A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Maria.

I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, my hands resting limply on my lap while my thoughts refused to stay still. They wandered, circling endlessly, touching things I wasn’t ready to name. The room was silent, yet it felt full, of presence, of echoes, of him. My gaze drifted slowly around, taking in every detail Daniel had left behind without realizing it spoke volumes about him.

The room was neat. Almost obsessively so.

Nothing was out of place. The chair by the small table was pushed in perfectly, the curtains drawn evenly, the sheets beneath me smooth and unwrinkled except for where I sat. Even the books stacked near the shelf were aligned with care, their edges forming a straight line as though measured deliberately. This might not be his actual room, I knew that much, but the way the guest chamber was arranged told me more than words ever could.

Daniel was someone who liked order. Someone who needed control over his surroundings, perhaps because there were too many things in his life he couldn’t control.

The thought lingered.

I slowly pushed myself up from the bed, my body still weak but curiosity urging me forward. I paced the room at a careful pace, my bare feet brushing against the cool floor. Each step felt cautious, almost intrusive, as though I were trespassing into a private part of him he hadn’t meant to show.

Then my eyes caught it.

A portrait.

It sat quietly at the corner of the bedside table, angled slightly away, as if it wasn’t meant to be immediately noticed. My steps slowed, my heart thudding softly against my ribs as I moved closer. I stared at it from a distance, unease crawling up my spine.

Why would there be a portrait here?

A strange, uncomfortable thought took root in my chest. A woman. It had to be a woman. Why else would a portrait be kept so close to the bed? My fingers curled instinctively, hesitation gripping me. A part of me didn’t want to know. Another part—the foolish, curious part—ached to.

I reached out.

Just as my fingers were about to touch the frame, the door opened.

"Daniel, can we..."

The voice stopped abruptly.

I froze.

The sound of my name not being spoken, the sudden silence that followed, it all struck at once. I turned sharply toward the door, my heart skipping.

It was Galen.

She stood there, one hand still on the door, her expression shifting from casual familiarity to surprise the moment her eyes landed on me. Her mouth parted slightly, as though she hadn’t expected to see me here at all.

Why was she here?

And why had she called him Daniel so easily... So familiar?

A strange chill slid down my spine.

My thoughts raced faster than I could stop them. Galen knew him. Not in passing. Not formally. The way she had said his name, natural, unguarded, said enough. Too much. My chest tightened as memories surfaced unbidden.

Galen sitting on my bed earlier. Galen talking quietly, her eyes distant. Galen pausing mid-conversation when she noticed me watching. And then, clear as daylight, the image of her speaking to someone outside, a tall figure with his back turned, handing her something wrapped carefully in paper before disappearing.

My breath caught.

That back.

That height.

That presence.

Could it be...?

My gaze flickered back to Galen. She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were studying me now, sharp and calculating, as if trying to read how much I had seen, how much I had understood.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Claustrophobic.

Could Daniel be the one she was talking to that night?

Could he be the mysterious figure who slipped things into her hands and vanished before questions could be asked?

My heart pounded louder, each beat echoing with dread. No. That couldn’t be right. Daniel was kind. He had held me when I broke. He had listened without judgment, without cruelty. He had offered comfort when no one else had.

But then again... wasn’t that how secrets hid best?

Behind kindness. Behind calm eyes and gentle words.

My fingers trembled as I slowly withdrew my hand from the portrait, not daring to touch it anymore. Suddenly, I didn’t want to know who was in that frame. I didn’t want confirmation of anything my mind was already piecing together.

Galen shifted slightly, her expression smoothing into something unreadable, but the damage was done.

Questions screamed inside my head, overlapping and relentless, leaving me no room to think clearly.

What was she doing here?

The thought refused to settle, circling endlessly, demanding answers I didn’t have. This wasn’t a place people wandered into by accident, and the fact that she stood here, so composed, so certain, made my unease deepen. Then another question followed close behind, sharper, more dangerous.

What was Daniel hiding?

The name alone tightened something in my chest. I replayed every moment, every pause, every look I had dismissed too easily. Things that hadn’t seemed important before suddenly felt weighted with meaning, as if I had been standing too close to the truth without realizing it.

And then there was the worst question of all.

Why did the mere thought of Daniel being involved make my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain?

It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. And it wasn’t just confusion. It was something deeper, something that pressed painfully behind my ribs, stealing the air from my lungs. The feeling unsettled me, made me uncomfortable with myself.

Oh no.

The realization settled heavily, unwelcome and undeniable, even as I tried to push it away.

"Maria... what are you doing in Alpha Daniel’s room?" Galen asked suddenly.

Her voice cut cleanly through the chaos in my head. The shift in her tone was so abrupt it startled me, snapping me back into the room. The casual warmth she’d carried moments earlier disappeared instantly, replaced by something cool and restrained. It was as though a switch had been flipped.

She straightened, her posture sharpening, her expression smoothing into something carefully controlled. Her eyes hardened, no longer searching or friendly, but alert. Watchful. In that moment, it was clear she wasn’t speaking to me as my roommate or my friend.

She was guarding something.

A line I hadn’t even known existed, until I’d stepped over it.

The space between us felt suddenly larger, stretched thin by unspoken tension. I swallowed, the weight of her gaze pressing down on me.

"Daniel brought me here," I replied quietly.

Even as the words left my mouth, I watched her closely. I searched her face the way one studies the sky for signs of an incoming storm, any flicker of guilt, surprise, fear. Anything. But her expression was carefully composed, too composed, and that alone made my chest tighten.

"Daniel?" she snapped suddenly. "Why are you addressing him by his name? He is an Alpha."

Her voice rose sharply, slicing through the room. I flinched before I could stop myself, my shoulders drawing in as instinct took over. For a split second, I felt small again, like the powerless rogue everyone could shout at, command, hurt.

But I forced myself to breathe.

I straightened slowly, grounding myself, lifting my chin just enough to meet her gaze. "How about you?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. "You sound so casual when you call his name. Doesn’t that mean you’re close too?"

The words hung between us, heavy and deliberate.

Galen froze.

It was subtle, just a fraction of a second, but I saw it. Her fingers curled slightly at her side. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes flickered away from mine before snapping back, guarded and sharp.

"Close?" she repeated, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "I don’t think you heard right. I am the servant assigned to Alpha Daniel."

Her tone was firm, clipped, final, as though she had rehearsed that sentence many times. As though it was meant to end the conversation right there.

But it didn’t.

"Servant?" I echoed softly. "Then why are you so worked up that I’m in his room?"

I held her gaze this time, refusing to look away. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, not from fear alone, but from the strange certainty that there was more beneath her words than she wanted to admit.

"If you’re just his servant, why does this bother you so much?"

Her lips parted, then pressed together again. For a moment, she looked torn, caught between anger and restraint. Then she exhaled slowly, as if forcing herself to calm down.

"That’s not the issue here," she said, lowering her voice. "If anything happens, I would be the one to be blamed. So don’t take it the wrong way."

Her explanation sounded reasonable on the surface, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. The tightness around her eyes didn’t fade. If this was merely about responsibility, why did she look like someone protecting a secret?

I opened my mouth to respond, my thoughts swirling, questions piling up faster than I could sort through them. I wanted to ask her why she had come here unannounced. Why did she call him Daniel so casually? Why my instincts were screaming that this wasn’t just about duty.

But before a single word could leave my lips...The door opened.

The sound was unmistakable. Solid. Final.

Both of us turned toward it at the same time, the air in the room shifting instantly. Whatever explanation Galen had been preparing dissolved into silence, swallowed by the presence entering the room.