Their Clueless Alpha Princess Chapter 14

Their Clueless Alpha Princess Chapter 14

Thea’s POV

The wall stared back at me with a fist-sized dent in the plaster.

Aunt Margot’s mouth hung open. Her wine-stained robe trembled at the collar. For the first time in eighteen years, she had nothing to say.

I took the chance and ran.

Down the hallway, through the basement door, two stairs at a time. The lock clicked into place and I pressed my back against the wood. My chest heaved. Above me, Aunt Margot’s voice came muffled and shrill, but I couldn’t make out the words.

I didn’t try.

She pounded on the door. “Where is your cousin?”

“On a date!” I yelled.

The pounding stopped. Her slippers shuffled away, trailing a muttered string of complaints about wall repairs and ungrateful children and the cost of plaster.

I changed into my sleep shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. The springs groaned beneath me. I pressed both palms flat against my knees and stared at my knuckles.

Nothing. No bruise. No swelling. Not even a scratch.

I was a hundred and fifteen pounds. The wall should have won.

But this house was old. Everything in it was falling apart – the pipes, the windows, the latch that hadn’t locked since I was twelve.

The plaster was probably rotten underneath.

I pulled the blanket over my head and curled onto my side. My wolf-tooth necklace pressed cold against my collarbone.

Six months. That was all I had left. Six months until graduation, six months until Veritas, six months until I could walk out of this house and never look back.

I told myself the wall was just old.

I told myself I believed it.

I buried my face in the pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. I was not going to think about Vesper. I was not going to think about Soren. I was not going to think about the way my fist had gone through solid plaster like it was wet cardboard.

Six months. Just six months.

Monday morning. Five-thirty alarm. Dishes, laundry, mopping – all done before Aunt Margot’s bedroom door creaked open. I grabbed my backpack and left without a word.

I wore my gray hoodie and the jeans with the torn back pocket. Clean, if nothing else.

I hadn’t slept well all weekend. My brain kept running the same Saturday loop – the bookshop, the empty hours, Darcy’s bandaged ankle, Vesper’s polite apology that somehow made it worse.

He could have called. One text. Thirty seconds.

I clenched my jaw and walked faster. I was not going to waste another day being sad about a boy who couldn’t spare me thirty

seconds.

The library opened at seven-fifteen. I was waiting at the door. Inside, the air smelled like old paper and floor polish. I found a table near the back wall, dropped my bag, and opened my AP History notes.

The words blurred. I read the same paragraph about the French Revolution three times.

I stood up. If my brain wouldn’t cooperate with history, I’d work on French. Our group project needed research – there was a collection of Molière criticism on the top shelf that would help with the L’Avare adaptation. I found the spine, dark blue, wedged between two oversized dictionaries, and stretched onto my toes.

My fingertips grazed the binding. Not enough.

I went up on one foot, arm fully extended. The shelf rocked.

A hand reached past my shoulder and pulled the book free.

I caught a scent before I saw a face- something clean and cool, like mint and pressed linen.

I knew that smell.

Vesper stood behind me. White button-down, sleeves folded to the elbow. The book rested in his palm, and his smile was the same one I’d spent three years memorizing from across classrooms.

“Molière?” He read the cover. “I didn’t know you were interested in French neoclassical comedy.”

My face went warm. “It’s for the group project.”

He handed me the book and leaned against the shelf. His posture was relaxed, easy, like he had nowhere else to be.

“Harpagon’s obsession with his strongbox is usually read as pure greed,” he said. “But it actually mirrors his terror of losing control over his children. The money isn’t the point. The power is.”

I stared at him. That was exactly the angle I’d been stuck on.

“That’s the connection I was looking for,” I said, and for a second I forgot to be shy. “We’re doing a modern reinterpretation, and I couldn’t figure out what holds the father-son conflict together.”

Something shifted in his expression. His gaze moved over my face like he was noticing something for the first time.

“You smell different today,” he said. His voice dropped half a register. “Something sweet. Almost floral.” He leaned closer. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

I stepped back and sniffed my sleeve. Laundry soap and basement damp. Nothing sweet. Nothing floral.

“Maybe I switched detergents?” I offered. “Aunt Margot buys whatever’s cheapest.”

He laughed – quiet, pleasant, the kind of sound that made you want to hear it again. “Maybe.”

The first bell would ring in ten minutes. I shoved the book into my backpack and pulled it onto my shoulder. “I have PE next period. I should head out.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Vesper fell into step beside me.

Heads turned in the hallway. Vesper Aldric walking next to the girl from the basement was news. I kept my eyes forward and my

mouth shut.

“About Saturday.” His voice was careful. “I should have called. That was unfair to you.”

“It’s fine.” The words came out flatter than I intended.

He didn’t push it.

We turned down the service corridor between the main building and the gymnasium a narrow path with brick walls, empty

this early

Vesper stopped walking

I stopped too, a few steps aliead. Looked back at him.

He closed the distance. One step. Two. His eyes held mine, and there was something in them I’d never seen before something focused, almost hungry.

My back found the wall. Cool brick through my hoodie. Vesper stood close enough that I could see the pale flecks in his irises. His lashes were dark and long, and he was looking at my lips.

My pulse hammered against my ribs.

He lowered his head. His breath brushed my mouth cool, faintly sweet and every thought I’d had about forgetting Vesper Aldric evaporated like it had never existed.

A hand clamped down on Vesper’s shoulder and wrenched him backward.

Soren Solvane stood between us, gold eyes burning