HATING MY ALPHA HUSBAND

CHAPTER 3

ANNIE THORNE

We are all in the room, sitting in silence, as if the air is too heavy to breathe.

The fireplace crackles in the corner, but not even the heat of the flames can chase away the cold I feel in my chest.

My father seems weaker today. His skin is pale, and there are deep shadows under his eyes. Every time he coughs, it's like my heart stops for a second.

He clears his throat, shifts his body in the armchair with difficulty, and looks at Luca.

"The wedding must happen as soon as possible. We need to secure the future... ensure there are heirs to the bloodline."

My stomach twists.

Neither Luca nor I look at each other. It's easier that way.

"I will make sure both packs have a future," Luca says, his voice firm, flawlessly rehearsed. As always.

It sounds fake. Cold. Mechanical. He's perfect at pretending to care about things he doesn't feel.

My mother squeezes my father's hand tightly. Her eyes fill with tears. She looks at Luca, as if searching for some spark of kindness in the middle of that ice.

"Take care of her," she pleads, her voice trembling. "She's all I have."

Luca smiles.

But it's not a comforting smile. It's a strange smile. A half-smile from someone who knows exactly what he's doing.

"Of course," he replies.

And that's it. Of course.

As if taking care of me were a simple agreement. A transaction. Just another duty.

When it's time for him to leave, he approaches. His footsteps echo on the wooden floor and, for a second, I think he will just leave in silence. But no. He stops in front of me, his eyes watching me with that cutting indifference.

"I’ll see you at the altar, bride," he says, his voice low and full of intention, before turning his back and disappearing through the door.

ONE WEEK LATER

Seven days of silence, of sleepless nights, of tears drying on the sheets.

I am not the crybaby girl I once was — or at least, I’m trying not to be. But last night, I cried. I cried as if I could wash the pain away, as if the salt of the tears could erase what’s to come.

Today is my wedding day.

I wake up with the maids dressing me, pulling at my body like I’m a doll. They say I’m beautiful, that my dress is fit for an alpha princess. But there is no beauty in this day for me.

The wedding takes place in the sacred clearing, in the middle of the forest. Werewolves from both packs are present.

Hundreds of faces, all turned to me, as if waiting for me to smile. But my heart feels trapped inside a cage. Every step I take toward the altar echoes like a sentence.

Luca waits for me there.

Tall, flawless, dressed in black. His hands are crossed in front of him. His gaze is fixed, hard as stone. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t truly look at me. He’s just playing his part.

The ceremony begins, and the priest’s words sound distant. The blessings, the vows, the oaths — all so beautiful, so empty.

When it’s my turn, my voice trembles. But I say what’s expected of me. I promise to honor and protect the union. I promise heirs. I promise strength.

Luca makes his vows. Short. Practical. Cold.

And then comes the moment for the kiss.

The crowd waits. So do I.

But he doesn’t move.

He just looks at me for a second and turns to the priest, signaling that it’s enough.

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces. As if it wasn’t already broken enough.

The celebration lasts all night. Wolves dancing, toasting, celebrating a union that, for me, is a prison. My parents smile, even though my mother’s eyes are red from crying so much. Everyone speaks of alliance, of future, of hope.

But all I see is an abyss.

And when the party ends, it’s time to go.

To leave my home, my parents, my childhood.

To go to my new home.

The doors of Blackwood Manor open with a deep creak, as if the very walls resent being awakened after so long in silence.

I stop at the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. The first thing I notice is the smell — old wood, ancient books, and a faint touch of lavender coming from somewhere deeper.

The interior of the house is sad, but incredibly beautiful.

The high ceiling is supported by carved columns, and crystal chandeliers hang like frozen tears.

Oriental rugs cover the dark marble floor, and the giant windows are hidden behind navy velvet curtains. The walls are adorned with old portraits — Luca’s ancestors, with stern eyes and rigid poses. The house feels like a time capsule, alive, but lonely.

Without thinking, I murmur:

"It’s a very big house... for just one person to live in."

Luca, right behind me, replies disinterestedly:

"Soon, there’ll be children running around here. Werewolf children."

I swallow hard. That phrase hits me like a punch. Children. With him. That’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? Heirs. A future.

I look away, slowly climbing the main staircase. My wedding dress drags behind me like a weight, and the wooden steps creak beneath my feet, as if shouting “prisoner” with each step.

He guides me in silence through a long hallway and opens a dark door at the end.

"This is your room," he says, his voice low but firm.

I take a hesitant step inside. The room is spacious, with an elegant canopy bed, antique furniture, and thick curtains. Despite its grandeur, it feels cold. Impersonal. As if no one has slept there in years.

I turn, confused.

"Aren’t we going to sleep together?"

Luca crosses his arms, chin slightly raised.

"No. I don’t want you in my room."

The coldness in his words feels like ice on my skin.

"Remember, this is not a marriage like the others."

My throat tightens.

I nod silently, feeling his eyes still on me. The dress weighs on my body, and my mind spins with everything the day has brought. But before I can close the door, I feel his presence approaching.

I don’t turn around. I stand still, my back to him, heart racing.

"Are you... are you going to sleep with me now?" I ask, my voice weaker than I intended.

There’s a tense silence behind me. Then, his voice sounds close, hard as steel:

"Are you a virgin?"

I turn, confused.

"What?"

He steps forward.

