The Disabled Alpha's Bride

The Most Wicked Of All

Eric's POV

The supernatural branch under the Civil Affairs Bureau is responsible for managing all matters involving mystical creatures. These days, even the supernatural need a certificate to prove their legal marriages.

And that’s how I found myself here today, about to secure a marriage license with my new bride, Valeria of the Nightveil Pack.

I’d never needed the Civil Affairs Bureau before; my previous marriages were nothing but formalities. But things had changed—wolves in my pack were becoming harder to fool, particularly the old ones. So, I decided to make things official with Valeria, putting any doubts to rest.

Valeria, I assumed, was equally unfamiliar with this ritual. She had confessed as much: "I’ve never even had a boyfriend before."

Outside the dressing room, my beta, Henry, hovered uncertainly before finally speaking. "Alpha Eric, do we really need the certificate? All your previous marriages were for show. I don’t see any difference in this one either. As long as the Shadowridge pack believes, the rest will follow, isn’t that enough?”

While Henry voiced his concerns, I was preoccupied, scrolling through quarterly reports on my tablet. Without glancing up, I replied, "I don’t want anyone to figure it out. Period."

In this line of work, underestimating even the smallest threat—be it nosy netizens or the wolves of Shadowridge eager for leverage—could lead to ruin.

"But won’t a legal certificate just complicate things?" Henry pressed, lowering his voice. "And besides… from Marcus’s tone the other day, Valeria may not even be the true second daughter of the Everly family. She could have her own motives for this."

I signed off on the report, passing the tablet back to him. "My bigger worry is that she might be too well-intentioned.”

I feared neither ghosts nor malevolent forces. If I had been born in ancient times, I would have been a ruler playing political games or a treacherous minister with overwhelming power.

Scheming, plotting, and betrayal had accompanied my childhood, so I had grown accustomed to it.

Simply put, I didn’t fear villains, for I considered myself the most wicked of all.

What does unsettle me, however, is goodness; I’ve never truly believed it exists.

With a cold resolve, I added, "Marriage is a business transaction to me. I want a profit, and so does the Nightveil. We’ll wait and see if it ends in mutual benefit or disaster.”

Henry fell silent, taking in my words before nodding. “Understood."

If Valeria harbored secrets that could be harmful to the Shadowridge, I’d expose them in due time.

…

This was the second time Valeria had met with my stylist. Given the occasion, the stylist dressed her in a white blouse with wide-legged trousers in a muted rouge, giving her a refined and dignified appearance befitting a young Lycan lady from a prominent pack.

Obtaining a marriage license for supernatural beings was no different from for humans: a photo, a signature, and it was done. Dressing up for such a brief process seemed excessive, but I had decided that today, Valeria would reflect on her family’s reputation, despite their recent fall from grace. As the “second daughter,” who had supposedly "slumbered for years and finally awakened," her appearance should carry a certain elegance.

Her soft, long hair cascaded down her back, with the strands at her forehead smoothed with styling cream, parted evenly on either side, revealing her forehead and ears.

“Dear, your ears are so small!” My pack stylist exclaimed, staring at her thin, silvery ears. “They’re only half the size of mine!”

Valeria glanced at herself in the mirror, visibly unfamiliar with her reflection. "I don’t get much chance to look in the mirror," she murmured, careful not to give too much away.

“Oh, I understand!" the stylist replied. "I heard you were quite ill growing up… just woke up recently, right? It’s normal not to know yourself well yet.”

This "illness" was how the Nightveil had explained the rumors surrounding the second young lady’s coma. I knew Valeria thought I believed the story, so she maintained the act.

“Yeah,” Valeria nodded. Leaving some things unsaid allowed others to fill in the blanks for her. She is a smart one.

“All done!” The stylist tapped the back of her chair. “Take a look, satisfied?”

I took in her reflection: crisp white blouse, soft rouge, her hair cascading gracefully. Just a month ago, she’d knelt on the ground, obediently wiping down the floors of her pack’s Alpha. Now, she was a refined, enigmatic werewolf bride.

The stylist continued, "I kept the makeup minimal—your features are naturally stunning. Fine brows, a slender nose. See, I didn’t even cover your beauty mark."

Valeria had a tiny teardrop-shaped mole under her left eye, a delicate touch of melancholy against her otherwise innocent face. Her subtle beauty felt closer to her true self.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and then asked, “Is Alpha Eric ready?”

“He is," the stylist replied, smiling, “Alpha Eric’s hair was done this morning.”

Valeria glanced over and offered a small, polite smile. "I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, Alpha Eric.”

I nodded. "Not at all."

…

It was a weekday, so the Civil Affairs Bureau was quiet. The supernatural branch was located in a secluded section. When we arrived, we only waited in the hall for a few minutes before being led into a photo room with a stark white backdrop.

"Alright, over here!" the fairy photographer chirped, trying to lift the solemn mood in the room.

He gestured for Valeria to scoot closer to me. I was still seated in my wheelchair, so she had to sit on a stool. My beta, Henry, had set it up at a comfortable distance—20 centimeters away, according to my preference for not being too close to anyone.

I saw her hesitation as she looked at the stool, then at me. “Should I move closer?” she asked.

Without looking at her, I replied, “Move.”

She shifted, leaning in until our arms were almost touching.

An odd sensation crept over me. I never allowed anyone this close, yet with Valeria, the feeling was unexpectedly calming, even pleasant.

Do you like her? I asked my wolf, Ragnar.

Ragnar only growled, still resentful of this rushed marriage.

As she turned to face me, I found myself meeting her gaze. Her features, starkly different from other Lycan women, held a dangerous beauty that seemed ready to uncoil and reveal something fierce beneath.

“Too close,” I murmured.

“Oh,” she replied softly, sliding the stool back slightly. Then she lowered her gaze, her long lashes casting a delicate shadow on her cheeks.

“How about now?” she asked.

“That’s fine.”

The fairy photographer must have sensed the tension in the room. "Ah, a bit serious, aren’t we?” he chuckled nervously. “Maybe a little smile?”

I managed a small smirk, while Valeria pressed her lips into a straight line.

Five seconds later, the photographer sighed and suggested, “Think of something happy?”

Valeria replied, “I did.”

I added, “I didn’t.”

And that was the expression he captured—the most serious wedding photo of his career. Watching us leave, he muttered, “I guess good-looking people just don’t smile much…”

We heard him, of course, but paid him no mind.

After completing the paperwork, I produced a ring and offered it to Valeria.

“I already have a ring,” she replied, glancing at her right hand. It was the “betrothal gift” I’d given her at the Nightveil mansion.

Without a word, I held out the new ring. “That was the engagement ring. This is the wedding ring.”

She looked taken aback. “Engagement? When did that happen?”

I could have replied, when I pulled you off the floor at your pack house, that was the proposal.

Instead, I softened, raised the new ring, and asked, “Will you marry me?”