CHAPTER 296: CHAPTER 296: SPIDER DEN (1)

Trevor had known exactly what Lucas was doing the moment the group chat went to hell. He recognized that careful nudge, the way his spouse set Dax and Christopher on a collision course and then stepped back as if it were all accidental. It was clever. But there was only so much a third party could do.

And Trevor had long since learned the limits of interference.

He leaned back in the leather seat of the car, the city sliding past the tinted windows in muted streaks of light. His hand rested loosely on the wheel, but his thoughts were elsewhere, tightening around a different name. Vivienne.

Lucas was playing chess with kings and heirs, but Trevor knew better than to drown himself in that fire. His attention belonged on the quieter blaze, the one hiding in plain sight behind a façade of charity and benevolence.

The car slowed as he pulled up to the curb, eyes narrowing at the innocuous building ahead. On paper, it was a humanitarian support center for abused omegas, discreetly funded, politely praised in shallow press clippings. A place meant to inspire trust.

But Trevor knew better.

Vivienne had always been skilled at cloaking rot in silk. To anyone else, this was kindness made of stone and glass. To him, it was a nest, and she was the spider waiting within.

He cut the engine, the silence of the car thick after the low hum of motion. For a moment, he sat there, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel, measuring his next step.

Trevor pushed the door open, the night air cool against his face as he stepped onto the pavement. The streetlight caught the platinum of his ring, engraved with his house seal, and gleamed against the crisp line of his cufflinks. His suit was cut to perfection, the dark fabric drinking in the light, shoes clicking against the concrete.

He shut the car door with a muted click, adjusting the line of his jacket as though even here, in this place that stank of lies, appearances mattered.

The front doors gave way easily, hinges whispering softly into the night. Inside, the corridors stretched dim and narrow, most lights extinguished, leaving shadows to pool like stagnant water. Only a handful of rooms glowed faintly, silhouettes of people curled into uneasy sleep.

Trevor walked, his stride confident, the sharp tap of polished leather against linoleum echoing low through the hall. He didn’t need to look into the rooms to know what lived there. The air was thick with it, the sour bite of broken pheromones, the cloying, false sweetness of dominance twisted into something rancid.

Vivienne’s scent was everywhere. Manufactured. Pretending at comfort, masking rot beneath layers of sugar. An omega who wanted to be more, dressing cruelty in the language of sanctuary. To anyone else this place was a haven; to him, it was a cage disguised as charity.

He passed a door, the faint sound of a muffled whimper seeping into the hall. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t slow. Lucas was his line, and anyone who thought to test it, Vivienne most of all, would find out just how sharp his patience truly was.

At the corridor’s end, a warm strip of light bled out from beneath a door, the only one awake at this hour. Trevor paused, shoulders straight, the suit’s perfect cut catching a dull gleam as he flexed his hand once at his side.

The spider was awake. Waiting.

He moved forward, shoes striking each step like punctuation, ring and cufflinks flashing briefly with every flicker of light until his hand closed around the handle.

The door opened with a soft creak, spilling light into the corridor.

Vivienne sat behind a wide desk, the glow of the monitor bleaching her pale face as streams of data flickered across the screen. Graphs, dosage tables, pheromone response logs, her "research." Numbers meant to legitimize cruelty. She didn’t look up at first, fingers clicking steadily over the keyboard, her posture perfectly composed, as though she were a queen at her throne.

"Still working late," Trevor said, his voice low and even. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, as though he were speaking to an old friend rather than the woman he had already cast out.

Vivienne’s head lifted slowly, lashes catching the blue glow of the monitor. For a moment, her eyes widened, then the expression smoothed into something polished, something elegant. A small smile curved her lips, soft and false.

"Trevor," she said lightly, as if his name were a pleasantry. "How quaint. You still have a habit of appearing uninvited."

Trevor’s arms stayed folded across his chest, his suit bending around the breadth of his shoulders. The silver of his cufflinks caught the light each time he shifted. He looked comfortable there, filling the frame of the door, as if the whole place belonged to him instead of her.

"Some habits are useful," he replied, tone mild. "Like catching you before you bury another mess in numbers no one sane would approve."

"What do you want, Trevor? You have your perfect mate." She leaned back in her chair.

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly, though it never reached his eyes. "What I want," he said slowly, "is irrelevant. I’m here to make sure you don’t have the chance to want anything more."

Vivienne’s smile thinned, her fingers drumming against the armrest. "You always did like sounding dramatic. Banished me once, and still you come prowling back." She tilted her chin, the glow of the monitor painting her face in pale defiance. "Does Lucas know you waste nights chasing ghosts?"

Trevor stepped further into the room, the quiet thud of polished leather against the floor, a cadence that sent shivers up Vivienne’s spine. His arms remained folded, his posture unchanging, but the air shifted with the weight of him, the authority in every step.

"Shouldn’t you be more worried about me? Than what my mate does and knows? Because I gave you a warning, and you teamed up with Velloran instead of listening to me and stay away."