The Alpha’s Second Choice

The hall fell into a heavy silence after my slap landed.

For a moment, even the wind outside the manor seemed to still.

Then Marek moved.

His shock turned quickly into fury as he rushed to Araminta’s side, helping her up as though she were made of fragile glass. I watched him hover over her, checking her face, asking if she was hurt.

As if I wasn’t even there.

Something inside me finally gave way.

Without another word, I turned and walked upstairs. His voice followed me—angry, demanding—but I didn’t stop.

“Lyanna! Come back here!”

I shut it out.

Once inside my chamber, I locked the door and slid down against it. The weight of everything pressed into my chest until I could barely breathe. I buried my face in my hands, trying to steady myself, but nothing worked.

Too tired. Too empty.

At some point, I crawled onto the bed fully clothed, still wearing yesterday’s torn emotions like a second skin, and drifted into a shallow, broken sleep.

**

Morning came without warmth.

When I stepped out, the scent of food drifted through the hall—fresh bread, roasted meat, honeyed fruits.

And there she was.

Araminta.

Sitting comfortably at the dining table like she belonged there.

Marek stood beside her, carefully placing food on her plate, his attention entirely fixed on her as if she were the one who had suffered.

As if I hadn’t lost everything.

Neither of them even reacted when they saw me. Not really.

I sat across from them in silence.

Only then did Araminta lift her gaze, her expression soft and carefully painted.

“Lyanna, you’re awake,” she said gently. “I stayed the night because Marek insisted I rest. I took the guest chamber, of course.”

Her voice was sweet.

Too sweet.

I said nothing.

Marek didn’t even look at me properly.

“You slapped Araminta yesterday,” he said flatly, as if reciting a judgment. “Apologize.”

I let out a slow breath through my nose.

So that was the first thing he cared about.

Not Lunara.

Not me.

Just her.

Araminta lowered her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “It’s fine, Marek. I don’t need an apology. Lyanna didn’t mean it—”

“Stop defending her,” he cut in sharply. “She doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

I picked up my spoon and began serving myself food.

I hadn’t eaten since everything fell apart. My hands were steady only because I no longer had anything left to shake.

That seemed to irritate him more.

In a blink, Marek was beside me. His hand closed around my arm and yanked me up from my seat.

My spoon fell to the floor with a sharp clatter.

“Marek—what are you doing?” I snapped, trying to pull away.

“I said apologize,” he growled.

The air in the hall thickened.

Even the servants froze where they stood.

“And if I don’t?” My voice came out quieter than I intended.

His eyes hardened.

“Then I’ll make you.”

Before I could move, he shoved me down.

I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. His hand pressed into my shoulder, pinning me as I struggled beneath him, but I was too drained—too broken—to fight properly.

A few maids stepped forward hesitantly.

A single roar from Marek stopped them cold.

“I told you,” he said through clenched teeth, “three times. And you still act like a spoiled child.”

Then he looked at Araminta.

“Now,” he said coldly. “Return what she gave you. Slap her.”

Silence.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him.

Even the air seemed to freeze around us.

I lifted my gaze slowly.

Marek’s face was unmoving.

Unfeeling.

And in that instant, something inside me finally shattered completely.