THE ALPHA’S WRONG BRIDE

CHAPTER 4: He Doesn’t Knock

POV: Sadie

“Do you even ever knock?” I say with a look of disgust taking over my face.

Wesley doesn’t respond right away. He just stands in my doorway, filling the frame, and staring at me like I’ve crossed a line. Then I realize that I’m still at the window with my hand pressed against the glass, and I don’t have any good reason for it, so I drop my hand and cross my arms instead.

“I don’t see the point in it,” he finally says.

“Well, the point is that it’s my room and in my house. You don’t get to just walk into it because you feel like it,” I shoot back.

“For nine more days you’re still a Coleman. After that you’re mine to worry about so I figured I’d start early.”

“Wow.” I let that hang in the air for a moment, staring at him. “That’s a pretty terrible thing to say to someone at midnight.”

A flicker of something crosses his face, but it’s gone very quickly, and he steps inside anyway, shutting the door behind him without asking me if that’s alright either. The click makes my shoulders tense. And so in that moment, I decide that I’m not going to make this easy for him. No one else in my life has cared about how I’ve felt today, so he doesn’t get to start now just because he’s the one standing in my space.

“I came to lay out the terms,” he says, sounding all too formal. “Better you hear it from me than from my mother or yours.”

“Terms,” I say, the words coming out of my mouth flatly. “Sounds like a business deal.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“Yeah. Right. I shouldn’t have thought otherwise.” I say in mockery and rolling my eyes at him. I sit on the edge of my bed because standing there and allowing him to loom over me is starting to feel like it’s part of his game, and I’m not about to play along. I lift my chin. “Go on, then. What are the terms?”

He lists them off like he’s reading it from a book. Telling me how we're both going to have our separate rooms until, his word, not mine, it’s necessary. Also talking about how public appearances are required, smiling optional but definitely recommended. Having no contact whatsoever with Ambervale unless he knows about it. My letters will be read before they’re sent away, at least for now, until trust is established, as if the either of us plans to bother with that. By the time he finishes, my fingers are digging so hard into the edge of the mattress.

“Anything else?” I ask. “Or is that the whole deal for my new life?”

“There’s a detail about the ceremony. It’s the ring.” He says, rushing through it, almost too quickly, like he’s trying to slip it in without me noticing. “It belonged to my grandmother. It’s old. I think you should know that before the wedding instead of hearing it from someone else.”

I stare at him knowing fully well that that may be the first thing he’s said all night that sounds genuine.

“Why does it matter to you,” I ask, genuinely curious now, “whether I hear it from you or from someone else?”

“It doesn’t, don’t deceive yourself.” He says quickly and I catch the brief flash of annoyance on his face, and this time, it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at me.

He’s annoyed with himself. For saying too much.

I make a mental note of that moment.

Interesting.

“Sure,” I respond. “Anyways, fascinating stuff…these terms of my captivity.”

“It’s not captivity.”

“I have a curfew that wasn’t set by me, a mail service that answers only to you, and I’m getting married in nine days to a guy who told my whole family that the only reason why he picked me is to punish my sister,” I say, leaning back slightly against the headboard and tilting my head. “What would you call it?”

He doesn’t answer, instead what happens is that his jaw tightens. And I can’t help but feel a twist in my chest that I refuse to regard as satisfaction.

There. I got to him.

“You could at least look less miserable about it,” I say and immediately his eyes settle on mine. “You chose this, remember? You stood up in front of two kingdoms and picked me on purpose. Did you practice your face beforehand, or does it just come naturally?”

“What face?” he asks.

“That one.”

I gesture toward him. “The one that looks like someone’s forcing you to eat something that you hate,” I say but his expression barely changes though, and it does nothing but make the amount of hate I have for him heighten. “I’m marrying you. So the least you could do is fake some enthusiasm for the cameras.” I pause. “Metaphorical cameras, of course because we don’t have any. You get what I mean.”

“I don’t know what a camera is.”

“It’s a…you know what? Never mind.” I wave it off, but before I can look away, I catch the moment that something that looks almost like amusement flickers in his eyes.

It’s there for barely a second because he shuts it down so quickly, the way he always does, his expression becoming unreadable again, as if he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

I stare at him for another long second.

So he can smile. That’s also very Interesting.

“My point is, you could at least try to look less like you’re at a funeral.”

“Maybe I am,” he says.

My amusement disappears. “Whose funeral?” I say, watching him very carefully. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who’s got all the power in this arrangement, so it’s hard for me to see what’s so tragic about it for you.”

He doesn’t respond to that either, but this time the silence feels like it’s charged. I can just unmistakably feel it between us, even though the neither of us says anything.

I shift slightly on the bed.

When he’s not putting on a show, his voice is deeper than I expected, more suited for a quiet room like this than a grand hall. There’s something about hearing it this close that makes me painfully aware of how little I actually know about him. And I don’t like that. I don’t like noticing things about this man. Not after everything he said today, and not after what he did to Chloe.

“I should go,” he finally says.

“Should you?”

“Yes.” He says, standing still for a moment.

Then he walks over to the door and opens it allowing the chilly night air rush in from the balcony, and he hesitates there with one of his hands resting on the door frame, his back half turned toward me as if he’s body hasn’t fully decided on whether he should leave yet or not.

I stare at his back in the quietness of my room, then he turns slightly toward me, as if he’s fighting with himself over whether to say something.

“I told everyone I chose you to make her feel pain.” He says, his voice coming out softer now which makes me raise an eyebrow. There’s a way his tone is that makes it sound like it’s slipping out rather than it being spoken willingly. “I didn’t think it would feel like something different.”

Suddenly I’m finding it hard to breathe.

I don’t move.m and don’t dare move because I’m afraid that if I do, whatever made him say that will quickly disappear.

“Different like what?” I ask, my voice coming out lower than I expect.

He looks at me for a long second without anything and suddenly seems to realize what he’s said, like the sentence surprises him himself. Then his face quickly closes up again.

“Goodnight, soon to be wife.”

And just like that, he’s gone.l before I can say anything else. The door clicking softly behind him, and leaving me in an unexpected silence.

I stare at the door with my heart rapidly racing. Then I press my fingers against my palm, trying to settle myself, but the conversation keeps replaying in my head.

Then I feel it again.

The feeling of something pulling me, and this time it’s way stronger, and not just a faint urge I might ignore. It’s a real, persistent tug toward the window, and toward the dark outline of the woods beyond those walls.

My breathing slows down.

I look down at my hands to steady myself before I approach the glass.

They’re shaking.

And it’s not even because of him standing there a minute ago or the words we exchanged, but for some other reason entirely.