Chapter 5 The man in the photograph

Ophelia POV

My mother's old room was on the second floor of the omega dorms, kept exactly the way she left it. No one had touched it since she died. I slipped out of my room and walked the quiet hallway until I reached her door, my bare feet silent against the cold floor.

I pulled the spare key from my pocket. It was given to me by Mrs. Charity, the old nurse who still worked in the infirmary. She had been one of my mother's closest friends here. When I first arrived at the academy on scholarship, she pulled me aside one evening and pressed the key into my hand. "You'll need this someday," she'd said, and never explained why.

The room still smelled like her.... lavender and old books and the faint trace of the healing herbs she used to keep in jars on the windowsill. My chest ached just breathing it in, a fresh grief on top of an old one.

I didn't turn on the light. I just sat on the edge of her bed and opened the drawer of her nightstand. Old photos. Letters. Small things she'd kept.

Most of them I'd seen before. But near the bottom of the stack, one picture made me stop, my breath catching in my throat.

My mother stood in front of the academy gates, smiling at the camera. Next to her was a younger Vincent Voss. His arm was around her shoulders. They looked… close. Too close for just colleagues. She was laughing in the photo with her head tipped back. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the world.

My hands went cold.

I flipped through more pictures with trembling hands the edges of the photos cutting into my skin. There were at least five of them together. Some at school events. One at what looked like a private dinner, candlelight catching the side of her face. In every single one, Vincent Voss was watching my mother with that same intense expression.

What was this?

I didn't remember my grandfather mentioning ever mentioning him. Not once. When he told me stories about my mother he'd talked about the Alpha King's Beta before, but never like they knew each other personally. Never like this.

My mind started spinning, questions piling on top of each other faster than I could sort them.

Vincent Voss knew my mother. Knew her well enough to have his arm around her in photos. And now his daughter was trying to destroy me. His men had just tried to kill me.

I stood up so fast the photos scattered across the bed, sliding onto the floor in a soft flutter.

I needed to talk to him. Tonight.

••••••••••

The Voss mansion sat on the edge of pack territory, surrounded by high walls and iron gates. Two guards stood at the entrance when I walked up. It was past midnight. The air was cold against my skin, biting at the open cut on my ribs, and my shirt clung to the wound, stiff with drying blood.

One of them stepped forward before I even reached the gate.

"Stop. This is private property."

"I need to speak with Vincent Voss," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though it wavered on his name.

He looked me up and down, taking in the blood on my collar, the dirt on my knees, the split skin on my knuckles. His lip curled.

"You're that omega from the academy. The one causing problems." He glanced at his partner, smirking. "You don't have an invitation. Turn around and leave before we make you."

"Try it," I said, chin lifted despite the tremor still running through my hands. "See how that goes for you tonight."

The second guard moved closer, hand resting on the baton at his hip, eyes narrowing at the dried blood on my face. "She's covered in blood. Something's not right."

"Tell him Ophelia Ashford is here," I said, louder now, refusing to step back even as he crowded closer. "Tell him it's about Lydia Ashford. He'll want to see me."

The first guard laughed, an ugly, dismissive sound. "You think dropping a dead woman's name is going to get you inside? Get out of here before I—"

"Enough."

The voice came from above, cutting through the guard's threat like a blade.

I tilted my gaze to match his direction,Vincent Voss stood on the second-floor terrace, still in his suit even at this hour, one hand resting on the railing. He was looking down at us, expression unreadable in the dark.

"Let her in," he said.

The guards exchanged a glance. One of them muttered something under his breath, but they opened the gate, metal groaning against metal.

I walked through, my legs still unsteady beneath me.

Vincent was already waiting at the front door when I reached it. He didn't invite me inside. He just stood there, blocking the entrance, eyes cold and sharp, sweeping over the blood on my shirt without a flicker of surprise.

"Why are you here at this hour, Miss Ashford?"

I swallowed. My throat still hurt from the rogue's hand, every syllable scraping on the way out like sandpaper.

"Your men tried to kill me tonight," I said before he could ask anything else, my voice shaking but clear. "Three of them. In the woods. They said you sent them."

Something crossed his face ... too fast to name, there and gone. "I sent no one."

"Then who did?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the muscle jump in his jaw. "Because they knew my name. They knew about Clara. Someone gave the order, and if it wasn't you, then who has that kind of reach into your pack?"

He didn't answer that. His silence sat there between us, thick and deliberate.

Instead I asked the question that had been burning a hole through me the whole walk here.

"Did you know my mother?" I asked, watching his face like it was the only thing keeping me upright. "Lydia Ashford. The healer who used to work at Silver Claw Academy."

For a second, his face didn't change.

Then it did.

His jaw tightened. Something flickered behind his eyes..... surprise, then something darker, something that looked almost like grief before he buried it. His shoulders went still under the expensive suit, his whole body going still in a way that felt louder than any reaction.

He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost.

"Where did you hear that name," he said. It wasn't really a question. His voice had gone quiet in a way that felt more dangerous than shouting, low and controlled, like he was holding something back with both hands.

"I found photos," I said, holding his gaze even as my pulse hammered in my throat, even as the wound in my side throbbed with every breath. "You and her. Together. More than once. Tell me the truth, Vincent. What was she to you?"

"You don't know what you're asking," he said, and for the first time, his voice cracked, just slightly, just enough for me to hear it.

"Then tell me," I said, my voice rising despite myself.i got attacked and I demand to know why my life is suddenly worth taking, I want to know what my mother has to do with any of it."

The silence stretched between us, heavy and dangerous.

Vincent Voss didn't answer right away.

But the way he looked at me told me everything I needed to know.

He had known her.

And whatever that relationship was… it wasn't something he wanted anyone to remember.