The Trash Husband is a Lycan God

The white roses were already wilting under the heat of the camera lights. Seraphina Sterling stood alone at the altar, her knuckles white as she gripped her bouquet of lilies. Silence hung heavy in the Sterling Estate’s grand hall. Five hundred guests—business tycoons, rival pack Alphas, and the vultures of the press—watched her with predatory amusement. "He’s not coming, Sera," Lucas Sterling sneered from the front row. Her cousin lounged in his seat, swirling a glass of champagne. "Face it. Even a beta from the River Pack knows better than to marry into a sinking ship." Seraphina’s jaw tightened. She didn’t look at him. She looked at the empty spot next to the priest. Kevin. Her fiancé. The man who had sworn eternal love yesterday had vanished this morning, leaving only a text message: _I can’t do this. I don’t want to be enemies with the Vane family._ Coward. "The time is 11:59, Miss Sterling," the priest whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. "If the groom does not appear by noon..." "I know the will," Seraphina cut him off, her voice icy. Grandfather’s will was absolute. _Seraphina Sterling must be married by her 25th birthday to inherit the CEO position of Sterling Fashion. Failure to do so will result in the transfer of all assets to Lucas Sterling._ Today was her 25th birthday. She had one minute. "Well?" Lucas stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Time's up, cousin. Hand over the keys to the office. I’ve already ordered new furniture." Laughter rippled through the crowd. In the third row, Markus Vane, the heir to the most powerful pack in the city, smirked. He had done this. He had threatened Kevin. He wanted Sterling Fashion bankrupt so he could buy it for pennies. Seraphina’s eyes burned. _I will not let them win. I will not let my grandfather’s legacy burn._ She turned to the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the faces of the elite. Then, it landed on the back of the hall. The catering staff entrance. A man was being shoved out by security. He was tall, wearing a faded, oversized grey hoodie and torn jeans. Dirt smudged his sharp cheekbones, and his black hair was a messy mop that covered his eyes. He looked like he had just crawled out of a dumpster. "You there," Seraphina said. Her voice rang out, clear and commanding, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. The hall went silent. The man stopped. He slowly turned his head, revealing a jawline that could cut glass, though it was covered in stubble. His eyes were dark, almost black, and held a depth of boredom that unsettled her. "Me?" The man’s voice was deep, raspy, as if he hadn't spoken in days. It scratched against the polished silence of the room. "Yes, you." Seraphina hiked up her ten-thousand-dollar lace gown and marched down the aisle. The silk rustled aggressively as she moved. The guests parted like the Red Sea, their whispers rising into a cacophony of shock and judgment. She stopped in front of him. Up close, the reality of him was starker. He smelled of rain and... something else. Something wild. Pine, old earth, and the metallic tang of something dangerous. He towered over her, at least six-foot-four, his presence sucking the air out of the immediate vicinity. "Do you have a criminal record?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to lock it down. The man blinked, lazy amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He looked her up and down, not with desire, but with a clinical curiosity. "Don't think so. Unless sleeping under a bridge is a crime in this zip code." "Are you married?" "Nope." "Do you want to make a million dollars?" The man tilted his head. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. It transformed him from a homeless drifter into something... predatory. The air seemed to cool by a few degrees. But Seraphina was too desperate, too cornered by her cousin’s ambition, to notice the warning signs. "Sure," he drawled, the word rolling off his tongue like smoke. "Who do I have to kill?" "You just have to marry me," Seraphina said. She grabbed his rough hand—it was calloused, scarred, and shockingly warm. His hand engulfed hers completely, a bear's paw to a child's hand. "Right now. No questions asked. Just a signature and a vow." The crowd erupted. "Sera! Have you lost your mind?" Lucas screamed, his face turning purple, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He scrambled over the pew, knocking over a flower arrangement. "That is a beggar! A human trash! You cannot stain the Sterling bloodline with this filth!" "He is my groom," Seraphina declared, dragging the man toward the altar. The man didn't resist. He followed her, his stride loose and casual, as if he were walking in the park, not ruining a socialite's life. "Nice dress," he murmured. "A bit tight in the waist, though." Seraphina ignored him. They reached the altar. "Father, proceed," she commanded. The priest stammered. "Name? I need a name." The man yawned. "Killian. Killian Blackwood." "Pro... proceed." The vows were a blur. Seraphina didn't hear a word until "You may kiss the bride." She turned to Killian. He was looking down at her, his dark eyes unreadable. For a second, her breath hitched. Beneath the dirt and the apathy, he was terrifyingly handsome. "Just... on the cheek," she whispered. Killian smirked. "As you wish, _wife_." He leaned in. His lips brushed her cheek, feather-light. A spark of static electricity shocked her skin, making her shiver. "Done," the priest announced. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood." "This is a farce!" Lucas stormed the stage. "I will contest this! He's a homeless bum!" Markus Vane stood up, his expensive suit straining against his bulky Alpha muscles. He walked into the aisle, blocking their exit. "Congratulations, Seraphina," Markus sneered. He looked Killian up and down with pure disgust. "So this is your choice? A human stray? Does he even know how to hold a fork, or does he eat from the garbage?" Killian scratched his ear, looking bored. "I prefer chopsticks, actually." Markus’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, putting his shoulder into Killian’s chest as he passed, intending to shove the "human" into the dirt. "Oops," Markus grunted, putting his Alpha weight into the shove. Time seemed to slow. Seraphina gasped, reaching out to catch him. But Killian didn't fly backward. He stumbled, just a fraction, his foot hooking behind Markus's ankle with surgical precision. _Thud._ The mighty Alpha Heir, Markus Vane, face-planted onto the marble floor. The hall went dead silent. Killian steadied himself, looking down at the sprawled Alpha. "Careful there, big guy," Killian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Floor's slippery." Markus scrambled up, red-faced with humiliation and rage. He snarled, his eyes flashing red—the sign of an angry Alpha. He raised a fist to crush Killian’s skull. "Markus, no!" Seraphina screamed, throwing herself in front of Killian. Markus froze. He couldn't hit a female in front of the press. He lowered his hand, shaking with fury. He leaned in close to Killian, his voice a low growl only they could hear. "You're dead, trash. Watch your back." Markus stormed out. Seraphina let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She turned to Killian. "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you?" Killian was dusting off his hoodie. He looked... completely fine. In fact, he looked bored again. "I'm fine, boss," he said. But as he looked at the retreating back of Markus Vane, Seraphina didn't see his eyes. If she had, she would have screamed. For a split second, the dark brown of Killian’s irises vanished. They were replaced by swirling, molten Gold. The color of a King. "Big mistake," Killian whispered to himself. And the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to bend towards him, as if bowing to their master.