Chapter 32: Where Is She?

Chapter 32 : Where Is She?

Ronan’s POV

The gates opened slowly.

Home.

I should feel relief.

Instead, my chest feels tight, restless, like something is pressing down on it. Uneasy.

The meeting with the other Alphas ended hours ago, yet my mind was never truly there. Every word they spoke felt like noise. Every decision hollow. Every laugh in that room distant, meaningless.

All I could think about… was her.

Maltida.

Her quiet eyes. Her soft voice. The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. The small, careful gestures only I seem to notice.

I want to see her. I want to hold her. I want to tell her how much I missed her.

Two days. Two long, empty, torturous days without her.

And now, I am home.

I scan the entrance.

And I see her.

Not her.

Calyra.

She stands at the gate, radiant, controlled, perfect. Every step measured. Every motion calculated. Her smile wide, her hair flawless, her presence demanding attention.

“My Alpha,” she says warmly. “Welcome home.”

I do not smile.

My eyes dart past her shoulder. Searching. Scanning. Hoping.

She is not there.

Calyra reaches toward me, brushing her hand lightly against my arm. “You must be tired,” she says, voice soft, almost seductive.

I step back. Tense.

“Where is she?” I ask quietly, my voice tight, trembling slightly despite my effort to stay calm.

Calyra tilts her head, mock innocence shining in her eyes. “Who?”

I ignore her, letting my heart race in my chest. Fear, panic, anger—all mixing into a heavy, suffocating weight.

“She always waits,” I mutter, more to myself than her.

Calyra laughs softly. A musical, cruel sound. “You just arrived. At least greet me properly.”

She leans closer, trying to kiss me.

I turn sharply. Her lips brush my cheek instead.

I step completely away.

“I need to rest,” I say flatly.

Not true. I do not need rest. I need her. I need Maltida.

I move past Calyra, ignoring the weight of her stare, ignoring the tension in her body. Each step faster, tighter, heavier.

Why isn’t she here?

Even if she hides, even if she is shy… she would always make herself seen. Always somewhere near.

I reach her room.

No knock. No hesitation. I open the door.

Silence.

Too clean. Too empty. Too still.

The bed is made. The window closed. Not a sound. Not a shadow. Not even her scent lingering in the air.

“Maltida?” I whisper.

Nothing.

I step fully inside. Maybe she stepped out. Maybe she is in the garden. Maybe she is hiding, shy because I returned.

I allow myself a flicker of hope. Maybe she’s just being careful.

I walk around the room slowly, touching the bed, the table, the small corners she always kept neat. Cold. Empty.

A knock at the door.

“My Alpha,” a maid says softly. “Dinner is ready.”

I realize suddenly how hungry I am. I barely ate during the meeting. My head feels heavy. My thoughts scattered.

“She’ll come,” I mutter to myself, trying to convince myself.

I leave the room and head to the dining hall.

Calyra is there. Calm. Smiling. Waiting.

I sit. Do not look at her.

Food is placed in front of me. Hot. Perfect. But I cannot taste it. My mind races. My eyes dart to the door. Waiting. Searching.

“She is not coming?” I ask casually, though my voice tightens with worry.

One of the maids smiles too widely. “She must be resting, my Alpha.”

Resting?

“She did not eat earlier?” I press.

“She wasn’t hungry,” another says quickly. Too quickly.

Their smiles. Too calm. Too fake.

I slowly put my fork down. Carefully. My fingers tremble slightly.

“Where is Maltida?” I demand.

Calyra sips her drink. “She is fine. You just came back. Eat first.”

I look at her now. Really look. Her smile is perfect, controlled, calculated. My stomach twists in knots.

“I asked,” I say, voice low but sharp, “where is she?”

Silence.

The maids lower their eyes.

“She stepped out,” one murmurs.

“Where?”

No answer.

My chest tightens. My hands shake.

I stand. The chair scrapes the floor loudly. The sound echoes, harsh, cutting through the hall.

“I’ll check,” I say, voice low, steady—but hard, dangerous.

Back to her room. This time I do not glance. I search.

Wardrobe. Empty. Drawers. Empty. Her small boxes, her scarves, her bag… gone.

Nothing.

I step back. Breathe harder. My chest aches.

This is not stepping out. This is not resting.

This is leaving.

Or worse.

I walk into the hallway. Heart hammering, every beat deafening.

“Where are her things?” I demand to a passing maid.

She trembles. “I—I don’t know, my Alpha.”

Lie. I can smell it. Fear. Guilt. Averted eyes.

“Call Calyra,” I command.

No one moves.

“CALL HER!” I roar. My voice shatters the silence of the hall, echoes bouncing off the walls.

And far away, hidden, Maltida’s heart is racing too.

She clutches her small bag, hugging it close. Alone. Cold. Afraid. Vulnerable.

She does not know what he will do. She does not know if he will come for her, or if Calyra’s shadow will swallow her completely.

She can only pray he finds her.

And now, all I feel is rage. Desperation. Pain. The hollow fear of losing her.

“CALYRA?” I shout, my voice raw, breaking, trembling with fury. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”