Bride Of The Cruel Lycan

Into the water

KAELAN

As I’m being wheeled through the crowded room toward Juliette. My heart beats slowly as I force my eyes to take her in. I know I should not care, but I cannot help it. Even now, I see that she is beautiful. Her red dress shines under the soft light like a burning ember. In another time, another life, I might have allowed myself to imagine a future with her. But that future never existed. I have an agenda of my own, one built on secrets and lies, and my own loathing for everything she stands for overshadows any chance for love. I do not want her to see the man I really am—a man who uses weakness as a weapon, a pawn in a dangerous game of chess that I’m determined to win.

I know what Juliette had probably thought. She must’ve believed she was coming here to rescue a poor, helpless, crippled man. A marriage of pity, as one would say. I agreed to this marriage just to keep up appearances, but it was never part of my original plans.

The party rumbles on around me, full of shallow smiles and empty conversations. I smile back at people who could give a damn about me, playing the role of the helpless man with practiced ease. I have to. The world expects me to be weak, and I use that expectation to hide my true strength. Each forced smile is a reminder of the exhausting act I must maintain. I watch the guests chatter, and for a moment I wonder if anyone sees me for who I truly am. No one does.

As Juliette’s hand rests in mine, I suddenly feel her body stiffen. I look into her eyes and see a flash of something I cannot quite read. I follow her gaze across the room. There, standing near her sister, is a man dressed in a fine suit, his posture too perfect, his smile too smug. I can only assume he is her boyfriend. The sight makes my blood run hot. Why does she look so affected? Perhaps they share a past. Perhaps she still loves him. The thought of her in love with that stuck-up guy fills me with an anger I do not understand. I try to convince myself it is all just part of the game, but the heat inside me tells another story.

I push through the crowd, my thoughts swirling as I keep up my act. I remind myself that every smile I force, every kind word I offer, is just a move in this dangerous game. I think about how tiring it is to play this role. I am a pawn, a tool used to hide my real plans, and yet I cannot escape the feeling that I am losing control of my own emotions.

Without fully understanding why, I pull her down close and say, “Dance with me.” The words come out rough, as if I have not practiced saying them. I extend my hand, feeling the cool press of her skin as she hesitates only for a moment before accepting. For a split second, I allow myself to imagine that under different circumstances, this could be real. But I quickly shut that thought away. I must remain focused on the plan.

As she sits on my laps, my hand wrapped around, her waist, I feel the pressure of eyes on us, but I ignore them. Then, without really knowing why, I lean in and kiss her. The kiss is brief, a calculated move meant to send a signal. I tell myself over and over that it is just part of the act. My lips meet hers, and for one heartbeat the world falls away. I taste the faint hint of her perfume and the soft warmth of her skin. I force the thought, repeating it like a mantra over and over again. This is nothing more than a move in my plan.

We break apart, and I see Juliette rising from my lap as she smooths her dress with trembling fingers. I know I should not be affected by this. I should feel nothing. And yet, I feel a sting in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge. I tell myself that all of this is just a game—a game in which every move is calculated and nothing is truly real.

Before I can gather my scattered thoughts, Juliette turns and wheels me toward the pool. The noise of the party fades, and the cool night air bites at my skin. When we reach the pool, the water shimmers under the moonlight.

The cool night air and the soft hum of water provide a brief escape from the tension inside the room. I watch the moonlight dance on the surface of the water, the red of her dress vivid even under the pale glow.

She stops in front of me, turning to face me with eyes that are full of questions and something else I cannot quite name. “What was that?” she asks quietly, her voice trembling with emotion I dare not mirror.

I tilt my head, my expression hardening. “A kiss,” I reply simply, hoping to sound as detached as possible.

She narrows her eyes. “I know it was a kiss, Kaelan. But why did you do it?”

I feel anger rising inside me—a mix of frustration and the strange, confusing hurt that I have no right to feel. “It was part of the plan,” I say again, my tone cool and measured. “You should know that by now.”

Her gaze intensifies, and I can see the fire of defiance in her eyes. “And what if it meant something to me?” she challenges.

For a moment, my carefully constructed façade wavers. I think of the plan, the role I must play, and I tell myself that I should not care about her feelings. But then I see the hurt in her eyes, and it stings more than I expect. “You should tell me you hated kissing me,” I add, as if that would restore the balance.

She crosses her arms and steps back. “I did,” she says flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

In that moment, I feel a surge of anger that I cannot control. I do not know what comes over me—a mixture of frustration, jealousy, and something deeper that I refuse to admit. Before I know it, my hand reaches out and catches her wrist as she turns to walk away.

Her eyes widen in shock as she stumbles forward. For an instant, time seems to slow down. I see her trying to steady herself, but the momentum of our struggle sends her careening toward the pool’s edge. In a desperate bid to regain control, I try to stop her, but my weakened state and the constraints of my wheelchair leave me powerless.

Juliette’s body teeters on the brink of falling, and in a split second, she loses her balance. I reach out, but it is too late. She tumbles forward, and with a cry that is half surprise and half anger, she falls into the water. Instinctively, her hand grabs hold of my sleeve, and before I can protest, she pulls me along with her.

In one disorienting moment, I am no longer in control of my chair. Instead, I find myself plunging into the ice-cold water of the pool.