THE ALPHA’S WRONG BRIDE

CHAPTER 3: Nine Days

POV: Sadie

I’ve been sitting here and staring at this trunk for the past twenty minutes, and so far, I’ve managed to toss in exactly one sock. Just one lonely sock, resting at the bottom and looking as underwhelmed as I feel.

Honestly, what am I even supposed to pack for this?

There’s literally no guide or anything that says, *Congratulations on being part of this political mess! Here’s what you need to bring!*

My stomach has been twisting constantly at the thought of leaving.

Nine days is all I have. Nine days before this room stops being mine. Nine days before I leave the only home I’ve ever known and marry a man who openly admitted that he chose me because he wanted to hurt my sister.

I stare at the sock again thinking that maybe I should just pack three more and call it a day.

“Okay, that’s it. I can’t watch this anymore.”

I don’t even flinch because I already know who owns that voice. Only one person barges into my room without knocking, and only she could sound so incredulous about a single sock.

“Megan, I’m working on it,” I say.

“You’ve been working on this since the ceremony ended, which was six hours ago, and you’ve got just one sock in there.” She kicks the door shut behind her and flops onto my bed like she owns the place, which, to be honest, she kind of does. “Just. One. Sock. Sadie.”

“It’s a good sock though.”

“Ew no, it’s literally a gray sock.”

“It’s a versatile sock.”

She doesn’t even laugh, which is quite the classic Megan. We’ve been friends ever since we were kids, and she can tell instantly when I’m trying to hide behind my jokes. She just looks at me with this calm, slightly annoyed expression until I eventually give up.

I look back at the trunk while she keeps on looking at me as the silence stretches.

I sigh.

“How are you?” she asks.

Not the usual *Are you okay?* that everyone else has been tossing around all day, as though I might break if any one of them mistakenly says the wrong thing. Just a straightforward *How are you?*, and if I’m being honest it feels genuine because now I know that someone really wants to know.

“Fantastic,” I reply with forced cheerfulness. “Living the dream. Getting married in nine days to a guy who publicly announced, in front of my whole family, that I’m basically his idea of revenge to my older sister.”

“Sadie.”

“What? It’s literally true! He said it as if he was reading it off of a grocery list. Very straightforward. I respect that, at least. It’s better than fake niceties…”

“Sadie.” She says, lowering her voice. And something in the way she said it is able to get through the walls I’ve been putting up since the ceremony.

My mouth closes and my throat locks up, and warmth prickles at the corners of my eyes. I blink quickly, turning my face away from her before she can see.

“I don’t know how I feel,” I finally admit, and it comes out quieter than I intended. My fingers move over the edge of the trunk, tracing the worn wood without really feeling it. “I have absolutely no clue what I’m supposed to be feeling. Everyone keeps asking about Chloe. If she’s okay. How she's hanging in there. Has anyone checked on Chloe…” My voice catches, and I swallow hard. “I mean, I get it. Her whole world just flipped upside down, but no one has asked about me. You’re the first person who’s thought to ask.”

“Well I’m asking now my baby,” she replies.

“I still don’t know,” I say again, and this time I really mean it. I stare down at the sock. “I keep trying to feel angry with him, and it just doesn’t stick right. I try to feel scared, but it’s not sticking, either. It’s just there, sitting in the back of my mind, and I can’t find a way to make it go away.” I rub my thumb against my palm. “And through all of that, I still can’t stop thinking about how Chloe’s face was.”

The memory comes flying back into my head immediately. The way her eyes looked at me, the way she stepped away from me, and the way she looked at me as though I had personally taken something from her.

“Is that silly?” My voice drops lower. “My whole life is about to change, and I keep picturing her expression.”

Megan is silent for a moment. She just picks at a loose thread on my old bed covers, the one I’ve had since I was nine. Her fingers move slowly, pulling at the same tiny piece of thread until it finally comes loose.

When she looks back at me, her gaze is steady and just then I know that she’s about to say something I might not want to hear.

