The wicked alpha’s mute bride: Train me Master, choose me

"OLIVIA! WHERE ARE YOU!"

Devon's voice thundered through the courtyard, its sharp intensity cutting through the quiet evening air. The sound startled Olivia, making her heart lurch in her chest.

Her father, Brent, placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his eyes filled with fear.

"You should go," he murmured. "He must never suspect you."

Olivia hesitated only for a moment before nodding. With quick fingers, she adjusted the soft blue knee-length gown Dr. Susan had kindly given her. The fabric was light and delicate against her skin.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and sprinted toward the training grounds, the cool air biting at her exposed skin.

Devon was already there, waiting. His stance was rigid, broad shoulders squared as his intense gaze locked onto her. Beneath the golden hues of the setting sun, his expression was unreadable—one of impatience and something darker.

Olivia slowed, uncertainty creeping up her spine. Her pulse quickened as she drew closer.

The silence between them stretched, thickening with tension. Every footstep she took felt heavier, as though the very ground beneath her resisted her approach. Devon's dark eyes narrowed as he motioned for her to come closer with an impatient flick of his fingers.

Nervously, she swallowed, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She didn't dare meet his gaze directly. Her eyes fixed instead on the damp earth beneath her feet, breath shallow as she tried to steel herself against whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

"Look up." His voice, though quieter than before, held an undeniable sharpness.

Olivia hesitated but obeyed, lifting her chin ever so slightly. She avoided his gaze, her focus trained just past his shoulder, on the horizon where the last remnants of daylight bled into darkness.

"Olivia, I said look up," he snapped.

She flinched, blinking rapidly to push back the sting of tears. Still, she forced herself to lift her gaze fully, meeting his eyes at last. The intensity of his stare was suffocating. Anger, frustration, and something unspoken lurked within them—emotions she couldn't decipher.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, gripping tightly in an effort to ground herself.

"Who were you with?" Devon demanded.

The question sent a jolt of panic through her. Her breath hitched. Had he found out? Did he know she had been with her father?

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. She instinctively took a step back, but the motion was futile. Devon caught the hesitation in her body, the way she stiffened, the way her hands clenched as though bracing for impact.

"Speak!" His voice cracked like thunder against the quiet night.

Olivia sucked in a sharp breath, body trembling from the force of his fury.

Devon's lips curled into a sneer. Then, realization dawned.

"Oh, wait…" he muttered, almost to himself. His voice dropped lower, the edge softening, but only slightly.

"Today you will train till dawn. And if I catch you sneaking off again," he continued, voice quieter but far more dangerous, "expect even worse consequences."

His words cut like a blade—precise, merciless. He wasn't bluffing. Devon never bluffed.

He felt no pity for her. Why should he? Stealer wolves were trouble. Always had been. Manipulators, betrayers—whores, if you asked most of the pack. A stealer wolf was the reason so many had died in the last war. Their selfishness and deceit had cost lives.

And yet, Olivia was here, standing before him, wearing the same title.

Devon exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he bothered with her at all. He had a duty—to shape her into something useful, to strip away whatever weakness clung to her bones. And he would. No matter how much she resisted.

"Don't stand there like an idiot. Get moving!"

From the raised platform overlooking the training grounds, Devon watched as Olivia stumbled through the brutal obstacle course. She was failing. Again and again.

She scrambled over wooden walls but slipped just before reaching the top. She waded through deep trenches slower than the rest. She dodged too late, lifted too little, ran too slow. Out of breath before the others had even broken a sweat.

The only thing she showed any real talent for was her bow. That, at least, she handled like she was born with it in her hands. Every arrow she loosed struck its mark with deadly precision. But perfect aim wouldn't save her in a fight if she couldn't keep up.

Devon clenched his jaw. She wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Alpha Devon."

Adolphus, one of his most trusted betas, stepped up beside him. His voice was quiet, careful.

"There's something you need to know."

Devon's eyes stayed on Olivia. "Speak."

Adolphus hesitated just long enough to make Devon's patience wear thin. Then, finally, he said it.

"Beta Brent was seen speaking with Olivia. They say he's her father."

For the first time in a long while, Devon went still.

His gaze snapped back to Olivia, watching as she struggled to pull herself over the last wall, fingers trembling from exhaustion.

So. She wasn't just any stealer wolf. She was Brent's daughter.

Devon's jaw tightened as his gaze flicked toward Olivia, who was still pushing through the obstacle course. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, muscles coiled with exertion. The sun dipped lower, stretching shadows across the training grounds, but she didn't slow. Not yet.

His thoughts, however, were elsewhere. Beta Brent wasn't just another second-in-command—he was a pawn in his brother Rodrigo's ruthless ambition, a tool in a larger, more dangerous game. The realization sat heavy in Devon's chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Could Olivia be a piece in her father's game too?

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had let her into his home, into his pack, without so much as questioning what she might be hiding. That wasn't just reckless—it was stupid.

His expression darkened.

"So, she's brought my enemies to my doorstep," he muttered under his breath, fingers curling into a fist. "Are you sure of this?"

Across from him, Adolphus held his ground, voice steady. "Very certain, Alpha."

Devon exhaled slowly, forcing his temper into something colder, sharper. "I'll handle it."

With a curt nod, Adolphus withdrew, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

"Olivia!" His voice cut through the evening air.

She stopped mid-stride, chest rising and falling with exertion, sweat dampening loose strands of brown hair around her face. When she turned to him, her brows drew together, questioning.

"You'll continue training until I ask you to stop," he ordered.

For a moment, she hesitated. Just a flicker, barely noticeable. Then she gave a short nod, shoulders sagging slightly before she forced herself upright again.

She had seen the Beta whispering to Devon. Had felt the shift in his energy, the way his gaze had sharpened in her direction. Trouble. She knew trouble when she saw it.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach, a deep, aching hollowness. She had barely eaten—just two bites of dry chicken Devon had forced on her earlier. It wasn't the first time she'd gone without food, and it wouldn't be the last. Swallowing hard, she ignored the sharp pangs and refocused.

If they thought she was weak, they were wrong.

If Devon thought she was a pawn, he was wrong.

She would prove them all wrong.

Her muscles screamed as she pushed forward, body sluggish and uncooperative, but she didn't stop. Not until her vision blurred. Not until the world tilted.

Darkness swallowed her before she hit the ground.

Cold.