CHAPTER 312: UNDERESTIMATED

A knock on my door teased my drowsy senses, dragging me from the clutches of the sweet sleep ravaging me. Who dared interrupt my beauty sleep, after I had suffered long minutes to get it?

"Sage, are you still sleeping? Get up, sleepy head!"

Of course. Who else would have the effrontery? Another person would have dropped in a painful heap on the floor!

"Go away, Isla," I commanded, letting myself sink deeper into the wells of dreamless sleep, clutching my pillow tighter.

But the bitch kept knocking, like she couldn’t hear the threat underlying my command. There was only so much a girl could take.

"Wake up, Sage..." she sang-sung, knocking in accordance with her cracked music which grated on my nerves. Did she want to lose a tooth?

I grunted, cursed out loud, and sat up on the bed, glaring at the shut door, like I could somehow penetrate it and get to my offender. I could, but that’s beside the point. Besides, she was my sidekick in this journey of mine.

"Why are you disturbing me this morning if you love your life?" I questioned harshly as I opened the door when she wouldn’t stop with the ugly sounds she called music.

She laughed, hands folded loosely across her chest. "I came to remind you of the meeting this morning. The maidservant tasked with taking care of us informed me that the meeting will be starting by ten a.m..."

She paused and looked at her wristwatch, an act that caused me to notice that she was already dressed for the day. "We are already thirty minutes late, Sage. Get to it, unless you were planning on missing the meeting?"

I snorted softly. Not for the world. I needed to hear more about the competition from the horse’s mouth. Who would be speaking to us? Which if the triplets?

"Is there a cup of coffee lying around?" I let out instead, sighing loudly.

Isla shook her head, amusement shining in her eyes. "She brought breakfast without coffee... I would never understand that, corrected her though... but I can make you one. I think I saw a coffee machine in the kitchen."

I sighed with relief and shut the door in her face.

Without much ado, I got rid of my clothes and hurried into the bathroom, taking my toothbrush with me. I had less than twenty minutes to get to the meeting, wherever that was taking place.

The shower was brisk, almost punishing, but it peeled the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.

Now standing in front of the wardrobe where I had arranged my clothes hours ago, I tugged at my lip, weighing options. My hands brushed over gowns and blouses, lace and silks that didn’t fit the image I wanted today. Too delicate. Too much like the girl I used to be.

Why had Rachel packed all these? Didn’t she say I trust her, while I talked over the mission with her mother in the few hours preceding my departure from the community?

No.

I wanted to look like myself—like the woman who had endured, who had sharpened herself into steel. My fingers settled on jeans, dark and snug, paired with a clean white polo that clung to my frame without trying too hard. A modern woman’s armor. Practical. Defiant.

For shoes, I chose converse sneakers, black with fading edges. They grounded me, reminded me of simpler days when I was just a girl running in the yard without eyes on me. I left accessories bare—no dangling earrings, no bracelets jingling. Nothing flashy. Only me.

Staring at my reflection, I nodded once. Strong enough to enter a hall full of men who doubted me. Simple enough not to be mistaken for someone trying to impress them.

Then I grabbed my wig, and fixed my lenses.

By the time I rejoined Isla, she had two cups of steaming coffee waiting. She grinned like she had conjured them from magic, proud of herself. I muttered my thanks and reached for one, savoring the bitter warmth as it hit my tongue.

Breakfast was quick—bread, eggs, fruit slices cut neatly. I ate fast, my eyes occasionally darting to the clock on the wall. Isla teased me about my speed, laughing when I almost choked trying to gulp coffee between bites.

"You’d think the world would end if you arrived a minute later," she said, shaking her head.

"It might," I muttered darkly.

She snorted. "You should have woken up earlier then."

The field outside was quiet when we stepped out. Too quiet. The air held the emptiness of absence—the fighters were already gone, drawn into the meeting. Boots had trampled the grass earlier, but now the place felt deserted, like the silence after a storm.

