Chapter 39: Wedding Day to Mario
1409 Words
Thumper POV
Yesterday, I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
Mario said he couldn’t see me because it would bring bad luck to the bride. He said it gently, smiling, brushing my hand like he always did when he wanted me calm. The caretakers nodded along, calling it tradition, romance, devotion.
They said he treated me like porcelain.
Like a doll.
So I asked the nurses to record what they could—only because they kept insisting something was wrong. Only because their eyes never matched their smiles when they spoke about him.
I didn’t believe them.
Not really.
I told myself they were exaggerating. That Mario would never hurt me. That he loved me. That he was protecting me. That whatever I couldn’t remember wasn’t important because the man in front of me was kind.
But today I watched the videos.
And the world cracked.
There was no romance in the screen.
No tenderness.
No love.
Only my body—unmoving, compliant, silent.
Only him—cold, entitled, rough in ways no loving man ever should be.
Mario had raped me.
The realization didn’t come with screams or tears.
It came with silence.
A deep, suffocating quiet that settled into my bones and hollowed me out from the inside.
I felt ashamed—not because of what he did, but because I had trusted him. Because I had defended him. Because I had smiled for him while he stripped pieces of me away until there was barely anything left to humiliate.
I sat there afterward, unable to cry, unable to scream, unable to even feel anger.
Just… empty.
Since yesterday, something had been different.
My head still hurt, but the fog was thinning. The constant exhaustion was gone. The heaviness in my chest felt lighter, like something poisonous had finally begun to drain from my body.
I could think.
And thinking hurt.
Today was supposed to be my wedding day.
Instead, it felt like I was an actress being shoved onto a stage—costumed, painted, scripted—expected to smile through a role written by someone else.
Everyone around me spoke of happiness. Of vows. Of forever.
But all I felt was dread.
This wasn’t a celebration.
It was a performance.
And somewhere deep inside me, beneath the fear and the shame and the numbness, a quiet truth finally surfaced—small, fragile, but undeniable.
I didn’t want to marry him.
I just didn’t know yet how to survive saying no.
I stayed very still in my room, afraid that if I moved too much the fragile clarity I’d found would shatter again.
A caretaker entered quietly and held out a phone. She didn’t meet my eyes.
“Someone wanted you to see this,” she said, then left before I could ask anything.
My hands trembled as I took the phone.
On the screen were pictures of me.
Not the version of me I’d seen reflected in mirrors these past weeks—pale, subdued, carefully arranged—but alive. Laughing. Mid-motion. Unaware of the camera.
Beside me stood a man.
Blonde. Tan. Tattooed. Muscular in a way that spoke of strength earned, not displayed. His blue eyes were striking—too familiar—and the way he looked at me in every photo made my chest ache.
He wasn’t posing.
He was happy.
And so was I.
The sight of us together hit me harder than any memory I’d lost.
My breath hitched as questions slammed into me all at once.
Did I know him?
Did he know me?
Why did my heart feel like it was breaking just looking at his smile?
My fingers shook as I scrolled, my vision blurring.
And then—
Everything rushed back.
Not in order. Not gently.
Warmth. Safety. Arms around me when I was afraid. Laughter that didn’t feel forced. A presence that never demanded, never cornered, never made me feel small.
Loved.
Treasured.
Chosen.
The emotions came so violently I couldn’t hold them back. A sob tore out of me, raw and uncontrollable, and tears streamed down my face as the truth settled into my bones.
I remembered him.
And remembering hurt.
I knew I was supposed to meet my future in-laws soon. I knew crying like this wouldn’t help my situation. I knew I needed to pull myself together, to survive just a little longer.
With shaking hands, I grabbed a napkin and wiped my face, forcing my breathing to steady.
That was when the windows behind me exploded.
Glass shattered inward with a deafening crash, shards flying like rain, and I screamed as I spun around—
Only to freeze.
Standing amid the wreckage, untouched by the falling glass, was a wolf.
Massive. Powerful. Unreal.
His fur shimmered like molten gold, catching the light in a way that didn’t belong to this world. And his eyes—those eyes—were the same piercing blue from the photographs.
The same eyes that had looked at me with love.
The same eyes I had cried over moments ago.
My heart slammed against my ribs as recognition hit harder than fear.
Not a monster.
Not an intruder.
Him.
And somehow… I knew.
Even before he moved.
Even before he spoke.
Whatever was coming next would change everything.
The wolf lowered himself in front of me, massive body folding with care, as if he was afraid of frightening me further. For something so large, so powerful, he moved with an almost reverent gentleness.
A gentle giant.
My chest tightened painfully.
I wondered if he could feel what was tearing through me—if he could sense the fear still clinging to my skin, the shame I hadn’t been able to wash away, the confusion lodged so deep in my mind it hurt to think.
I wondered where I had seen him before.
My hand lifted on instinct, not thought, and I touched his snout. His fur was warm beneath my fingers, soft, alive. The contact sent a shiver through me, something deep inside responding before my mind could catch up.
Then I heard it.
A sharp, cracking sound.
I pulled my hand back with a gasp as his body began to change. Bones snapped and shifted, not violently but inevitably, as if this form had never been the one meant to stay. Fur receded. Limbs reshaped. Skin replaced gold.
Slowly—painfully—he became a man.
A blonde, tan man, tall and broad, his body marked with tattoos that looked like stories carved into skin rather than decoration. Strength rolled off him in quiet waves, not aggressive, not threatening.
When his blue eyes lifted to meet mine, my breath caught painfully in my throat.
Those eyes.
They were the same ones from the pictures.
The same warmth. The same intensity. The same impossible feeling that made my chest ache and my knees weaken.
Hope surged before I could stop it—reckless, desperate hope.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely holding together. “I feel like… like I’ve met you before. I’m sorry, I can’t really remember, but you feel so familiar. Please… tell me.”
The way he looked at me then nearly broke me.
There was no hunger in his gaze. No entitlement. No demand.
Only love.
Pure, aching, restrained love—like he’d been holding himself back from me for far too long.
“Mate,” he said softly, as if the word itself was fragile. “I’m your mate. Dominic Valor.”
The sound of his name sent something crashing into place inside me.
“You don’t belong to him,” he continued, his voice steady even as pain flickered behind his eyes. “You belong to me. And if you let me… I’ll take you far away from him. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you’ll never be afraid again.”
His words wrapped around me, gentle but firm, offering—not commanding.
I felt torn in half.
Conflicted.
Scared.
But when I searched my heart for what I felt toward Mario, there was nothing warm waiting there. No comfort. No safety. Only obligation… and the echo of what he’d done to me.
And standing in front of me now was a man who didn’t make my body flinch.
A man whose presence felt like shelter.
I didn’t know what choice I would make yet.
But for the first time in a long time…
I felt something I thought I had lost forever.
Hope.
- Writer
