5
1235 Words
CHASE POV
I knew the moment she stepped through the doors.
The moment the music shifted.
The moment the crowd rose.
The moment the bride appeared at the top of the aisle, draped in white, hidden behind the veil that glittered under the lights.
Everyone gasped at her beauty.
But I felt something else entirely.
Wrongness.
A quiet, subtle shift in the air that only an Alpha sensitive to the smallest changes would catch. The kind of wrongness that settled beneath the skin, near the instinct, near the wolf.
The woman walking toward me was not Cassandra.
She moved differently.
She carried herself differently.
She held her bouquet with trembling fingers Cassandra never possessed.
And even from a distance, beneath all the perfume and flowers, her scent was not Cassandra’s.
Not even close.
My jaw tightened as I watched her walk, her steps careful, too careful, like someone trying to mimic confidence they did not feel. For a brief moment, the rest of the world blurred. Even the cameras. Even the crowd. Even the weight of my title.
I focused only on her.
And I knew.
I had been expecting a headache today. Cassandra was demanding, eager for attention, obsessed with perfection. She had insisted on a ceremony this grand and I had agreed for the sake of the Silverfang name. I never expected to enjoy the wedding, but this was something else entirely.
Because the woman approaching me was not her.
The crowd thought I was stoic as always, but the truth was far simpler.
I was calculating.
Analyzing.
Observing every detail.
If the bride had run away, this farce could destroy not just my image as a captain, but the entire Silverfang legacy. Our kind took marriage seriously. The Luna bond even more so.
A runaway bride would create a scandal powerful enough to shake the packs. The media would feast on it for years. My enemies would use it to challenge my leadership. And the whispers that already circled around my cursed bloodline would intensify.
So when the woman reached the altar, standing small and trembling beneath the veil, I made a decision in less than a heartbeat.
I stepped forward, caught her hand, and murmured the words that would seal my fate.
“I will marry her.”
Her hand stiffened in mine. Her breath hitched. The crowd roared in approval, oblivious to the lie unfolding before them.
I did not look at her face. I did not need to. I could feel her fear through the connection of our hands, a trembling energy that pulsed through her skin.
She was terrified.
She did not belong here.
And yet she stood here anyway.
Why?
I had seen Isla Hayes before. Not closely, but enough to recognize her presence. Enough to remember how she moved when she walked behind Cassandra like a shadow. Enough to notice how she lowered her gaze whenever spoken to, how she did her best not to be noticed.
Isla had always been invisible beside her sister’s brightness.
Even now, with every eye on her, she tried to disappear.
And still, she had walked down the aisle.
Why?
I kept my face impassive as the officiant spoke. The ceremony went on. My answers were firm, steady, unquestionable. My mind remained in two places at once.
The first was on the ceremony.
The second was on the woman beside me.
She whispered her vows with a trembling voice. Cassandra would have never trembled. Cassandra thrived in attention.
This woman shrank from it.
During the binding, the rope pulsed warmly at my wrist. It recognized my bloodline immediately. But there was a small hesitation on her part. Almost too subtle for the human eye, but obvious to the wolf.
The magic did not reject her.
But it did not accept her instantly either.
Which meant she could not be Cassandra.
Not if the moon goddess had chosen Cassandra as my fated bride.
I forced my breaths to steady. I kept my movements slow. I held her hand even when she tried to pull away, because I could not let the world see even a c***k in the performance we had created.
We needed to complete the ceremony.
We needed to get through the night.
We needed to avoid scandal at all costs.
If she was an impostor, revealing that fact in the middle of the biggest wedding of the century would ruin everything.
Her fear was palpable, but her determination surprised me. She said her vows. She walked beside me. She endured the cameras, the flash, the attention. And not once did she faint, though she came close.
The more she trembled, the more I tightened my hold.
It was not kindness.
It was necessity.
At the reception, she stayed close to the walls. She never spoke unless spoken to. She never removed the veil. She kept her head down as if she feared even the light touching her too directly.
But what caught me most was the moment we touched the dance floor.
For the first time, something shifted.
Her nerves softened. Her body relaxed slightly in my arms. Her scent blended with the faint traces of my cologne and the magic of the bond. Something stirred deep inside me, a quiet spark that had not existed with Cassandra.
With each movement, she followed my lead.
With each step, her breath synced with mine.
It felt too natural.
Too right.
And that was impossible.
She was not my chosen mate.
She was not the one everyone insisted was destined for me.
She was not the bride I had prepared to claim.
But she felt real in a way Cassandra never had.
That fact unsettled me more than the lie.
And still, I played along.
I danced with her. I kept my hand on her waist. I guided her through the night while she hid behind her veil and her fear.
When the reception ended, I watched her say goodbye to her parents. Her hands trembled. Her voice cracked. Her fear was not that of a bride on her wedding night.
It was the fear of someone living a lie.
The maidens led her to my chamber. I waited a moment, giving myself time to breathe, to center myself, to prepare.
Then I walked toward the inevitable.
When I entered, she sat on the bed like a statue carved from fear. Her head bowed. Her hands clenched tightly. The veil shimmered softly under the candlelight.
I did not rush.
I did not soften.
I did not speak.
I stood before her and reached for the veil.
It was tradition.
It was required.
And it was time.
I lifted it slowly.
Her face emerged beneath the soft fabric. Pale. Beautiful. Terrified. Not a single trace of Cassandra. Isla had always been prettier than she believed, but now the fear in her eyes made her even more striking.
She gasped softly, unable to meet my gaze.
She expected anger.
She expected violence.
She expected rejection.
But what startled me most was that part of me did not want to hurt her. Part of me wanted answers. Part of me wanted to understand how she ended up here and why she agreed to stand in Cassandra’s place.
So I spoke, quietly but firmly.
“Now give me a good reason why I ended up married to you and where is my bride?”
- Writer