"They didn’t wait," Isla noted. "HOw do we get to the meeting point?"

"Of course they didn’t. They’re not the waiting kind." My lips curved. My thoughts hummed with deductions. Meetings like this didn’t happen unless there was something urgent. Numbers mattered, and today’s gathering would reveal just how deep things ran.

We stopped a passerby, when we got past the gates, a young man in a simple tunic carrying a bundle of papers. His gaze flicked from my face to my clothes, then down to my sneakers, lingering with an expression I couldn’t quite name—half curiosity, half disbelief.

Women weren’t expected to walk toward fighter meetings, not like this, i supposed, dressed in jeans and sneakers.

"Where’s the meeting being held?" I asked, keeping my tone sharp.

He hesitated, glanced at Isla, then back at me, clearly unsure if he should even answer. A flicker of amusement pulled at his lips before he finally pointed down the stone path. "The great hall. Just follow this and you’ll hear them before you see the doors."

His words dripped with a subtle condescension, but I ignored it. Isla didn’t. She arched her brow at him, lips twitching in a smile that promised she’d remember his face.

Oh well...

We followed the path, shoes clicking against stone. My chest tightened a bit when the hall came into view. The tall doors, the polished steps... it wasn’t just any hall. This was the same place where they had once hosted my seventeenth birthday party, complete with glittering chandeliers that promised a night of charm.

Back then I’d been naïve, soft, still believing life could hand me simple joys.

Not the case now. I mused, pushing aside the thought. I ignored the ache of memory too and pressed forward, Isla keeping pace beside me.

Inside, the air was thick with voices. The hall was crowded, buzzing with energy, men filling every corner. Fighters, all of them. More than usual. Many more.

"Looks like the whole world showed up," Isla whispered, eyes wide.

No one really noticed our entry; the sheer number of bodies drowned us out. Still, I caught the shift in tone—snickers slipping through, laughter pressed behind palms, the flick of eyes dragging across me.

Their smirks carried the same message: What are they doing here?

I lifted my chin higher. Let them laugh.

Then the door, just close to the elevated door opened, and Timothy stepped out, looking larger than life, commanding attention, commanding order and silence.

Rachel had told me about him though—Noah’s beta. It seemed he was the one managing the event this year, his presence steady and unyielding.

I watched, calculated, as he spoke with authority, voice rolling over the crowd like waves.

Beside him were the other betas, who I recognized. Claire’s brother, the one loyal to Adam, standing rigid and proud. Lent, my stepbrother at one time, eyes cold and sharp, beta for the third triplet, Daniel.

Familiar faces, all people whose lives I would destroy when the time came.

I barely heard Timothy’s words at first. My mind drifted, circling around names, betrayals, and futures already written in my heart.

Then his voice cut sharper. "You there..."

My head snapped up. He was looking directly at me, pausing mid-speech. "Introduce yourself."

The room quieted the more, attention flicking toward me again. Someone laughed outright, quickly muffled when Timothy’s eyes swept the room.

What now? Why me?

I studied him, this older version of Naomi’s brother. His hair was darker now, streaked with the weight of years. His jaw sharper, his stance more commanding. But his eyes—they lingered.

Curiosity lit them, a flicker of something that hovered between professional interest and... something else. Attraction? Maybe. Or maybe just surprised that I dared to stand among them at all in plain jeans and polo, looking like a waitress instead of a warrior.

His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned me, waiting.

I drew a breath, steady, deliberate. My eyes scanned him once, reading his posture, the faint crease at the corner of his lips that betrayed a man trying not to betray his thoughts. Then I stepped forward slightly.

"My name is Sage," I said clearly, letting my voice carry.

The silence that followed was thick, punctuated by the scrape of a chair, the cough of a man trying to mask a laugh. But Timothy’s eyes never left mine. He nodded once, slow, acknowledging me.

"Welcome Sage. However, I will appreciate you listening when I talk. Is that clear?"

I shrugged in response, then turned away.

He was an event planner, not my ruler.