The dress is a cascade of silk and lace, designed to enchant and captivate an audience that shouldn’t be witness to this farce. As the fabric slips over my head, enveloping me in its cold embrace, a shiver runs down my spine. Alpha Dane’s plan is clear; parade the union before the city, make a spectacle of his power. Every fiber of my being rebels against the role I’ve been forced to play.
Outside, the preparations buzz with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet dread filling the room. I overhear snippets of conversation from the hallway—last-minute details about the ceremony, the array of guests arriving, and the live broadcast that will cement my fate.
“You look beautiful, Cleo,” my father says as he steps into the room, his voice hollow.
Deep creases line his forehead and the corners of his eyes, showing signs of his age. This ordeal has aged him drastically. His salt-and-pepper hair, now combed back, has more grey than dark, the faint glint of silver strands a reminder of his age. His eyes, when I finally meet them, are filled with a sadness that does nothing to ease the betrayal.
“Beautiful and betrayed,” I reply, my voice steady despite the trembling in my heart. “Is this how you protect me, Father?”
He flinches, the weight of his choices etched deeply into his face. “I’m doing what must be done,” he insists, his conviction as frayed as my nerves. I turn away, dreading the moment we leave the room. I still haven’t heard from Zayn, which makes me nervous.
“Come on, time to head down. Alpha Dane has prepared everything,” my father says like that is supposed to make me feel better.
“Cleo!” he calls again, and I grit my teeth, moving to take his arm.
The walk down the stairs is a blur. My eyes focus on the ground as if I can find a way out through the cracks in the floorboards. The outside world is alive with movement and color, from the bright flowers adorning the ceremony to the bustling figures preparing for the event. The guests’ faces show a mixture of emotions—some smiling with genuine happiness, others looking curious and confused. My arm through myfather’s feels like a shackle, each step forward a descent into a life I never chose.
The floral scent of the decorations mingles with the sharp tang of Alpha pheromones, creating a strange, conflicting scent. My father’s cologne adds a hint of familiarity, tainted by fear.
The guests are a sea of faces, some joyous, others curious, all oblivious to the sham before them. Alpha Boyd stands at the altar, his smile tight. The gash on his head healed. He’s a predator basking in triumph.
The tent looms before us, large and grand with intricate designs and patterns adorning its silky walls. Brightly colored flowers and ribbons hang from the ceiling, creating a festive atmosphere. The ground beneath our feet is soft, covered in a thick, plush carpet that muffles our steps. As we enter, the fabric curtain door brushes against my skin, smooth and cool as the music begins.
The ceremony commences. My mind races. This isn’t right. Zayn, where are you?
The music intensifies as we make our way down the aisle, a haunting melody echoing the dread pounding in my chest. Every eye is on me; their gazes feel like weights pressing against my skin. Yet none are as heavy as Boyd’s—his smirk confident and victorious, sending waves of revulsion through my veins.
As we reach the altar, my father releases my arm, a formal gesture that feels like abandonment. Boyd takes my hand, his grip firm. The officiant drones on with words that sound hollow and meaningless. I am acutely aware of every second ticking by, the giddy expectation in the crowd, the finality of this moment looming like a guillotine. I am screaming inside, praying for an interruption, a miracle. Anything.
“I do,” Boyd says. His words are crisp and clear, slicing through the murmurs of the onlookers. I feel sick hearing them.
Then it’s my turn.
My mouth is dry. I swallow hard, trying to summon the words that will seal my fate. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My gaze lifts to those watching, their faces filled with anticipation, curiosity… and then— Silver eyes.
At the back of the tent stands a figure silhouetted against the light. Alpha Zayn.
His silver eyes glower with a ferocity that cuts to my core.
The air shifts as Zayn enters, his presence commanding. The crowd murmurs and whispers, attention divided between the two Alphas standing at the altar, not noticing the enraged one at their back.
Boyd’s grip on my hand tightens painfully, a warning. I can’t tear my gaze away from Zayn, his eyes blazing with fury.
Then, chaos erupts.
Alpha Greyson follows, flanked by his entire pack, Zayn’s rogues, and others from my father’s. Caterers and workers shed disguises to reveal familiar faces. It’s a coup staged for an audience, a masterful play that leaves Alpha Dane speechless.
“How dare you!” Boyd snarls. The tent erupts. People shout and scream as Zayn’s pack clashes with Dane’s, the scent of blood filling the air. I stand frozen, struggling to process it all.
Zayn and his pack fight with ferocity. Silver eyes flashing as he moves with deadly grace, taking down anyone in his way. His power radiates, a magnetic force drawing every gaze.
It feels like a supernatural film, except it’s real, and I’m in the middle of it.
Boyd lunges for Zayn. In one motion, Zayn dodges and slashes Boyd’s throat. Boyd crumples, blood pooling. His mother screams, cradling his lifeless form. Her blue dress turns red as she tries to stop the bleeding.
“I guess I object,” Zayn says, voice strong, hands coated in blood as he steps over Boyd’s mother. Boyd’s body lies at his feet.
Tears blur my vision. Zayn just killed him on live TV. A part of me feels guilty for wishing for this, quickly replaced by sheer terror.
