin. His face smoothed instantly back into the cold, controlled mask of the billionaire CEO.
He bent, picked up the photograph without looking at it, tucked it into the armoire, and locked the door with a final, metallic click.
“Good.” His tone was terrifyingly calm now. “Go get ready for dinner. Guests from the Northern Pack arrive tonight. Be the woman I taught you to be.”
He walked out without another word.
I sank to the floor, knees hitting the rug.
He hadn’t denied it.
He hadn’t explained it.
He’d just ordered me back into the costume.
I stared at my shaking hands.
For three years I had thanked the Moon for Caleb Blackwood. Thanked him for pulling me from the dark.
But sitting there in the silence of his bedroom, the truth settled like lead in my chest:
The man who saved me didn’t love me.
He loved a ghost.
And I was only the play doll he dressed up to keep her memory breathing.
- Writer
