Timothy's POV
The pain hits me like a freight train.
One second I'm standing at the altar, saying vows I don't mean to a woman I don't love. Next, my chest feels like someone's ripping it open from the inside.
Kael surges forward in my mind. "Mate! Something's wrong with our mate!"
"She's not our mate," I snap back, but even as I say it, I know he's not talking about Sophia.
He means Penelope.
The ceremony blurs after that. I go through the motions—kiss the bride, accept congratulations, smile for photos. But the whole time my chest aches.
"You look pale." Sophia touches my arm. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Fine." I force another smile. "Just tired."
She buys it. Or pretends to. With Sophia, it's hard to tell what's real and what's a performance.
The reception drags on for hours.
