Chapter 10 A Wedding in Flames
[Nyx]
The wedding venue glittered with extravagance, packed with representatives from allied businesses and prominent Moonblade pack members. Lysander and I entered under the scrutiny of countless eyes, my arm rigid in his. As we crossed the ornately decorated walkway, my heel caught on the carpet's edge, and I stumbled.
Lysander's reaction was lightning-fast. His hand steadied my waist, the movement both swift and graceful, as if it were simply a choreographed dance step. "Careful," he murmured, his arm solid and supportive. "These carpets are treacherous." I felt the warmth of his palm through the thin material of my dress, so different from the unyielding strength I'd experienced during our fight.
My father spotted us and immediately broke away from his conversation with one of the pack's most influential entrepreneurs. His face lit up—not for me, but for Lysander. "Lysander, my boy!" he boomed, approaching with arms outstretched. He clasped Lysander in a warm embrace that I'd rarely received myself. "The hero of the hour! Everyone's been asking about you."
I might as well have been invisible. Heads turned throughout the venue, whispers and appreciative glances directed at Lysander rather than the Alpha's daughter. Even pack members who'd known me for years seemed more intrigued by the warrior who'd somehow earned my hand than by me. Father clapped Lysander's shoulder firmly before returning to his networking with the pack's elite.
The ceremony area was lavishly decorated, a testament to Isla's meticulous planning. She glided through the crowd with practiced elegance, the perfect Luna. My father stood regal and imposing, cementing business relationships through strategic conversation. My brother Tristan stood before the altar, a picture-perfect groom.
Lysander and I took our seats in the front row, his presence beside me drawing more attention than my own status ever had. I fought a suffocating sensation as I watched this carefully orchestrated power display unfold. The cold, calculated nature of family politics had never been so starkly apparent.
The ceremony was proceeding with military precision. Mr. Hartwell, distinguished and proud, stood with his daughter at the entrance of the aisle. At some unseen signal, they began their processional walk, Ophelia's ivory gown flowing elegantly as her father guided her toward Tristan. Her hand rested deliberately on her father's arm, the diamond bracelet—a Hartwell family heirloom—catching the light with each step.
Tristan stood at the altar, his posture perfect, expression appropriate—not too eager, not too reserved. Just the right amount of dignified anticipation for a political union of this magnitude. Father watched from his position of honor, his calculating gaze sweeping over the assembled dignitaries, mentally tallying the connections being solidified through this spectacle.
"Are you cold?" Lysander whispered, noticing my slight shiver as the air conditioning intensified. Before I could respond, he removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders with careful precision, his fingers brushing against my skin with deliberate gentleness.
I forced a smile, acutely aware of the eyes watching our every interaction. "Thank you," I murmured, the words tasting bitter. His jacket carried his scent—that infuriating mixture of forest and steel that inexplicably appealed to my wolf despite my rational mind's protests. I hated myself for being drawn to the smell of this opportunist who was clearly using our marriage to climb the social ladder. The conflicting reactions only deepened my irritation.
As Hartwell approached the halfway point, preparing to symbolically hand his daughter to my brother, a thunderous crash shattered the sacred moment.
The grand doors burst open with such force that several guests gasped audibly. Tristan's ex-girlfriend Rebecca stumbled in, her expensive dress disheveled, makeup smeared by tears, yet still beautiful. "Tristan!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "How could you do this to me? Three years! Three years of promises!"
Murmurs rippled through the shocked guests as she stumbled forward, nearly falling to her knees. "You swore we would be together forever... you promised! You said Ophelia was just a family arrangement, that your heart would always be mine..." Her voice broke on the final words. Some guests' expressions shifted from shock to sympathy, exchanging doubtful glances.
Isla's face remained impassive as she signaled security, who immediately moved to contain the situation. Rebecca struggled against their grip. "Let me go! You can't do this!" She gazed desperately at Tristan. "You whispered you loved me every night until you found out how much the Hartwells were worth! Now you won't even look at me?"
What chilled me most was Tristan's reaction—he didn't even glance at Rebecca, turning instead to comfort the seemingly "distressed" Ophelia as if the crying behind him had nothing to do with him. Isla activated her predetermined crisis response: "The poor girl is mentally unstable. We'll ensure she receives proper care." The guests quickly accepted this explanation, the ceremony continuing as if nothing had happened.
I couldn't stomach the charade any longer. In the commotion of Rebecca being dragged away, I slipped out through a side door into the gardens. The family's cold, calculated politics made it impossible to breathe.
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Deep in the garden's stone gazebo, I stood alone, taking deep breaths to calm myself. Footsteps approached, and I turned to see Lysander walking toward me.
"Checking on the deserter?" I asked coldly. "Don't worry, I'll return to continue our performance."
Lysander shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. That scene was... unpleasant."
"See?" I laughed bitterly. "This is the family you're so desperate to join. Fake, cold-blooded, using people and discarding them without a second thought. Are you sure you want to tie yourself to us?"
Lysander met my eyes directly. "What if I told you that I didn't agree to this marriage because you're the Alpha's daughter?"
I paused, staring into his eyes, suddenly feeling an unexpected warmth rising to my cheeks. He was too close, and I could almost feel his breath. Somehow, my gaze dropped to his lips, as if he might lean in at any moment. My heart raced, and my thoughts became a jumbled mess.