MARRIED TO THE DEVIL ALPHA

I did not cry on my wedding day. Not when they dressed me in white and gold and told me to stand still while they fixed my hair like I was something fragile. Not when my aunt adjusted the veil over my face and whispered that I should be grateful. Not even when I stepped out and saw the crowd waiting. They were all smiling. But I knew better. This was not a celebration. It was a transaction. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked forward, slow and careful, like each step mattered more than it should. My hands were cold, but I kept them still. I had learned that much. Never show fear where people can see it. At the end of the hall, he was already waiting. The man I was about to marry. The one they all called the Devil Alpha. He stood tall, unmoving, like he had been carved out of something hard and unbreakable. His face gave nothing away. No emotion. No welcome. No sign that this day meant anything to him at all. For a moment, I wondered if he even wanted this. Then I remembered that men like him did not need to want anything. They took. And everyone else accepted. When I finally stood in front of him, I forced myself to lift my eyes. I told myself I would not look down. I would not tremble. But the moment our eyes met, something inside me shifted. His gaze was not angry. It was worse. It was controlled. Like he was holding something back. Something dangerous. I swallowed slowly and looked away before I could lose myself in that feeling. The ceremony went by in a blur of voices and words I barely heard. Promises were made, hands were joined, and before I knew it, it was done. I was his. Just like that. No love. No choice. No turning back. When it ended, people came forward to greet us, to smile and bow and pretend this was normal. I kept my face calm, answering when needed, nodding when expected. He said nothing. Not once. Not even when someone wished him happiness. It was like he was not really there with us. Like his body stood beside me, but his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere darker. When the last guest left and the doors finally closed, the silence felt heavier than all the noise before it. He turned without a word and began to walk. I followed. Because that was what I was meant to do now. The hallway stretched long and quiet, the sound of our steps echoing softly. I tried not to look at him too much, but it was hard not to notice everything. The way his shoulders were tight. The way his hands stayed clenched at his sides. The way he moved like he was holding himself together. We reached a large door, and he pushed it open. The room inside was wide and cold. Nothing about it felt like a place meant for comfort. It looked untouched, like no one truly lived there. He walked to the center and stopped. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he turned. I forced myself to meet his eyes again. Up close, they were even more unsettling. Not because of what I could see. But because of what I felt. There was something in them that did not belong to a normal man. “If you value your life,” he said quietly, “you will stay away from me when night falls.” His voice was calm. Too calm. It did not sound like a threat. It sounded like a warning. My fingers tightened slightly, but I kept my face still. I wanted to ask him what he meant. I wanted to ask why. But something about the way he looked at me made the words disappear before they could form. So I nodded. That was all. A small movement. A silent agreement. His gaze stayed on me for a moment longer, like he was trying to decide something. Then he looked away and walked toward the far side of the room. Just like that, I was dismissed. I stood there for a while after he left, listening to the quiet, trying to make sense of everything. But nothing made sense. Not him. Not this marriage. Not the warning he had just given me. As night slowly fell, the room grew colder. I sat on the bed, still in my dress, staring at the door he had walked through. I told myself I would listen. I told myself I would stay where I was. But the silence was too much. And then I heard it. A sound. Low. Rough. Painful. I froze. It came again, louder this time, like something struggling to breathe. My heart began to race as I stood slowly. I should not move. I knew that. I remembered his words clearly. Stay away when night falls. But the sound came again, sharper now, almost like a growl. Not human. Something inside me twisted. Fear. Curiosity. I did not know which one was stronger. Before I could stop myself, I found my feet moving. Slow. Careful. Drawn toward the door. It was not fully closed. Just slightly open. Enough to see through. Enough to make a mistake. I pushed it gently, just a little more. And then I looked inside. My breath caught. He was on the floor. His body twisted in a way that did not look right. His hands were pressed into the ground like he was trying to hold himself down. His breathing was uneven, sharp, like every breath hurt. But that was not what made me freeze. It was his eyes. They were not the same. They were glowing. Not like a wolf. Something darker. Something wrong. I could not move. I could not look away. And then, slowly, like he could feel me there, his head turned. His eyes locked onto mine. For a second, everything went silent. Then he began to rise. Not fully standing. Not fully human. Something in between. Something that made my chest tighten in fear. His gaze did not leave mine. And when he spoke, his voice was no longer calm. It was deeper. Rougher. Like something else was speaking through him. “My wife,” he said slowly. And the way he said it made my blood run cold. Because it did not sound like a man who had just found me. It sounded like something that had been waiting for me to come.