CHAPTER TWELVE
1097 Words
SILVER’S POV
The dress was too white.
Too clean.
And definitely too… hollow.
It wasn't my style at all.
It hung on me like a lie, stitched from fabric I didn’t choose and promises I didn’t make. The sleeves were sheer, the waist cinched, the hem trailing behind me like a ghost I couldn’t outrun.
Lucia De Luca had sent it up earlier that morning with a soft note.
“I hope you wear it. It was mine once. He may not give you a heart, but you’ll have a crown.”
I had met the Luna, soon to be Dowager Luna three days after I arrived.
She was very nice to me.
I wasn't used to genuine warmth from an adult.
It felt really odd.
I kept my distance and stayed put in the room, only going for fittings.
I never knew it was her dress I was being fitted into.
I looked so undeserving of white.
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
So I didn’t.
I just stood in front of the tall mirror in my room, watching my reflection as one of the pack members pinned the final strand of hair into place.
“You look… breathtaking.” she said softly.
I didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? Thanks. I’m marrying a man who doesn’t even want to see my face or me.
“Do you need anything else, Luna?”
“Don’t call me that.” I said quietly.
She froze.
“I—I’m sorry. I thought—”
“I’m not her yet.” My voice didn’t shake, even if my hands did.
And I would never be.
His fated mate was their Luna.
Alive or dead.
I was just an offering.
The lady quickly bowed and excused herself, closing the door behind her.
I was alone again.
Just me and my reflection.
Eighteen years old.
Unmated.
Unloved.
Unwanted.
Soon-to-be wife to a man whose eyes I’d never seen, whose voice I’d never heard, and whose heart… was never on the table to begin with.
I glanced down at my hands.
Steady now.
I didn’t feel like a bride.
I felt like a sacrifice.
The knock came gently.
“Silver?” Lucia’s voice was soft on the other side.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
She entered slowly, draped in a burgundy shawl, her silver hair braided elegantly down one shoulder. Her eyes scanned me carefully, like she was taking mental notes.
“You look… like fire pretending to be ice.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It means you're not broken. Just frozen. For now.”
I didn’t respond.
She walked closer, reaching out to adjust the pearl pin in my hair.
“He’s stubborn. Cold. Scarred.”
“I figured.”
“But he keeps his word. It is one of his standings and the standing of this pack and the Italian heritage.” she said gently.
“And today, he’s keeping his word to me. That’s more than I ever thought I’d see.”
“I’m not here for his redemption arc.” I murmured.
Lucia smiled a little.
“No. But maybe he’s here for yours.”
I looked at her then.
Really looked.
Her skin was paler than it had been days ago. Her breath shallower. The weight of dying hung around her like an invisible veil.
And yet… her eyes were full of something I hadn’t seen since I got here.
Hope.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I nodded.
“I have no choice.”
Lucia closed the veil and led me through the long, dim corridors of the estate. My heels tapped against the marble floor, echoing louder with every step.
Soldiers lined the hallways like statues. None looked at me. No one smiled.
It looked like a funeral.
When we reached the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, I paused.
This was it.
No turning back.
Lucia gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t forget who you are. Even if he does.”
The doors opened.
The hall was massive—stone walls lined with torches, iron chandeliers hanging from high arches, and rows of chairs filled with silent, curious faces. Pack members. High-ranking officials. Strangers.
At the end of the long aisle stood the priest.
Beside him…
Alessio De Luca.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dressed in all black like a shadow given form.
But he didn’t look at me.
Not once.
I walked slowly down the aisle, each step deliberate, controlled. I could feel the eyes on me—judging, measuring, weighing.
But I didn’t care about them.
I cared about the man at the end of this cursed path who wouldn’t even lift his gaze.
When I reached him, he didn’t speak.
He didn’t glance.
He simply extended his hand—formality, not affection—and I placed mine into his.
He had a tattoo of his two hands and it seemed to progress into his sleeves.
His touch was cold.
The ceremony began.
Words were spoken.
Oaths exchanged.
He never once looked up.
Not even when the priest said.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Instead, Alessio the veil that draped over my face… and left it there.
He didn’t lift it to even see how I looked.
I could see him clearly but he couldn't see me clearly.
He turned to the priest.
“That won’t be necessary.”
That f*****g stung.
There was a pause. A thick, awkward silence.
Then the priest cleared his throat and declared us bound by alliance and law.
Applause—scattered and uncertain—echoed through the hall.
And just like that… it was done.
I was his.
He was mine.
And I had never felt more alone.
Alessio turned to me at last. His eyes were storm gray. Cold. Sharp. Calculated.
He leaned in just enough that no one else could hear.
“You may move into the Luna wing.” he said flatly.
“You will have all the resources you need. But don’t expect… anything more.”
I lifted my chin.
“Good. Because I don’t want anything more.”
He gave a tight nod and stepped away before I could even take a breath.
Lucia was waiting at the corner of the aisle, her expression unreadable. But when our eyes met, I saw it again.
That damn hope.
Like this was the beginning of something.
But I knew better.
This wasn’t a beginning.
This was a sentence.
And I had just started serving it.
- Writer
