Alpha's Brother, My Second Chance.

Chapter 4

LUCA

They say I've never been the serious one. The responsible one. The one anyone should rely on. I grew up hearing it in subtle ways and blunt ones, in the looks my father gave me, in the sighs he released everytime Adrian walked into a room and I followed behind him like the reckless shadow of the son he actually wanted. I pretended it never bothered me. I wore rebellion like a shield, joked more loudly than necessary, lived boldly and without apology, and made sure no one saw how deeply the comparisons carved themselves into me.

Maybe that is why Aria's opinion mattered more than it should have. She was always composed, kind, and had the steady presence people gravitated toward. She carried her upbringing with her, polite, disciplined, everything a Beta Priest’s daughter was expected to be. And when her gaze landed on me back then, there was always this faint thread of disapproval on it, something she didn't intend to show but couldn't fully hide. It irritated me far more than it should have. And it stung, even when I pretended it didn't.

Especially the night she slapped me.

I hadn't planned to be at that party. I had stormed out after the worst fight I had ever had with my father, and I needed noise loud enough to drown the anger buzzing beneath my skin. I needed a distraction, and the party offered one, handing me drinks I barely tasted and attention I didn't particularly want. When Veronica pulled me aside with a smile so sweet to refuse, I followed without thinking. Everything after that spiraled too quickly to stop.

And then Aria walked in.

The look of shock, disappointment, and a sharp edge of disgust on her face that night imprinted itself into me. Before I could even process what she had seen, before I could push Veronica away or string together an explanation, Aria slapped me so hard my cheek burned. She called me a disgusting jerk and stormed out, and I stood there in a haze of alcohol and humiliation, unable to chase her and unwilling to face the fallout.

It was easier to leave the pack the next morning than to endure the whispers or confront my father's rage or watch that look in her eyes follow me everywhere.

Adrian was the only one I contacted afterward. He had always been the shield between me and our father, carrying responsibilities I refused to claim. I knew he wouldn’t report back to them about what happened at the party. And I knew he would never judge me out loud, even if he silently wished I would grow up.

When he told me he was engaged to Aria two years later, I wasn't surprised. She had admired him since we were teenagers. He was everything she valued, gentle, steady, respected, and predictable in all the ways I never was. I congratulated him, acted normal, and kept my distance. I built a life in the human world, trained until my body felt carved from water and exhaustion, and focused on becoming someone no one could doubt.

Then the call came.

Adrian was gone.

The news shattered me. I left immediately, drove through the night, and arrived at the territory before dawn. I didn't even knock before stepping into my parents' home. My mother collapsed into my arms. My father barely looked at me. And I stood there, torn between grief and the old resentment that never truly disappeared.

But nothing prepared me for seeing Aria at the funeral.

She looked pale, exhausted, and heartbreakingly composed, as if she had forced every emotion down so far inside that no one could find the cracks. And when her eyes met mine, I expected the same cold anger from years ago, the same distaste, the same judgment she had every right to hold onto.

But what I felt instead was a pull so sharp and immediate I almost staggered.

The mate bond.

The second chance.

With her, of all people.

The shock must have flashed through my expression because she spun away instantly, her posture rigid, her steps quick and uneven as she disappeared behind the courtyard hedge. I felt the bond stretching between us, humming insistently beneath my ribs, demanding something I didn't have the right to give.

Not when she buried my brother. Not when she had already carried so much loss. And not when she believed the worst about me.

But fate doesn't ask permission.

During dinner that night, the tension between my father and me thickened the air. He didn't need to say anything. His silence was its own condemnation. My mother clung to my arm, and I stayed there for her sake alone. Aria sat quietly near the end of the table, her eyes lowered, and her voice barely more than a whisper each time she responded to my mother. Every time she shifted, the bond tightened with an almost physical force.

I pretended not to feel it. I kept my voice calm and kept my distance because she was grieving, and I would not, and could not add another weight to her shoulders.

But afterward, when I found her in Adrian's room, standing there caught between memory and reality, I had to acknowledge the truth out loud. Her rejection came swiftly, quietly, and painfully numb.

"It means nothing. I reject it."

For a moment, my chest tightened not from surprise but from the finality of it. I didn't blame her. I didn't expect anything else. She deserved space, time, healing, and a life free from complications.

So I gave her the only answer I could. "I hear you."

