Chapter 6
1394 Words
**CONTENT WARNING: SCENES AHEAD MIGHT BE DISTURBING TO SOME AUDIENCE. READER DISCRETION ADIVCED!**
(Sanya's POV)
I'm still floating from this morning, trying to process what happened.
The coconut dessert. The praise. The way Tyron kissed my hand and called me the goddess of pastry.
Things are getting better. Aaron Knight might have betrayed me.
But I can make my marriage work.
I reach my bedroom. Servants are already there, waiting.
"The Alpha sent us to help you dress, Luna," one says.
She's young. Maybe twenty. Her eyes are kind.
"Thank you," I say.
They bring out a gown. A long, flowing gown.
My breath catches.
It's covered in jewels. Crystals sewn into every inch of fabric. They catch the light, throwing rainbows across the walls.
The collar is high. Stiff. It reaches almost to my jaw.
The sleeves are puffy. Enormous. Like something from a history book.
I stare at it.
This should be for a medieval princess. It would look so weird and out of place wearing it to a wedding reception party.
The servants help me into it. They lace up the back. Tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe.
I stand in front of the mirror... and just stare.
This is too much. Too dramatic.
The jewels are heavy. The collar scratches my neck. The sleeves are so big I can't move my arms properly.
I look ridiculous.
But Tyron chose it. So I whether I like it or not, I have to wear it.
"You look beautiful, Luna," one of the servants says.
Her voice is polite. But I see the way her eyes flicker. The way she bites her lip to suppress a laugh.
She's lying.
They all see I look ridiculous too.
But no one will say it to my face, because this is the Alpha's choice.
I force a smile. "Thank you."
They leave.
I stand alone in front of the mirror.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Buried under jewels and fabric and someone else's vision of what a Luna should be.
I take a deep breath and go downstairs.
The reception hall is full of pack members.
They talk. Laugh. Drink.
The sound hits me like a wave. Loud. Overwhelming.
I stand at the entrance. My hands clutching the heavy fabric of my dress.
When I enter, the room goes silent.
Every head turns. Every eye finds me.
For a moment, no one moves. No one speaks.
Then someone laughs.
It's a short sound. Quickly cut off.
But it's enough.
Someone else giggles. Then another.
Soon the whole room is laughing.
My face burns. Heat crawls up my neck, spreads across my cheeks.
I want to run. To hide. To rip off this stupid dress and never come out of my room again.
But I force myself to stand still. To keep my head high.
I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Tyron appears beside me.
His face is dark with rage.
"Silence!" he roars.
The laughter stops instantly.
You could hear a pin drop.
"My wife is my princess," he says, his voice cold. "So isn't it only right that she dresses like one? What is there to laugh about?"
No one speaks.
They exchange glances. Nervous. Guilty.
Then they nod.
"Nothing, Alpha," someone says.
"That's what I thought."
Tyron takes my hand.
His grip is firm. Possessive.
He leads me to the center of the room.
Music starts playing. Slow. Romantic.
We begin to dance.
I'm stiff in his arms. Uncomfortable. I've never been this close to a male other than Aaron before.
The dress is too heavy. The collar digs into my throat. The sleeves tangle around my arms.
But I follow his lead.
One step. Two steps. Turn.
Tyron's eyes stay on my face. Cold. Unreadable. I wonder what he's thinking.
Is he angry with me? Does he regret defending me?
I can't tell.
Then I hear clapping.
Slow. Mocking.
I turn.
A woman stands at the edge of the crowd.
She's beautiful. Stunning, actually.
Long dark hair. Perfect makeup. A dress that hugs every curve.
She smiles at me.
But her eyes are cold.
"What a lovely couple," she says.
Tyron's grip on my hand tightens. His fingers dig into my palm.
"Maya," he says. "What are you doing here?"
Maya.
The name sounds familiar. But I can't place it.
"I heard about your wedding," Maya says. "I came to congratulate you."
She walks closer. Her heels click against the floor.
Her eyes stay on me. Studying. Evaluating.
"We went to college together," she says to Tyron. "Sanya and I. And her boyfriend, Aaron."
My blood runs cold.
No. Please, no.
"Boyfriend?" Tyron's voice is soft. Deadly.
I recognize that tone. It's the same one he used before he beat me with the belt.
"Oh yes," Maya says. Her smile widens. "They were inseparable. So in love."
She tilts her head. Looking at me like I'm a bug under a microscope.
"Sanya even told me once that Aaron was her partner in everything. In play and in real life. And even after death, he would only be hers."
The room spins.
I can't breathe.
The collar of my dress is choking me. The jewels weigh me down.
Tyron's hand drops from mine.
He steps back.
"Is this true?" he asks.
His voice is quiet now. Too quiet.
"Tyron, please," I say. "Let me explain—"
"Is. This. True?"
I open my mouth.
But no words come out.
What can I say? That Maya is lying?
She's not. Everything she said is true.
Aaron was my boyfriend. I did love him. I did say those words.
But we never... we didn't...
Tyron's face twists.
Rage. Disgust. Humiliation.
All of it flashes across his features.
"Everyone out," he says quietly.
No one moves.
"OUT!"
The pack members scramble to leave.
They push and shove. Desperate to escape.
Within minutes, the hall is empty.
Except for Tyron.
And me.
He grabs my arm.
His grip is like iron. His fingers dig into my flesh.
"You lied to me," he says.
"I didn't lie," I say. "I just didn't tell you—"
"You let me believe you were pure. Untouched."
"I am!" My voice breaks. "Aaron and I never—"
"I don't want to hear his name from your mouth!"
He drags me out of the hall.
Through the house. Past the servants who press themselves against the walls.
Into the garden.
Before violently throwing me on the ground.
I land hard. Pain shoots through my knees.
The jeweled dress tears. Crystals scatter across the grass.
Then cold water hits me.
Hard. Powerful.
It knocks the breath from my lungs.
I gasp. I choke.
Tyron is spraying me with a hose. The water is freezing. Like ice.
It soaks through the dress. Through my hair. Through my skin.
"I, Tyron Stone, have never used even a discarded toy," he roars. "And yet I got a used woman as my wife! A woman who loved another man! I'm not the first man in her life, but a second choice!"
"Please!" I scream. "Tyron, please listen—"
The water stops.
He throws the hose aside.
Then he pulls off his belt.
No.
Oh God, no.
The first strike lands across my back.
I scream.
The pain is white-hot. Blinding.
"Where did he touch you?" Tyron shouts. "How far did you go?"
The belt strikes again.
And again.
"Did he see your private parts? Did he kiss you there?"
"No! We never—"
I try to crawl away.
But he grabs my hair and yanks me back.
Pain explodes across my scalp.
"Am I tasting another man's used goods? A second-hand wife?"
The beating continues.
I lose count of the strikes.
Three. Five. Ten.
I don't know.
Pain is all I know.
Pain and cold and the sound of leather hitting wet fabric.
The jeweled dress is ruined. Torn. Covered in mud and blood.
Just like me.
I try to speak. To explain. To beg.
But I can't form words anymore.
I can only scream.
And cry.
And pray for it to end.
The world goes dark around the edges.
I hear Tyron's voice shouting. Still raging.
But it sounds far away now.
Like I'm underwater.
Finally, my body gives out.
And everything fades.
- Writer
