Hiding From Him

POV: KAELITH

Kaelen steps into his designated spot right next to Jaxen-Minor, completing the formidable lineup of the four Alphas on stage. I stay glued to my seat, my chest tightening as I stare at the imposing figures standing before the vast crowd. Just seeing them stand shoulder to shoulder sends a physical shockwave through the massive auditorium. I can physically feel the immense, suffocating aura of their competing dominance radiating across the hall. It presses down on my skin, thick and heavy. They do not exchange a single glance, yet the silent, ferocious competition between them is clear as day.

Beside me, Tessara watches them with a fiercely determined expression. She leans closer, her voice cutting through the buzzing energy of the student body. "These four will determine our stay for the next two years," she whispers. "The stakes this year are unimaginably high because all the True Alphas are attending simultaneously. This is a monumental moment."

Her words trigger a sudden flood of memories, pulling Vaelora’s blood-soaked history to the forefront of my mind. I was born after the Breaking, so I never knew a united country. I only know the dark stories of the old days. Once upon a time, Vaelora had no factions. A single bloodline ruled the entire territory with an iron fist. It was an era of absolute tyranny, where power was concentrated in the hands of one supreme dictator. The wolves eventually rose in violent protest, demanding freedom from the crushing oppression. They fought a brutal civil war to reclaim their lives.

When the public finally claimed victory, the leaders fractured our country into four sovereign factions to escape the endless cycle of abuse. Today, the True Families govern these separated territories. To maintain order and prevent another tyrant from rising, they established the Concordat-League. This governing body is composed of the True Families, top-tier officials, and a handful of noteworthy individuals. They hold together the fragile, tense harmony of our society. Above them sits the Praetor—a neutral leader elected by the citizens, bound to no faction and loyal to no bloodline, serving as the voice of the common people.

Astraea-Order is the very peak of this dangerous political web. It is an academy built exclusively for the brightest and strongest youth in Vaelora to fight for future supremacy.

"This year, the future Alphas of each faction have joined us!" Mr. Wyvern-Primordial’s enthusiastic, booming voice snaps me out of my historical thoughts. His face fills the large digital screens suspended above the stage, his eyes gleaming with undisguised thrill. "This only happens once in a blue moon! I cannot believe we have finally reached a century where this alignment is happening."

He pauses, letting the heavy anticipation settle over the crowd. "Classes will officially commence on Monday," he announces.

The student body instantly erupts into deafening cheers.

"In the meantime, I want you to familiarize yourselves with the campus," the headmaster continues, raising a hand to quiet the noise. "Oh, and how could I forget? As a welcome gift, all students who attended this general assembly will receive fifty points each!"

A synchronized wave of digital dings echoes across the room, followed by even louder, frantic screams from the crowd. Students jump from their seats, celebrating the sudden reward. I remain rooted in my place, watching the chaos unfold.

"Points?" I mutter to myself, sitting in utter confusion. What do these points actually mean in the grand scheme of this academy?

Tessara glances at me, pursing her lips. She senses my sheer ignorance. "It seems you really don't know much about the internal workings of Astraea-Order, huh?" She holds out her hand, a warm smile replacing her intense focus. "Want to grab some food? I can explain everything over a meal."

"Sure," I reply, running my trembling fingers through my hair. My stomach rumbles on cue. I definitely need food to process the morning's shocking revelations.

We push our way through the exiting crowds and begin walking down the ornate corridors. I scan the halls, my eyes catching a set of towering glass doors that lead into a beautiful, sunlit dining area. I try to steer us toward the grand entrance, my mouth watering at the faint smell of rich food.

Tessara quickly grabs my arm and pulls me back. Her eyes widen in alarm. "What are you doing?"

"Going to eat?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Not there, silly," she warns, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "That is the Grand-Refectory. It is strictly reserved for the Astraea-Orders."

"But aren't we Astraea-Orders?"

"Not officially," she explains, shaking her head. "The Grand-Refectory is reserved for the wolves with the highest points. For freshmen like us, that means the outrageously wealthy students. If we walk in there, they will throw us out."

"The segregation is insane," I say, a bitter taste forming in my mouth.

"Tell me about it," Tessara mutters. "But for now, we follow the rules. Come on. The Plebeian-Hall is this way."

We navigate away from the elite wing and enter a loud, crowded cafeteria. The noise hits me like a physical blow. Hundreds of students pack the tables, laughing and shouting over one another. I grab a plastic tray and jump into the serving line. I load my plate with a hearty pile of thick steak and roasted potatoes. At the beverage station, I grab a carton of strawberry milk. A small smile touches my lips. It is my absolute favorite treat. I indulge in it despite my mother's past relentless complaints. She used to nag me constantly, insisting it was juvenile and would only make me gain weight, but today I need the comfort.