I left before the bond could make me say something I shouldn't.

When Maeve drove me to the border the next morning, she spoke more than usual. She told me Aria was leaving the pack. She told me Aria needed time. She told me not to interfere.

But the moment Meave mentioned the word 'city,' something inside me shifted.

Aria wasn’t running from the pack. She was running toward a dream she had buried for years.

And for the first time since the funeral, since the bond, since her rejection, the fog in my mind cleared.

I flew back to the human world the next day. Threw myself into training and let the familiarity of water hold me together when everything else felt fractured. But even underwater, even in silence, Aria's rejection echoed in my head.

She thought I was trouble. She thought I didn't care and was incapable of anything good. Maybe that used to be true, but it wasn't anymore.

When Maeve texted me a week later saying Aria had left for good, the same day I left, I decided that I was going to protect her. I wasn't going to be possessive or desperate. I just wanted to ensure that she wasn't alone in an unfamiliar world where wolves blended poorly into human chaos.

I picked up my phone before I could talk myself out of it.

"Hey," I said when my agent answered. "I need a favor."

He groaned. "Luca, whenever you start with that tone, it means I'm about to spend your money."

"That's why you're paid," I replied, leaning back on the gym bench. "Find a real estate agent you trust. Tell them you're looking to rent the apartment above mine at a ridiculously low price, and let me know if someone tries to rent it."

"Anyone specific," he asked suspiciously. "Because this sounds like one of your impulsive ideas."

"No one specific," I lied. "Just set it up."

He sighed but finally agreed, as he always did.

After the call ended, I sat there for a long minute, elbows on my knees, listening to the steady rhythm of my pulse. I wasn't going to interfere in her life. I wasn't going to crowd her. I wasn't even going to speak to her unless it was unavoidable.

But I wanted her safe and near. And I wanted, just once, to see her without grief wrapping around her like a shroud.

A few days later, my agent texted me.

She contacted the realor. She's taking the apartment.

Even though I told myself this was strictly about her safety, a pulse of something I couldn't name tightened across my chest. I sat there, staring at the message longer than necessary until the reality settled. She was here, in Aveline, living thirty feet above me.

"Good," I murmured under my breath, closing my phone before the feeling could grow teeth. "That's... good."

I told myself I wouldn't disturb her and would give her the space she needed.

I even believed that for about five seconds.

When my manager called to remind me of a scheduled interview, I cut him off before he finished the sentence. "Cancel everything for the morning," I said, keeping my voice even. I need the time."

"For what?" He demanded.

I didn't answer. There was no reason to. He would assume it was training or sponsor prep, and I wasn't interested in correcting him.

Because today was the day Aria would move in. Today was the day fate would place her right in front of me.

I left my apartment before noon, slipping down the staircase that led toward the street-facing the gate. I walked slowly, hands in my pockets, expression deliberately relaxed. I rehearsed nothing. I planned nothing. I only positioned myself exactly where coincidence would look natural.

And then I saw the moving truck outside the gate.

I saw her.

Aria stood beside the open back door of the truck, her hair pulled back in a loose tie, and her face lightly flushed from carrying boxes. She was wearing a soft brown sweater and jeans, nothing elaborate, nothing styled, yet she looked more striking than she ever had in my memory. She was focused on her belongings, unaware of me, unaware of the fact that the bond was already stirring beneath my ribs with the unmistakable hum I had been trying to ignore for days.

I took one calm breath, stepped forward, and timed my pace with hers as she turned toward the gate with a box in her arms.

Two step

One.

And then lightly, just enough for contact but not enough to hurt, I brushed into her shoulder. She startled, the box tilting slightly in her hands. I caught it automatically before it slipped, steadying it between us.

“I’m sorry, miss,” I said, keeping my tone smooth, polite, and unfamiliar, as if she were a stranger on the street.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widened, and her breath caught with a sound so soft it barely existed.

Pure, stunned shock flashed across her face, and the mate bond surged through me so sharply I had to lock every muscle in my body to keep my expression from changing.

I widened my eyes just slightly, enough to look surprised, confused, and unprepared.

“Aria?” I breathed, perfectly timed, perfectly controlled, as if I had never expected to see her here at all.

Her lips parted, soundless. She looked at me as if the ground had disappeared beneath her feet. And for the first time since the funeral, the world felt completely still.