"Are you a virgin? You must be. You’re too emotional to have known real pleasure."

Anger rises like fire in my chest.

"You’re an asshole."

He raises an eyebrow, indifferent.

"Call me whatever you want. But I want to know what I’m dealing with."

"You have no right to talk to me like that," I snap, eyes full of tears. "Or to judge me."

He walks to the bed and points with his chin.

"Lie down on the bed."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to. Go lie down."

His voice isn’t loud, but it’s firm — like an order that doesn’t allow questioning.

Fear and tension mix in my chest. I know he isn’t kind. I know he feels nothing for me. And yet, something in his presence makes my body react in ways I don’t understand.

With trembling fingers, I lie down on the bedspread. The wedding dress still covers my body, flawless, but now it feels like fragile armor.

Luca climbs onto the bed with the feline elegance of a predator. We are face to face, eye to eye, so close I can feel his breath.

He leans in, as if to kiss me.

My heart pounds, fast. I don’t know if it’s fear, hatred, or something darker. But then he whispers again, a thread of cruelty in his voice:

"Tell me. Are you a virgin?"

I close my eyes.

"Yes."

He pulls away instantly, as if something burned him.

"I’m not going to do this like that."

I open my eyes, confused.

He gets off the bed, running a hand through his dark hair and sighing deeply.

"I won’t force anything with you. Even if I hate you, I’m not a monster."

When he turns to leave the room, something inside me screams.

A part of me I can’t name.

Maybe it’s fear.

Maybe it’s the emptiness.

Or maybe... the weight of everything I’m now forced to accept.

“No,” I say, the word escaping before I can control it.

He stops.

His body freezes at the door.

Then, slowly, he turns around.

His gaze is darker than before.

“What?” he asks, like he doubts what he heard.

“If this marriage is supposed to be about heirs... then we need to do this.”

He looks at me like I’ve just poured gasoline on the floor and lit a match.

His eyes shine with something strange. Cold. Wild.

In two steps, he’s standing in front of me.

His hand grabs my neck—not tightly, but just enough to make me hold my breath.

He pushes me against the wall, his body pressed to mine, his eyes burning into mine.

“I don’t know how to be gentle,” he whispers, voice rough and tense.

“I can take it,” I answer, even if I don’t know if it’s true. But I say it. I hold his gaze. I don’t look away.

And then, he kisses me.

Luca kisses me.

The same cruel, arrogant boy who’s never shown a hint of kindness.

His lips are warm, firm, and the kiss isn’t bad.

It’s... good. It’s more than good. It’s like he’s tearing away a piece of my control with every movement of his mouth.

A growl escapes him against my lips, and I feel the vibration echo through my ribs.

His hands grip my waist tightly, and I respond, holding his face, my fingers sinking into his dark hair.

My heart hammers in my chest. Fast. Desperate.

He trails kisses down my jaw, then to my neck, and a sound escapes my lips.

A moan, unintentional. I hate him. But I’m enjoying this.

Being touched by him. Being wanted.

He returns to my mouth, now hotter, deeper, his tongue invading, demanding.

In response, my hands go to his suit, yanking at the buttons, impatient.

He helps me, tossing the jacket aside, and I smirk with irony, pushing him onto the bed.

He falls back with a satisfied smile.

A smile that makes me angry, but also makes me want to kiss him again.

I climb on top of him, and our lips meet once more, this time with more urgency, more need.

His hands move up my thighs, but suddenly, he stops.

“Wait,” he says, breathless.

“What?” I ask, panting.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing.

He stands quickly, going to the window, muscles tense.

I sit on the bed, heart racing.

“What is it, Luca?”

He peers between the curtains and curses under his breath.

“Someone’s here.”

I jump to my feet, running to him.

“Who?”

And then, it happens.

The sound of a gunshot rips through the night.

I scream as the windows shatter into a thousand pieces.

Shards fly through the room like knives.

Luca pulls me back, shielding me with his body.

Another shot. And another.

“Oh my God! What’s happening?!”

“It’s an ambush,” he says through clenched teeth. “A pack wants war.”

“Why?!”

“Because we got married!” He grabs my hand and pulls me to the corner of the room.

“The two most powerful packs are now one. They’re afraid of what that means.”

The sound of footsteps rushing through the house. Screams. More gunfire.

The house sounds like a battlefield.

“Stay here!” he says, heading to the door.

“No!” I scream.

He turns, his eyes burning with fury.

“You’re stubborn! Obey me, Annie.”

Another shot. Closer this time.

He goes to a chest and pulls out a huge gun.

A black, heavy rifle, ancient and brutal-looking.

He hands me a smaller weapon.

“Are you serious?” I ask, holding its weight.

“Of course I am,” he mocks. “You’re my wife. That includes handling weapons too, princess.”

“i***t,” I snap, gripping the gun more firmly.

Then we hear the front door burst open.

Heavy steps downstairs.

And a deep voice echoes through the mansion:

“I’m here for the girl!”

My blood runs cold. I look at Luca.

He stands at the top of the stairs, weapon raised.

The leader of the other pack appears in the entry hall.

“She’s coming with me.”

“You’re not laying a finger on her,” Luca growls, pulling me behind him with force.

His whole body is on high alert.

His eyes burn like embers, and for the first time, I see something different:

A rage that isn’t cold, isn’t calculated.

It’s personal.