The Alpha's Surrogate Bride

THE NIGHT THEY TOOK ME AWAY FROM MY DESTINY (AND MY NOTHINGNESS)

ARIA

I wake up to a hand clamped over my mouth. My body reacts before my brain catches up heart slamming, the instant urge to bite, claw, run. That kind of too-fast instinct I’m not supposed to have. But it surges anyway, hot and violent, like it’s been caged behind my ribs my whole life. I try to scream, but the hand presses harder.

“Aria, shut up,” my mother’s voice slices through the bedroom darkness, and my body relaxes for one pathetic second. I know her scent before my eyes adjust: sandalwood, burnt herbs, and that bitter smoke that’s clung to my skin since I was a kid. I’ve always hated that smell. Which isn’t normal, considering she’s my mother.

She pulls her hand away slowly, and I realize she’s not alone in my room. Two pack guards… both wearing the same hard, tense expression.

“What happened?” My voice comes out rough as I rub sleep from my eyes, “Why are you... ”

“Put this on. Now.” My mother throws a bundle of white fabric onto the bed.

It takes me a few seconds to understand. It’s my sister’s dress. Lyria’s wedding dress.

“No… no, Mom. Don’t joke about this,” I whispered, my stomach dropping through the floor. “The ceremony’s in a few hours. Lyria needs ”

“Lyria ran.” She cut me off without blinking. “Vanished in the middle of the night. Took a backpack and… someone helped her.”

My world, which was never big to begin with, shrinks to a single thread of air. She’d told me she had found her mate, but this marriage to the neighboring pack had been planned for years. We’re identical twins, but only Lyria was born with alpha blood, so only she could be the bride. Our parents simply ignored the fact that the Moon Goddess had blessed her with a destined mate and pushed forward with the alliance in the name of “greater peace.”

“The… the mate? She really found him?” I managed, still not believing it. I thought she was joking when she said she’d run.

My mother’s jaw locks tight. She never admits weakness. Never admits that her perfect daughter did the unthinkable.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone. And you,” her ancient, cruel eyes locked on mine “are taking her place.”

I laugh. A dead, desperate sound.

“I’m the disposable beta, remember? The one nobody’s supposed to even look at during the banquet. The one who can barely hold her shift without running a fever. The one you taught to stay quiet and small, so I wouldn’t draw attention… And now you want me to marry him? The cursed alpha who’ll rip someone apart at the altar if he catches the wrong scent?”

“He won’t know.” Her voice cracks for just a second, almost inaudible, but it cracks. “You have to do this for the pack.”

“Have to.” “Must.” “For the pack.” “For peace.”

It’s always been this way. My life was never mine. I stare at the dress on the bed. It doesn’t just look white. It looks like a death sentence. And it will be if he finds out I’m not Lyria.

“Why me?” I whispered. “Why is it always me?”

My mother takes a deep breath. Then, with the same ice-cold tone she used when she sealed my wolf away at eight years old, she says, “Because you were born to carry what your sister couldn’t bear.”

The rune branded beneath my ribcage burns like liquid fire under my skin. The curse always reacts when it hears truths I’m not supposed to know.

“Mom…” My voice breaks as pain floods my body. “He’ll know. Alphas sense everything. Scent, soul… the goddamn blood. He’ll know I’m not her.”

“Then fool him.” She turns on her heel. “Or die trying. But you will walk down that aisle.”

My mother cups my face in her cold hands. “Don’t look at him too long. Don’t speak more than necessary. If he asks anything, say you’re nervous about the ceremony. And, Aria…” she hesitates, “if the mark burns, breathe deep and count to ten. Don’t let her wake up. Not today.”

I almost ask: And what if he kills me in front of everyone when he finds out?

But she’s already leaving, heels echoing down the stairs.

The guards yank me out of bed. There’s never been a choice when it comes to my mother. Never. While they dress me, pin my hair, bind my wrists, so I’ll “stay still,” the hidden rune throbs like it wants to tear through my skin.

Like my wolf is pounding on the door after years locked away. Free me, she hisses in the back of my mind, voice hoarse like a wounded animal. I can’t. If I let her out… I’ll kill someone. Maybe myself. The dress squeezes my lungs, and the smell of flowers and sulfur makes me nauseous.

Nobody asks if I want this. Nobody ever has.

The carriage is silent when they shove me inside. Lanterns light the dark road; the pre-dawn wind carries pine and rain. The waning moon follows, pale and indifferent.

I should be shaking. I should be crying.

But a strange emptiness has settled in my chest. A dangerous kind of calm. My intuition that annoying, dead-accurate thing whispers behind my ear: Destiny just changed direction. And you’re going to bleed for it. Great. As if I didn’t already know.

When we reach the temple, Rohen’s pack guards are already waiting. All armed and suspicious. I smell iron and adrenaline thick in the air.

They open the carriage door politely enough so I can step out, but with zero real interest. “Miss Lyria,” one of them mutters, clearly bored, barely glancing at me.

My mother digs her nails into my arm until I see stars.

“Just walk,” she hisses. The walk to the altar feels endless and silent. There’s nothing to say because I never wanted to be here in the first place.

Rohen Blackwood stands at the altar. Tall. Shoulders too broad for the ceremonial suit. Black hair falling over his forehead, beard trimmed, but still carrying that untamed edge no tailor can hide. His eyes are such a light gray, they look like ice, and they’re locked on me.

When I’m three meters away, it happens. He inhales. A low, almost inaudible sound rumbles from his chest. A growl so deep I feel it in my bones. I freeze.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. I see his Beta step forward, hand already on the ceremonial sword. I see my mother go pale in the front row.

Rohen takes one step. Then another. The veil hides nothing from him. He’s scenting. Scenting deep. Like he could peel my skin off with his stare alone.

“You’re not her,” he says, low enough that only I can hear. His voice is rough, dangerous, laced with something that makes the hairs on my neck stand up.

I lift my chin. Force the words out. “I’m the one standing here. That’s what matters.”

For a second, I think he’s going to grab me right there. Rip the veil off, expose the lie, declare war, and start killing. But then something shifts. His eyes change. The icy gray melts into liquid gold. The beast is looking at me.

And then… silence. The growl dies in his throat. His shoulders tensed like drawn bowstrings, relaxed by a fraction. He blinks. Confused. Like something inside him just… switched off. He steps closer. So close, I feel the heat of his body through the dress. “Say your name,” he orders, voice so low it’s almost a whisper meant only for me.

I hesitate. Just one second. “Lyria,” I lie.

He stares at me for one endless second. The beast is still there, I feel it. But quiet. Watching. Waiting… Then he nods and turns to the elder who will perform the ceremony.

“Begin.”

I almost collapsed with relief.

But when he takes my hand to slide on the traditional silver-and-onyx ring, his fingers squeeze too hard almost painful. He leans in, lips brushing the veil near my ear.

“You’re lying, little impostor,” he whispers. “And I’m going to find out exactly who you really are.”

“I… I’m just nervous,” I lie again, and the rune burns, punishing me for it.

He steps even closer. Too close. Too hot. Too dangerous.

“Don’t lie to me.” His eyes flashed deep gold. “I know every scent in that pack. Hers too. And you… you’re something I’ve never smelled before.”

Something inside me claws at my skin from the inside. Almost like it’s answering him. Something in him knows I’m the kind of danger no pack would dare put beside him. And yet… he accepts. The cursed alpha accepts the substitute bride he knows is a fraud. And deep in his eyes, I see the truth:

He doesn’t want me here because he believes in peace. He wants me here because his beast, that ancient, feral thing, chose me before any ritual. Before any lie. Before any destiny.

And I am so, so f****d.