We navigate the chaotic room and find an empty table in the far corner. I set my heavy tray down, eager to dig into the roasted meat. But right before I can take my first bite, a sharp pressure hits my lower abdomen. Nature urgently calls.

"As much as I want to learn more about this twisted system, I need to pee," I tell Tessara, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

Tessara chuckles, her eyes bright with amusement. "The restroom is to the right. You don't mind if I eat, right? I am starving."

"No, go ahead. I will be back in a second."

I leave Tessara to guard our table and set off to navigate the labyrinthine corridors. I follow a faded sign pointing to the women's restroom near the Plebeian-Hall, but I stop dead in my tracks. The entrance is boarded up, covered in thick yellow construction tape. I click my tongue in frustration, tapping my foot against the floor. My bladder aches with mounting pressure.

I look down the hallway. A sleek, polished sign points toward the upscale Aurelia Hall just a few meters away. Tessara only warned me about entering the wealthy cafeteria. She said nothing about the restrooms next to it.

I take a risk and walk toward the restricted zone. The shift in architecture is immediate. The Aurelia Hall restroom is a masterpiece of smooth marble and gold fixtures. I use the ultra-modern facilities, finishing quickly. I wash my hands under the warm water, feeling a brief moment of peace.

I push the heavy door open and step out into the corridor.

The exact moment my boots hit the polished floor, my heart completely stops.

Just down the hall, leaning lazily against the carved stone wall, is Jaxen-Minor.

He is not alone. He is passionately, aggressively kissing a woman. It is very clearly not Sienris. His mouth clashes against hers with raw hunger. His tongue shoves deep into her mouth, exploring it with a filthy, claiming rhythm. He grips her hips with brutal force, his large hands leaving stark red imprints on her bare skin where her uniform shirt has ridden up.

A familiar, pathetic ache flares deep within my chest. It is the lingering, stubborn remnant of having loved him devotedly for two long years. I stare at his hands on another woman's skin, and the phantom sting of his betrayal burns my throat.

But that pathetic ache is instantaneously overridden by sheer, unadulterated panic.

My mind screams at me to move. I absolutely cannot let him see me here. If he spots me lingering in the elite wing, he will mock me endlessly. He will drag me back into the nightmare I just escaped. I am not ready to face him.

Desperate to remain hidden, I spin around and bolt toward the closest door across the hall. It happens to be a heavy wooden door marking the men's bathroom. I do not care. I hurl myself inside, push the heavy door shut, and lock it behind me.

I press my spine against the solid wood, squeezing my eyes shut. I let out a heavy, shaking sigh of relief. The thick door blocks out the hallway. I am safe.

But my fragile peace is instantly shattered into a million pieces.

"Are you the next person on the waitlist?" a deep, velvet voice asks.

The sound comes from the dim shadows behind me. I gasp, my blood running cold. I spin around, my eyes widening in sheer horror at the sight before me.

Alpha Elian stands near the marble sinks. His pristine uniform shirt is slightly unbuttoned, exposing the hard, sculpted lines of his chest. Clinging tightly to his side is a half-dressed woman. Her top hangs loose, and she is hungrily licking a wet path up his neck. Her mouth moves over his skin with frantic desperation, treating him like a feast.

Elian’s face is a mask of stone. He does not look flustered or caught off guard. He looks entirely bored. He raises a hand and gently but firmly pushes the woman's head away from his throat.

"Don't leave marks," he warns her coldly. "I already told you that."

The woman pouts, her hands hovering near his waist, but Elian ignores her completely. He shifts his head, training his calculating, intense gaze entirely back on me. His dark eyes scan my frozen posture, stripping away my panic and replacing it with a new, suffocating tension.

He raises a single, sharp eyebrow.

"Answer my question," he commands softly. His voice echoes in the quiet bathroom, authoritative and smooth. "Did you come here for a session? You couldn't wait a couple of minutes before we finished?"

My jaw drops. I stand frozen like a deer in headlights. I am locked in the men's bathroom with one of the most dangerous Alphas in the academy, and he assumes I am waiting in line to sleep with him.

"N-no?" I stammer, the word tumbling out before I can stop it.

"You're unsure?" he challenges, his gaze sharpening.

I quickly clear my throat. I dig my nails into my palms, desperately trying to straighten my posture. I force myself to meet his piercing eyes without trembling. I refuse to look weak in front of an Alpha of his standing.

"No, Alpha Elian," I declare, my voice sounding surprisingly firm in the tense silence. "I did not come for a session—whatever that is."