Chapter 128
Vivian's POV
I watched from the left-side family box.
For the first time in twenty years, I saw her choose.
"She's insane," Donald hissed beside me. His face had turned purple. "She just—in front of everyone—"
"Shut up," I said calmly.
He whipped around to face me. "What did you—"
"I said shut up, Donald." I couldn't look away from the stage. From Elena's face. "Look at her."
"I am looking! I'm looking at our daughter destroy this family!"
But he wasn't. Not really. He only saw his failed business deals, his dying wolf. He'd never actually looked at Elena at all.
But I had. Just now. Finally.
She wasn't trembling. Wasn't crying. No longer that small, frightened girl who'd jumped from a second-story window to escape a marriage she never wanted.
She looked... certain. Like she'd finally figured out which way was north.
"She looks happy," I heard myself say.
"Happy?" Donald grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise. "She's committing social suicide! When this gets out—when the other packs hear she chose a bastard over the heir—"
"Maybe," I said slowly, "she doesn't care what they think anymore."
The possibility hung between us like a blade.
Donald released me with a sound of disgust. "You've gone as mad as she has."
Perhaps I had. Or perhaps I was just now waking up too.
---
Elena's POV
Caleb responded after a brief moment of stiffness. The kiss started chaste—perfunctory—but then something shifted. His hand slid to the small of my back, fingers splaying possessively across the silk of my dress, and he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss with an intensity that made my knees buckle.
This wasn't part of the plan.
His mouth moved against mine with barely restrained hunger, tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I gasped and he took full advantage. The ballroom, the guests, the flashing cameras—everything dissolved into white noise. There was only Caleb, his scent overwhelming my senses, his body solid and real against mine, his kiss claiming me in a way that left no room for doubt about who I belonged to.
I felt myself melting into him, my fingers clutching his shoulders for balance as the world tilted.
When he finally released me, I was breathless, my lips swollen and tingling. I could taste him—something dark and addictive that made me want to chase his mouth again.
"Better," he murmured against my temple, his voice rough. Then, louder, to the frozen officiant: "Is that sufficient?"
The poor man stammered something about congratulations. The crowd's reaction was a confused mixture of cheers, gasps, and scandalized whispers.
The moment we stepped off the stage, reality crashed back in. As Caleb guided me toward the backstage area, my face burned, his hand never leaving the small of my back. Guests' eyes followed us.
"Next time, don't wear so much lipstick."
I blinked, confused. "What?"
His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Makes it harder to taste you properly."
Heat flooded my face. Before I could form a coherent response, he released me and stepped back, putting careful distance between us. "Go fix your makeup. I'll handle the guests."
I fled toward the dressing room, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
---
Lila's POV
The second Elena disappeared backstage, I launched into damage control mode.
"Did you see that?" a woman in a ridiculous feathered hat stage-whispered to her companion. "That wasn't the Vance heir. That was the—"
"The other one," her friend supplied, eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "The bastard. Can you imagine?"
I materialized at their elbows with my brightest smile. "Actually, I can imagine. Elena and Caleb have been seeing each other for months. Didn't you notice how he looks at her?" I leaned in conspiratorially. "Like she's the only person in the room."
The women blinked at me, thrown off balance.
"But what about Damon—"
"What about Damon?" I kept my voice light, friendly, but let steel creep into the edges. "He's the one who left. Elena made her choice, and frankly, anyone with eyes could see she and Caleb were meant for each other."
I moved through the ballroom like this, intercepting whispered conversations, spinning the narrative. By the time the reception dinner started, I'd planted seeds in at least two dozen ears: Elena and Caleb were secretly in love. Damon was the odd man out. This was actually romantic, if you thought about it.
Sure, half of them probably didn't believe me. But doubt was enough. Doubt meant they wouldn't immediately write Elena off as a social pariah.
---
Elena's POV
In the dressing room, I stared at my reflection. My lipstick was completely smeared, my eyes too bright and wild.
The door burst open. My father stood in the doorway, my mother's hand still wrapped around his wrist, her knuckles white with effort.
"You," Donald snarled at me, shaking Vivian off. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Do I know what I've done?" My voice was steadier than I felt. "Yes, Father. I chose someone who actually sees me as a person, not a transaction."
Donald's face went from red to purple. His hand rose—
Vivian caught his wrist. "No."
"Let go, Vivian."
"No." Her voice cracked, but she didn't release him.
"Randy's been sent to the hospital again because of your spectacle," he said, wrenching his arm free.
The words hit like a physical blow.
"Isabella's people took him upstairs to rest. When he heard that Damon had run off and the ceremony was continuing, he came back to the box. He collapsed after seeing you and Caleb exchange rings. They rushed him to the hospital through the side door." He stepped closer, jabbing his finger toward me.
I did feel guilty. But this wasn't my fault.
I'd already made my choice. I'd rather be seen as a woman playing between two brothers than be the abandoned bride.
Even if I became the villain of this scandal, I refused to be the weak, pitiful one.