A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs
Chapter 57: Zenon’s Gaze Met Mine

Chapter 57: Zenon’s Gaze Met Mine

{Elira}

~**^**~

I thought about myself. About being an Omega — something everyone looked down on. But what if, just maybe, there could be something in me that someone else might need?

It felt foolish, but the idea flickered like a candle, refusing to die out completely.

As Zenon spoke about scarcity and substitution, his tone remained calm, yet every word sounded deliberate and weighted.

I found myself wondering if that was what made him so intimidating: not only strength, but the knowledge of how to use words like a blade.

At some point, he turned, and his gaze swept over the hall. For a brief moment, our eyes met.

My breath caught, my stomach twisting. He didn’t nod, didn’t linger — but something in me sparked alive, even though I couldn’t name what it was.

When he said, "A pack with no sense of its own worth is easy to exploit..." my heart clenched.

Was that me? Was that why it had always been so easy for Regina, Lady Maren, and even Luna Gwenith to hurt me?

Because I’d forgotten to see any worth in myself?

And then he finished, folding his arms across his chest, and asked for questions. His eyes scanned the hall slowly, carefully.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of my heartbeat. My fingers fumbled with the corner of my notebook, and the words scarcity and substitution blurred on the page from how tightly I’d written them.

He looked so calm. So sure.

For a heartbeat, I wished — truly wished — that I could borrow even a fraction of that confidence.

And yet, somehow, just listening made me feel... a little less small than before.

Finally, Zenon folded his arms. "In pack history, wars have been fought over water, herbs, and even secret routes. But the cleverest Alphas —"

His voice dropped a note lower. "— used trade to win allies, avoid bloodshed, and grow their power."

His eyes swept the room again. "That is negotiation leverage. Understand it — and your words can do what claws never could."

Then, a pause. Chalk still in hand, he glanced once more across the students.

"Questions?"

At first, no one moved. The weight of his gaze seemed to pin us all to our seats.

Then, slowly, Tamryn rose from her chair without hesitation. Her voice, cool and level, cut through the silence:

"Professor, you said a pack should never trade what it can’t afford to lose. But what if a pack’s very survival depends on that trade? Isn’t that worth the risk?"

I felt my chest tighten. It was bold — almost like a challenge. And yet, Tamryn’s tone was respectful, curious rather than confrontational.

Zenon regarded her for a moment, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, in that same composed voice, he answered:

"If a pack must risk everything to survive, it must also be ready to rebuild from nothing. Survival alone isn’t enough. It must weigh what it stands to gain against what it will owe in return — because some debts can’t be repaid with gold or trade goods."

Tamryn nodded, thoughtful, and slowly sat down again.

From my seat, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Tamryn’s question had sounded fearless. And Zenon’s answer — so calm, yet sharp — made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t name.

I traced my fingertip over the fresh words in my notebook:

Some debts can’t be repaid.

It made me think about myself. About everything the triplet brothers — and Alpha Cyprus — had done for me.

What could I possibly give back that would ever be enough?

"Any other questions?" Zenon asked. Then, for the briefest moment, his gaze shifted and met mine.

My breath caught, chest fluttering painfully. I couldn’t read anything in his look. It was steady, unwavering — but something in my chest tightened, warmed.

I dropped my gaze quickly, hoping no one noticed the colour rising in my cheeks.

If anyone asked me why I was blushing, I would never be able to explain it because I didn’t even understand why I would react that way to a man who doesn’t think much of me.

Just then, one student raised his hand, his expression calm and thoughtful.

Zenon nodded once. "Speak."

He stood, his voice even. "In negotiation, how do you calculate the risk of provoking an allied pack versus losing the trade advantage?"

Zenon’s eyes met his, calm and unreadable. "Good question. You evaluate past alliances, weigh economic need against political cost, and remember: trust takes years to build, but seconds to destroy."

The student nodded, satisfied, and took a seat.

Then, Zenon turned away to end his lecture as the bell rang since there weren’t any more questions, and everyone had clearly understood the topic.

The lecture ended with a ripple of movement and hushed conversations.

Students closed notebooks, shoved pens into pockets, and the scrape of chairs echoed off the walls.

I sat still for a moment, letting my heart calm down. The sound of Zenon’s voice still lingered in my head, sharp and precise like polished steel.

Two rows in front of me, Tamryn was already sliding her books into her bag without looking my way.

I gathered my things carefully: notebook, timetable, and the course text I’d barely dared open during class.

My fingers felt clumsy, but somehow, I managed to stack everything on my left arm.

I didn’t wait for Tamryn. I didn’t think she’d want me to, so I rose from my seat, head low, and slipped quietly out of the hall.

---

At my locker, I spun in the passcode — ’1321’ — and retrieved my backpack. The motion was almost comforting now, part of a routine I was still learning to claim as mine.

Once my backpack was secure over my shoulder, I stepped away from the crowd, turned slightly aside, glancing at my smartwatch to check the way back.

The map blinked patiently, a small blue dot pulsing over familiar paths. Then, I pulled out my phone.

My thumb hovered, then I typed: [Hi, Lennon! I’m done with Zenon’s class.]

It barely took a breath before Lennon’s reply appeared on the screen: