Substitute Bride: Contrast Werewolf King

Today is the day I become Ronan Blackwood's bride. The first ray of light in the early morning brought a hint of chill, like a peeping Tom quietly lifting the curtains and falling through the gap onto the crown on the dressing table. The diamond reflected a cold light, which stung my eyes slightly. The person in the mirror looked as pale as a ghost. My maid Mia was combing my long blond hair, twisting it into a hairstyle that was most suitable for a bride with her deft hands, and her movements were gentle, as if she was treating a fragile work of art. She sang an old wedding ballad, and her voice was melodious, but it made me feel a chill in my back. I knew I couldn't escape this fate. "Miss, you are naturally beautiful, so pretty." Mia's voice was filled with pride and joy as she coiled and fixed the last strand of hair, then held up the crown in both hands - a symbol passed down from generation to generation by the Blackwood family, made of rare diamonds, and said to be able to suppress all "unclean" things. As the cold weight pressed down on my head, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up in fear and rejection, as if a coiled poisonous snake was placed on my head instead of a crown. The pure white silk wedding dress was layered with intricate lace, wrapping me tightly like a carefully woven spider web. It was priceless, designed and made by the most famous designer my father had asked, and it was one of a kind. "Little bastard, look how gorgeous and pure you are." Selena walked into the room with an elegant posture and stood in front of me, looking down at me with contempt, as if she was looking at a pile of filth. "Thanks to me, you can wear this dress. Otherwise, you would still be wearing rags." Her voice was sweet but cloying. She lowered her head and leaned closer to me. "You should be grateful and enjoy your wedding." Then she stood up and raised her head with a vicious smile, and said mockingly, "I hope you can survive." After Selena left, her vicious laughter lingered around me, suffocating me. Selena is beautiful and intelligent, and is loved by her father. In order to save the family's crumbling wealth and reputation, his father planned a glorious marriage with the Blackwood family. But the legendary Ronan Blackwood was violent, moody, and ruthless, killing countless people. Everyone thought that the Duke was going to marry off his beloved daughter, but they ignored Sylvia, who was born to a servant in a corner of the Duke's mansion and had the same bloodline as Selena. "You should contribute something to our family." Sylvia looked at her father's back. She thought her father finally accepted her, but she heard shocking news. The father stressed that this was "the greatest honor." I am Sylvia Belmont, daughter of a servant, hated and neglected by my father, living in a utility room since childhood. And now I am the lamb on the altar, to be sacrificed to Ronan Blackwood, who lurks at the edge of the forest and has a dark secret. I stood up and forced myself to look at the gorgeously dressed yet unfamiliar bride in the mirror. There was no joy on her face, and deep in her eyes there was only an ice-covered lake, at the bottom of which lay a sleeping volcano that had not yet erupted. My fingertips slid across the cold silk skirt and touched a secret pocket, which contained a small, poisoned dagger, the only relic left by my mother. It was pressed against my thigh, the only reality under this gorgeous prison uniform. I knew that these might be child's play in his eyes. Outside, I heard the sound of a carriage rolling over gravel, as dull as a bell. When the time came, Mia carefully put the lace gloves on my wrists, extending them to my elbows like a pair of exquisite handcuffs. Dark clouds began to gather outside, swallowing up the poor morning light. The mountains in the direction of the shadow were shrouded in an ominous gray-purple shadow. It was said that Blackwood's castle stood at the deepest part of that shadow. I took a deep breath and said, "Let's go." My voice was surprisingly calm. I raised my chin, looked over everyone present, and walked towards the door step by step. The crown on his head was heavy and cold. The dagger on his thigh was pressed against his skin, conveying a weak but tenacious presence. The hem of the wedding dress dragged across the smooth and cold marble floor, making a rustling sound like a snake. All I know is that no matter what awaits me ahead, I will never give up. I will make the bridegroom remember that even the sacrifice to the wolf has the thorn in her bones.