The Alpha’s Captive

Chapter 4

“Miss Maeve.”

The words drifted across the room as softly as dust, but they struck me like a blow.

I froze, my hands still smeared white from clawing at the plaster near the window frame. The butler stood in the doorway with his hands folded neatly before him, the lamplight glinting against the buttons of his jacket. His face was as impassive as it had been since the first time I’d seen him, carved in lines of composure, but my ears roared with the echo of what he’d just said.

Maeve.

My name.

My stomach plummeted.

I hadn’t told them. I knew I hadn’t. I hadn’t introduced myself when I woke in that dim room, hadn’t said anything but questions and denials. My bag was missing, my wallet gone with it. And yet, both he and the so-called Master had spoken my name as though it was already theirs.

The air in the room thickened, pressing against my ribs.

“H-how do you know my name?” My voice cracked with more desperation than I intended.

The butler tilted his head slightly, as though considering whether the answer mattered. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable. “It is my duty to know, Miss.”

“That’s not, ” My throat closed up. I tried again, louder this time, the pitch of my fear making my own ears ring. “That’s not possible. You shouldn’t know it. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell him either.”

A pause. Just a breath too long.

Something flickered in his gaze, not quite sympathy, not quite dismissal. A recognition, maybe, but cold, clinical.

I stumbled back a step, my pulse hammering, the wall hard against my spine. “This doesn’t make sense, ” I whispered.

The butler neither confirmed nor denied. Instead, he gave a shallow bow and gestured toward the open door. “Your room is ready, Miss Maeve. Please, follow me.”

The sound of my name again in his mouth made my skin crawl.

For a moment, I didn’t move. My legs screamed to run, to fight, to throw myself out of the nearest window even if it meant broken bones. But the quietness of his stance, composed, patient, unyielding, was somehow worse than violence. It told me resistance was expected. Anticipated.

And then a thought pushed through the panic, sharp and urgent: If they already know your name, what else do they know?

My knees nearly buckled, but I forced myself to step forward, passing him into the hall. The air outside was cooler, faintly metallic, and the house smelled of wax and old wood.

The corridor stretched long and empty, doors lining either side like sealed mouths. Shadows gathered in the corners, too thick, as though the lamps struggled to keep them at bay.

“Where is everyone?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

The butler walked a measured pace ahead of me. “Everyone?”

“Servants. Family. Whoever else lives here. This place can’t just… be empty.”

Silence, except for the soft tap of his shoes on the floorboards. Finally, he said, “You will find that some halls are better walked alone.”

The words sent a shiver rippling over me.

We turned left, then right, through a labyrinth of narrow passages. Each door we passed was closed, the brass handles polished but untouched. The further we went, the heavier the air seemed to grow, as though each step pulled me deeper into the house’s throat.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab his arm, demand answers until he broke, but something about the quiet conviction of his movements told me it would be useless. He was a wall, and walls did not crack.

Instead, my mind spiraled inward. How had they known my name? Had someone from town told them? Had they searched my bag while I was unconscious? But even then, the way the Master had spoken it. Like he’d always known.

My parents’ faces flickered in my memory, laughing in the kitchen before the accident, the warmth of their hugs, the ache of their absence after I left for the city. It had been six years since then, six years of trying to bury grief under lectures and assignments, pretending I wasn’t alone. And now here I was, back in the town I thought I knew, trapped in a house that whispered my name like a secret I never shared.

I clenched my fists. No. I wasn’t going to let them keep me here.

At the end of the hallway, the butler stopped before a large door and opened it with deliberate care. The hinges groaned softly, revealing a bedroom lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. The bed was wide, the sheets crisp, but the emptiness of the space made it feel less like comfort and more like a cell dressed in silk.

“This will be yours, ” he said simply.

My throat tightened. “And if I don’t want it?”

His gaze lingered on me for a moment before dropping in another small bow. “It is already yours, Miss Maeve.”

Something in me snapped.

“No!” The word echoed harshly against the walls. “Stop saying my name like that! Like you know me. You don’t! I don’t belong here!”

The butler didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. He only straightened his spine, expression untouched, as though my defiance was less than a draft in the hall.

“Dinner will be served later, ” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Rest, if you can. The Master will see you soon.”

With that, he stepped back into the corridor and shut the door softly behind him.

I stood frozen, staring at the closed door, my chest heaving.

They knew my name.

The words pulsed in my skull, over and over, until the quiet became unbearable.

I couldn’t stay.

I crossed the room in a rush, testing the window. Locked. The panes rattled but held firm, the glass thick enough to withstand more than my fists. My nails scraped the frame until they ached.

The lamp’s glow made the shadows on the walls seem alive, and I could swear the silence listened.

I backed away, my breath short. No. I wouldn’t sit here and wait for that man to come back. I needed to find a way out, now.

I eased the door open and peered into the hallway. Empty. The butler was nowhere in sight.

My heart raced.

Step by step, I crept out, the wooden boards groaning under my weight no matter how carefully I moved. Each shadow seemed to lean closer, each gust of cool air a warning.

I passed one, two, three doors, each handle I tried rattling uselessly under my grip. Locked. All of them.

The house was a maze, swallowing me deeper the further I went. I turned corners blindly, counting my breaths, trying to memorize the way back but failing as the corridors blurred together.

A staircase loomed ahead, curling downward into darker depths.

My pulse thundered. The front door has to be down there.

I nearly stumbled in my rush, my palms slick, my throat dry. Every creak of the stairs sounded like a scream announcing my presence.

At the bottom, I found another hallway, this one wider, the ceiling arched high. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, painting the floor in silver. My chest ached at the sight. An exit couldn’t be far now.

I darted toward the far end, where a double door stood faintly ajar, a whisper of night air slipping through.

Freedom.

My legs burned, but I pushed harder, faster, the promise of escape clawing me forward. My hand stretched toward the gap, fingers brushing cool metal,

And then,

The air shifted. Heavy. Charged.

I skidded to a halt.

From the shadows beyond the doors, a figure stepped into the moonlight.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His presence swallowed the corridor whole.

The Master.

His eyes caught the silver light, glinting with something that froze me where I stood. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

He looked like he had been waiting.