Up in the attic, Mirabelle sat on the creaky wooden floor, her stomach twisting in hunger.
She didn't like it here—dust coating every surface, the faint scent of mildew in the air. It felt suffocating, like everything else in this house.
Her stomach growled, breaking the silence, and she groaned softly. "I can't do this," she muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
After a few moments of restless fidgeting and overthinking, she tied her hair up into a messy bun, her resolve hardening.
She wasn't going to sit here all night, starving.
She would sneak out and get something to eat at Anita's house. Her friend always had something warm on the stove.
She stood up, opened the attic door cautiously, the hinges groaning faintly in protest. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound, and she froze, holding her breath.
She'd heard stories of how sharp werewolves' senses were—keen ears that could catch the faintest noise, noses that could pick up the smallest scent.
The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention.
"This is Sally's big chance," she whispered to herself, tiptoeing down the narrow stairs. "After losing the first prince last year, my aunt would lose her mind if I ruined this."
The house was eerily quiet as she crept through the hallway.
The muffled sound of voices drifted from the living room, her aunt's and Sally's nervous chatter blending with the deeper, quieter tones of her uncles voice, the alpha prince was silent, she thought becauseshe didn't hear his voice at all.
Mirabelle's pulse quickened, but she kept moving, sticking to the shadows.
She paused at the kitchen doorway, peeking inside. Her aunt had cleaned it thoroughly earlier, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed, but now it sat empty.
The back door was her only option. If she tried to grab something from the kitchen, they'd hear her for sure.
Slowly, she made her way to the back door, her fingers trembling slightly as she grasped the handle. She turned it carefully, wincing at the faint click as it unlocked.
The cool night air greeted her as she stepped outside, and she let out a shaky breath of relief.
She glanced around, the backyard bathed in silvery moonlight, and felt the tiniest flicker of triumph.
"Just make it to Anita's," she whispered to herself. "It'll be fine."
But deep down, Mirabelle wasn't so sure. She didn't believe she was a lucky girl.
Things rarely worked out for her, and tonight, of all nights, the stakes felt impossibly high.
Still, she stepped off the porch, moving quickly but quietly toward the side gate. If she was careful, maybe—just maybe—she'd make it out unnoticed.
But Mirabelle, as she had always believed, wasn't very lucky.
"Where are you going?"
The voice, deep and laced with curiosity, stopped her in her tracks. Her breath hitched, and she froze.
Slowly, she turned, a coy smile plastered on her face as if it could shield her from whatever consequences were about to unfold.
Why is someone out here?!
Aren't they all supposed to be inside? she thought, panic flaring in her chest.
Her gaze finally landed on the figure leaning casually against the garden fence, a faint curl of smoke rising from his hand.
He was tall, impossibly so, with broad shoulders that filled out his dark shirt effortlessly.
The moonlight gleamed against his sleek black hair, catching the sharp cut of his jawline and the faint shadow of stubble on his chin.
Her eyes flicked to his, and her stomach flipped. Crimson-red.
Her mind screamed in recognition—another alpha prince.
He exuded power in a way that felt effortless, as if the air itself bent to his will.
His arms, bare where he had rolled up his sleeves, were toned and corded with muscle, veins visible under his pale skin.
He was built like a predator, and every inch of him radiated danger.
Shit.
Mirabelle swallowed hard, taking a cautious step back, her pulse thundering in her ears.
This is bad. Really bad.
She didn't want to disrupt Sally's chance, and she definitely didn't want to draw this man's attention.
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" His voice was smooth but edged with something sharp, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips made her feel even smaller under his gaze.
He tilted his head slightly, red eyes narrowing as he studied her.
Then, as if she wasn't already unnerved enough, he took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light. The smoke curled lazily into the air, but his gaze never left hers.
Mirabelle couldn't find her voice. Her feet itched to move, to run, but something in the way he looked at her pinned her in place.
"I—I was just…" she started, but her words trailed off.
The prince raised an eyebrow, waiting, his gaze sharp enough to cut.
She tried again, forcing herself to sound casual. "I was just heading out to—uh—visit a friend. Won't take long."
His lips quirked into an almost-amused smile, though his eyes stayed cold and calculating. "A friend, huh? Strange timing for a little trip, don't you think?"
Mirabelle took another small step back, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. "It's… important," she mumbled.
The alpha prince exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze never wavering. "Important enough to sneak around during my visit?"
His visit? Her stomach sank. She was trapped. What was she supposed to do now?
The prince, however, didn't seem in any rush to move. He leaned back against the wall, casual but commanding, his every movement deliberate. "Well, don't stop on my account," he said smoothly, though the way his eyes followed her suggested he was far from indifferent.
Mirabelle clenched her fists, trying to summon courage she wasn't sure she had.
She had two choices: stay and risk being questioned further—or run and hope for the best.
The alpha prince tapped his cigarette, the ash fluttering to the ground as he pinned her with that intense gaze.
"What's it going to be, sneaky bunny?" he asked, his tone almost playful.
Mirabelle swallowed hard. She had a feeling luck wouldn't save her tonight.