LUCY
Even though I clamored for a simple gathering—even though I pleaded for something quiet and intimate—my parents have gone all out.
Since the first light of dawn, the pack house has been a battlefield of preparation. My ears have been ruefully treated to the sounds of sharp clicks of heels on floorboards from maids bustling about, commands echoing through the house, late invitations being dispatched to those who mattered.
Once, during the early hours of the morning, seeing the giddiness on my mother's face, I contemplated calling it off. But remembering the pain of last night steeled my resolve. I wanted Doyle humiliated. I wanted Mina's perfect image torn down.
Yet, as I stand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, a wave of profound sadness washes over me. I look at the reflection and see a lie.
I am a beautiful, radiant bride of the Virelan line, but there is nothing real about today. Not the occasion, and certainly not the theme my mother has obsessively curated.
She has already bustled into my room twice, her face flushed with excitement, gisting about how Doyle has been hovering outside, desperate to see me.
She tells me she pushed him off, laughing that "the groom cannot see the bride before the ceremony," and sent him away to prepare.
I imagine his face. Doyle must be reeling. I hadn't told him a word of my plans after the fire, hadn't answered his calls either; I simply let the silence simmer.
I would love to see how he takes the shock, but the truth is, I don't want to look at him at all. Not yet.
I study myself in the glass. My mother actually listened to me regarding the dress, though she injected her own sense of Alphan luxury into every stitch, or rather made sure what she ordered was Alphan.
It is a simple white gown, flowing to my feet like a sundress, but the silk is so heavy and rich it catches the light like liquid pearl. It is classy, expensive, and utterly wasted on a funeral masquerading as a wedding.
My hair is crowned with a ring of fresh flowers—soft pinks, deep greens, and almond whites. I wear matching floral cuffs on my wrists, and a heavy bouquet of the same blooms sits on my vanity.
I look like a spring goddess, a symbol of life and fertility, while inside, I feel like a hollowed-out tree.
I sigh, touching my stomach gently. I cannot wait for this to end. I cannot wait to see my enemies forced to swallow the rot they have sown.
A sharp knock at the door breaks my trance. My mother pushes it open, her eyes instantly welling with tears.
"It's time, my darling," she whispers, rushing over to fuss with the lace at my collar and fawn over my hair. "I have never seen anyone so beautiful. I am so happy, Lucy. My heart is just... it's overflowing."
I manage a tight smile, the muscles in my face aching from the effort. A crushing guilt weighs on me. I know my parents' hearts are about to be broken, just as mine was.
But this is inevitable. I cannot remain in my father's land as a mistress to a man who shares a bed with my "sister." I cannot be a ghost in my own life.
I follow her out of the room. We descend the grand staircase and walk around the main Alpha residence, heading toward the backyard. We take the private path through the forest—the one reserved only for the Alpha and his immediate family—toward the Sacred Grounds.
As we walk, I see the decorations draped over the branches and the ribbons tied to the ancient oaks. I blink back hot tears. One slips free despite my resolve, and my mother nudges me with a soft, knowing laugh.
"I cried on my wedding day, too," she says, squeezing my arm. "It's the nerves, Lucy. It's the joy."
Her words make me want to sob for real, because there is no joy waiting for me at the end of this trail.
Finally, the forest opens up into the Sacred Grounds. My breath catches. My father has performed a miracle of logistics; the space is packed with people eager to witness the union of alpha blood.
Hectares of land are filled with standing members of the pack and visiting dignitaries. I spot a reputable official from Solthera and wonder how my father managed to get him here so quickly. There isn't a single empty space in the clearing.
Then, my gaze finds him.
Doyle stands at the center, surrounded by his family, by his friends, admirers. He is always the social butterfly. His eyes light up when he sees me. He looks genuinely happy—victorious, even.
That falters when I don't answer his beautiful smile with one of mine.
Foolish whore. I hold back a scoff.
But as I approach the altar, he steps forward, a confident smile on his face again, and reaches out to kiss me.
The stinking hell? I nudge him away, turning my cheek so his lips hit the air.
He frowned, eyes questioning, but I ignore him. A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd meanwhile. They think I am shy. They think it's a game. Only if they knew…
I look past his shoulder and see Mina. She is watching us with a serene, supportive smile, playing the part of the devoted best friend to perfection.
How does she even sleep at night? How… I just don't get it.
Seeing her there—knowing what I know—makes me go cold. The resolution in my heart turns to iron.
And when she winks at me, giving me a thumbs up, I swear I see red. I want to claw out her eyes, want to tear her to shreds, wolfless or not.
"Let the blessed couple come forward…" The officiating elder speaks.
Doyle and I move to the center of the union ground, the air thick with the scent of incense and old magic.
The elder steps forward to begin the rite, but before he can utter the first blessing, I raise my hand. The crowd falls into a sudden, expectant hush.
"Speak, daughter of the blessed Alpha," the elder says.
I look Doyle straight in the eye. My voice is clear, strong, ringing out across the hectares of silent witnesses.
"Reject me."