Elena’s POV
The atmosphere in the wedding hall was buzzing, though not for the reasons Bryson probably hoped. Most of the guests. especially the noble ones, showed up to this wedding not to give their blessing but merely out of sheer curiosity, as this was a spectacle to see the fall of a once–promising Alpha.
I stood in my dressing room, my team of stylists fluttering around me. Or rather, the palace’s stylists.
They flock around me like I’m attending a significant event when I’m only going to an event, and merely as a guest.
But, they too, knew the meaning of my attendance. It’s a closure, and a statement.
“Not white,” I raised my hand when I saw one of them grab a white dress and repeated what I had ordered earlier. And nothing that looks like a bride. I don’t want anyone saying I tried to upstage her.”
Having someone upstage someone at their wedding was already an issue; how much more if it were me, who was the previous wife of the groom? It would sure be chaotic.
“But you will upstage her, Princess, just by existing,” Zara had joked.
I gave her a warning look but waved my hand to let them continue their magic.
I chose a gown of deep, midnight–blue velvet. It was elegant, regal, and dark–fitting for the mood. The neckline was tasteful, dipping just enough to show the skin of my collarbone, and the sleeves were long and fitted. It screamed ‘Royalty,‘ not ‘Ex–Wife.
They pinned my hair up in an elegant style that I didn’t know what term to call, exposing the diamond earrings Deacon had gifted me, whose stones were so large they felt heavy against my neck.
“You look… amazing,” Zara said, stepping back to admire the look.
“Good,” I replied, checking my reflection for the first time. I didn’t look like the girl who had cried over Bryson. I looked like the woman who ruled the Kingdom.
Deacon was waiting for me at the bottom of the grand staircase. He was dressed in his formal military dress uniform, medals gleaming on his chest.
Since it’s a wedding and he’s attending as a prince, he couldn’t go casual.
When he saw me descending from the stairs, he stopped talking to his assistant mid–sentence. His eyes tracked my every movement, heated and proud.
“Wow, Elena,” he whispered as I reached the final step. “Are we going to a wedding or an execution?”
“For Bryson?” I smirked, taking his arm. “Ideally, both.”
We both laughed and went our separate ways.
The ride to Keegan’s Pack was longer than I remembered. As we crossed the border into the pack land, a strange sense of nostalgia hit me, but it’s not longing. Rather, a recognition of how much smaller everything looked. The trees seemed less imposing, and the pack house looked aged rather than grand.
It was just a place. It wasn’t my world anymore.
When our car pulled up to the wedding hall, the crowd went silent.
The valet opened the door for us,
and Deacon stepped out first. The flashes from the press’s cameras were blinding. He offered me his hand, and I stepped out into the cool afternoon air.
Chapter 180
+25 Bonus
A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests.
“It’s the Prince!” “And Princess Elena!” “She came? She actually came?” “Look at her… she looks radiant.”
People gasped, and whispers filled the place. Zara was right, upstaging the groom and bride today was inevitable.
I kept my chin high, my expression polite but distant. I held onto Deacon’s arm, letting his strength anchor me as we walked down the carpeted path toward the VIP seating.
I saw familiar faces in the crowd. Old pack members who used to ignore me or mock me when I was just an “orphan“. Now, they bowed their heads hastily, avoiding my gaze, terrified I might remember their past transgressions.
I didn’t care enough to remember them.
We took our seats in the front row, reserved for the Royal Family. Across the aisle sat the bride’s family, the Valerius clan. They sat with stiff backs and stony faces. They, too, were in their military uniforms, adorned with medals won through sweat, blood, and tremendous sacrifice.
There were no smiles, no tears of joy. They looked like they were attending a board meeting
And then, the music started.
Bryson walked out first.
My breath didn’t hitch. My heart didn’t race. But I just watched. I watched everything unfold before me.
In no time, Bryson came up front.
He looked… tired. His tuxedo fit well, but he seemed thinner than the last time I saw him. There were dark circles under his eyes that makeup couldn’t hide. He walked to the altar not with the swagger of an Alpha, but with the resignation of a man walking to
the gallows.
He stood at the altar, fidgeting with his cuffs. And then, he looked up.
His eyes scanned the crowd, frantic, searching.
And they landed on me.
For a second, everything else faded. I saw the shock register on his face. Then, a flash of pain. And then, something that looked like regret. He stared at me, at the blue velvet, at the diamonds, at Deacon’s hand possessively on my knee.
I didn’t look away. I simply nodded, a small, barely perceptible acknowledgement.
I’m here, the nod said. I’m watching. And I’m fine.
He swallowed hard, looking like he might be sick, and forced his gaze away as the music swelled for the bride.
Lady Elara Valerius walked down the aisle. She was a striking woman, tall, with sharp features and cold grey eyes. She wore an expensive but conservative dress with no lace or frills. She didn’t look at Bryson with love. She looked at him like an investment she intended to manage closely.
The ceremony was short, and the vows were standard, recited without emotion.
“I, Bryson, take thee…”
His voice cracked. He had to clear his throat to finish.
I felt Deacon lean closer to me, his lips brushing my ear. “He looks like he’s in mourning.”
“He is,” I whispered back, my eyes fixed on the man I once thought was my soulmate. “He’s mourning his ego.”
“I now pronounce you Alpha and Luna,” the officiant declared.
Chapter 180
+25 Borius
There was applause, but it was polite, lacking the cheering typical of wolf weddings. Bryson kissed his new bride, but it was a quick, chaste peck on the lips. Lady Elara wiped her mouth discreetly afterwards.
It was done.
As the couple turned to walk back down the aisle, Bryson looked at me one last time. The look in his eyes was haunting. It was a silent scream for help, a realisation that he had locked himself in a cage of his own making
I felt a pang of pity, swift and fleeting.
“Ready to go to the reception?” Deacon asked, standing up and offering me his hand.
I stood, smoothing my skirt. I looked at the newlywed couple disappearing into the reception hall, already arguing about something in hushed tones.
“Yes,” I said, turning my back on them and smiling up at my true mate. “I’ve seen enough. The past is dead.”
Looking sweetly and warmly at Deacon, I smiled and gave him a peck on the corner of his lips while I clasped his arm. “Deacon, I’m looking forward to celebrating our future.”
The Bryson chapter was officially closed. But as we walked toward the reception tent, a chill ran down my spine. It was too quiet.
Too clean.
Glenda hadn’t shown up.
And that worried me more than if she had come screaming. As an old saying goes, “A screaming enemy is distracted. A silent enemy is planning.”
“Deacon,” I said quietly as we walked. “Keep the guards close.”
“Always,” he promised.
But I knew, deep down, the night wasn’t over yet. Glenda wouldn’t let this day end without one final, desperate act. I just hoped we were ready for it.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