“You’ve spent so much time in your whole life making yourself smaller so she could feel bigger,” she says gently. “Maybe it’s time to stop doing that.”

“That’s not…”

I stop as the rest of the argument refuses to come, because some part of me knows exactly what she means.

“This morning, you were the one who did Chloe’s hair,” Megan points out. “For her ceremony, the one where she was supposed to be chosen. You were helping her get ready to lose, on purpose, because that’s just who you are.”

“She’s my sister,” I reply, wanting to defend my actions.

“I know that.” She says, her voice softening “I’m not saying you should stop loving her. I’m only saying maybe you should stop feeling like you have to apologize to her for being yourself.”

I look away once my eyes start to sting again. I hate that she can say something so simple and somehow make me feel like I’ve been carrying it around for years without realizing how heavy it was.

Megan stands up, brushes off her skirt, and softens her tone.

“Pack something that isn’t gray. I’ll check back tomorrow to make sure you haven’t insulted this sock any further.”

Despite myself, a tiny smile pulls at my mouth.

“Goodbye, Megan.”

Before she leaves, she gives me a quick, fierce hug and I hold onto her for a second longer than usual. And then I let go.

She walks out, and once again I’m alone again in this quiet room, with the trunk still embarrassingly empty.

The smile disappears from my face almost immediately and my eyes fall back to the socks.

Later, around midnight, I decide to go find something to eat because sleep is just not happening tonight.

My stomach has been hurting me all evening, but I force myself out of bed anyway. I need something to do. Something that doesn’t involve thinking about Wesley, Chloe, the wedding, or the fact that I have no idea what happens to me after nine days.

When I step into the hallway outside Chloe’s room, it’s dark except for a thin sliver of candlelight peeking out from under her door which makes me automatically slow down without actually meaning to.

I glance toward the door, and from my position I can see the inside of her room properly.

She’s talking. Not sobbing, but talking, fast and low making it hard for me to be able to make out the words.

So I take another step closer and just then I hear another voice, an unfamiliar one which sounds like a man’s voice that I do not recognize, not any of the guards, not our Father, and also not anyone else I’ve ever heard before.

I stop completely and feel my heart start to beat harder.

I lift my hand to knock. My fingers hover inches from the wood, and just when my knuckles are about to come in contact with the hard wood, I hesitate when something inside me tells me not tonight so I lower my hand back down to my sides.

I’ve learned to trust those instincts, so I turn around and walk away, convincing myself that it’s nothing. It’s probably just one of her handmaidens chatting. Probably.

Back in my room, I crawl back into my bed, but I find it hard to settle. I pull the blanket up till it reaches my neck and stare into the darkness.

The conversation keeps replaying in my head, and the fact that Chloe had someone in her room this late at night and apparently didn’t want anyone else to know.

I turn onto my side and force myself to stop thinking about it and close my eyes. And then a few seconds later, they open again.

I sit up on my butt having a strange feeling that something’s wrong.

My attention drifts toward the window and toward the dark woods beyond the palace walls. I’ve walked past those woods my whole life without giving them a second thought, but tonight, I can’t stop looking at them.

I sit there for several seconds, trying to dismiss it as probably my nerves, lack of sleep, or the aftereffects of a day that turned everything I thought I knew upside down.

But it doesn’t work.

Instead what happens is that the feeling gets stronger, so I push the blanket aside and stand up on my feet from the bed.

I don’t even fully understand why I’m moving, but I cross my room anyway, each step I take slow and careful until I reach the window.

I press my palm flat against the glass. The woods are completely still. I don’t bother opening it up and just stare through the darkness, searching for any movement. But after a while of looking nothing comes.

Just when I’m about to give up, I hear it. A faint sound, so faint that for a second, I wondered if I imagined it.

I lean closer to the glass.

I hold my breath, straining to catch whatever it is.m, hearing my heart pounding so hard in my chest. I lean closer again..

Then my bedroom door creaks open without a knock.

I quickly turn around and it’s not Megan this time.