Chapter 5: The Ceremony
1361 Words
Brielle's POV
The music was pounding, a heavy bass that seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath my feet. It was one of those nights when the pack came together to celebrate the things that mattered to them: power, status, and the shameless flaunting of wealth. The grand hall was full of gold accents, rich velvet curtains, and chandeliers that made everything glow like some kind of twisted fairy tale.
But none of it mattered. Not to me.
I was standing at the edge of the room, my hands trembling as I adjusted the tray of drinks in my arms. The heavy silence in my chest matched the chaos of the celebration around me. I could hear the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional uproar of applause whenever Kylie and Liam shared a laugh or exchanged a touch.
The pack was buzzing, their eyes on the perfect couple, their whispers wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Their faces shone with adoration as they gushed over the union they had all been waiting for, the union that was supposed to restore power to the pack.
As if it wasn’t already perfect enough, they had to flaunt it.
I stepped quietly through the crowd, trying to remain invisible. My plain dress, a stark contrast to the lavish gowns everyone else was wearing, clung to me in uncomfortable ways. No one cared that I was there,no one but the pack members who would need something to drink or eat. No one cared about me except to remind me of my place, serving at the sidelines.
“Brielle, over here!”
I froze at the sound of Sylvia’s voice, her sharp, fake sweetness cutting through the noise. I turned slowly, and there she was, her smile as venomous as ever. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, a look of smug satisfaction twisting her features.
“Ah, good,” she said, her voice dripping with superiority. “We need more wine at the head table.”
I felt the blood rush to my face, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. I nodded and moved toward the large, ornate table at the front of the room, where Kylie and Liam were seated. The centerpiece was overflowing with gold and silver, the candles flickering like some ethereal illusion, while everyone stood around them in reverence.
As I reached the table, I glanced up briefly. Liam was talking to some of the elders, his arm resting comfortably around Kylie’s shoulders. She was practically glowing, her lips curled into that smirk of hers: the one she wore whenever she was reminded that she had everything I never would.
She caught my eye, and her grin widened.
“Brielle, darling,” she cooed, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
I felt my stomach twist into a tight knot. She wasn’t even pretending to be kind anymore. She was loving every second of my humiliation.
Sylvia smiled, her gaze flickering over me with amusement. “We need a little… something special for our dear Brielle, don’t we?”
Before I could react, Sylvia’s hand shot out, motioning for me to set the tray down in front of her. “Pour wine for Kylie and Liam,” she instructed sharply. “They deserve the best.”
I swallowed hard, the words stinging as if they were meant to mark me, reminding me of my place in this twisted little world. I set the tray down with shaking hands and carefully lifted the bottle of wine, pouring it into the glass in front of Kylie.
“That's enough, moron,” Kylie said with a sickly-sweet smile, and I could hear the subtle emphasis on the word “Moron,” like she was trying to emphasize that i was something beneath her. “It’s so much better this way, don’t you agree, Brielle?”
The words pierced me. I could feel my heart break with each syllable, the words echoing in my mind, louder than anything else. My fingers trembled as I set the wine bottle down, trying to steady myself, but I was no match for the weight of her cruelty.
“I mean, it’s not like you have a mate to lose,” Kylie continued, practically cooing, “so I don’t understand why you’re so upset. You’re so… well… weak.” She glanced at Liam, who avoided my gaze completely. “But I suppose that’s just how life works, right?”
I didn’t know if it was the wine, the mocking tone in her voice, or the way Liam stared at her like she was the only thing in the room, but something inside me snapped. The tray in my hands suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, and before I could stop myself, I felt my palms start to sweat.
I didn’t want to be here anymore.
I didn’t want to see them, this perfect couple, this perfect match. I didn’t want to hear their laughter, their empty words. I didn’t want to feel the weight of my own inadequacy crushing me, smothering me under its unbearable pressure.
My breathing picked up. My chest tightened, and I felt a hot rush of anger rise up, so sudden and so intense that I thought I might explode.
But it wasn’t just anger.
It was the final sting of betrayal. The last of my dignity, crushed underfoot by .
Before I could stop it, I felt the tray slip from my fingers. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. The tray, the glasses, the wine: everything tumbled, crashing to the floor with a violent, deafening clatter.
The room fell silent.
I stood there, frozen, heart hammering in my chest, and I could feel the eyes of the entire pack on me. Every pair of eyes, every judgmental gaze, slicing through me like daggers.
Then the laughter started.
It wasn’t even the subtle kind, either. It was loud, mocking, the kind that felt like a million tiny knives scraping across my skin.
“Oh, Brielle,” Kylie said, her voice laced with cruel amusement. “Are you really this useless? I thought you were supposed to be serving us, not making a mess.”
I wanted to run.
I wanted to tear through the door and never look back, but I was paralyzed, trapped under their gaze, their judgment. I couldn’t move.
I saw Sylvia smirking from behind the table, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She didn’t even try to hide it anymore: her pleasure at my suffering was written all over her face.
“Get it together, Brielle,” she snapped. “You don’t have the luxury of messing up like this. Pick it up.”
I felt a wave of humiliation crash over me. The floor beneath me seemed to tilt, my legs weakening with the weight of my shame.
I bent down mechanically, my hands shaking as I started to pick up the broken glasses, my movements stiff and clumsy. I could feel the stares, the whispers, the judgment surrounding me.
And then, just when I thought I couldn’t bear it anymore, I heard Sylvia’s voice, sharp and cold.
“Pathetic.”
The word hit me like a punch to the gut.
And that was it.
The final straw.
My heart seemed to break into a thousand pieces, and without another thought, I turned and ran.
I didn’t care about the looks. I didn’t care about the whispers. I didn’t care about anything anymore.
I bolted for the door, my heart racing in my chest, my breath coming in quick gasps. I could hear footsteps behind me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
I needed to be away from them. I needed to be away from this: away from everything that reminded me of my failure.
I pushed the door open with all the force I could muster, running out into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a slap.
I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care.
I just couldn’t stay.
Not anymore.
- Writer
