Curled up in the center of the vast bed, I stilled at the sound of footsteps approaching. Each measured step sent a shiver down my spine. The door creaked open with a slow, deliberate click, and my breath caught. He was here.

The room was warm and inviting, yet loneliness clung to every corner. The four-poster bed loomed in the dim light, the soft glow of the bedside lamps casting long shadows against the deep, rich hues of the walls. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the weight of the space around me—grand, yet empty.

The door stood slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling into the room. I wasn’t alone. I could feel it—his presence, heavy and deliberate. The air thickened with anticipation as I strained to hear him, but the plush carpet muted his steps.

Anticipation coiled in my stomach, sharp and unrelenting. I had known this moment would come, yet now that it was here, I wasn’t sure I was ready.

A breath hitched in my throat as he drew closer. The faintest brush of his fingers grazed my skin, and a shiver raced down my spine. My stomach twisted, dread curling deep inside me.

“Pretty,” he murmured, his voice dark and reverent.

Terror seized me. A scream tore from my lips, raw and unbidden.

Then—bang!

The door crashed open. I gasped, my pulse hammering as my father stormed in, his face etched with worry.

I almost laughed at the hypocrisy. Concern? From him? How ironic—especially with her standing beside him.

Wait… was it just a dream? Then why did it feel so real?

My pulse still pounded in my ears as I struggled to shake off the lingering sensation.

Restlessness had become my constant companion ever since I agreed to marry him instead of my stepsis.

"Why don’t you go outside and mingle with the ladies, darling?" My stepmother asked.

Reluctantly, I stepped out. The estate was alive with activity, servants and noblewomen bustling about, setting up for the upcoming wedding. Thread lights twinkled in the trees, casting a warm, ethereal glow.

And in just a few days, I would no longer be my own person. I would be his.

"Your mother is right, darling. Come outside and join us," Father said.

My mother? A bitter smile curled on my lips as I arched a brow at my father’s words. She is not my mother.

"No, thank you. I'd rather stay here," I replied, my tone clipped.

"You should be grateful!”

I ignored her biting remark, but a flicker of satisfaction stirred in me when my father shot her a sharp look. My stepmother pressed her lips shut, swallowing whatever insult she had been about to hurl next.

"Just leave me alone," I muttered, turning away.

My father hesitated. For a brief moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—regret? But then, with a sigh, he walked away, his new wife trailing behind him like a shadow.

As soon as they were gone, I crawled back into bed, curling into myself like a child seeking comfort. My mind wouldn’t quiet. It spun with images of what lay ahead, and none of them were pleasant.

Since childhood, I had heard the stories—their insatiable hunger, their ability to tear a human apart in a single bite. The idea of marrying one was nothing short of madness.

It should be illegal. Barbaric…and yet, here I was.

I clenched my jaw, frustration burning in my veins. In my mind, werewolves were nothing more than overgrown dogs, and I had no intention of becoming some beast’s bride.

Tonight felt endless, a cruel stretch of time that refused to let me rest. It would be the longest night of my life. And worse? It was only the beginning.

Morning came too soon, and with it, an army of hands pulling, brushing, and dabbing at my face. I had barely opened my eyes before I was dragged into a chair for an endless makeup session.

I wanted to kick them all away.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but every time I tried to move, the makeup artist tsked in disapproval.

“Stay still! We must make you as beautiful as your stepsis,” they insisted, as if that were even possible.

I rolled my eyes, suffering in silence.

Two hours later, the artist finally stepped back, beaming.

“Perfect! You look stunning, darling!”

I didn’t bother responding. I just wanted food—anything to keep me from fainting before the ceremony even began. But before I could ask, my father strode in.

"I need some food to eat," I murmured, but my voice was drowned out by the flurry of preparations.

Dad barely glanced at me as he took my hand.

“You look just like your mother. Elegant and refined.”

I said nothing. Pretty and sophisticated. Words that meant nothing to a girl being forced into marriage.

“They're waiting," he added, leading me away.

Minutes later, I stepped out of the bridal car, my pulse hammering as I nearly tripped on my gown. The entrance to the church was a masterpiece, but it didn’t make me happy either.

I swallowed hard, glancing around. Strangers filled the pews, their gazes sharp, assessing. Something about them felt… different.

No. I pushed the thought away.

Beside me, my father gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Relax, darling," he whispered. "You're too tense."

If only he knew.

I kept my head down as my father guided me toward the waiting groom, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Maybe he’s hideous, I thought as I walked down the aisle.

The thought made my stomach twist. Sleeping beside an unattractive man for the rest of my life was a nightmare in itself!

I considered offering a small smile, but what was the point? He probably wouldn’t even see it.

At the altar, he gestured for me to sit beside him on the upholstered bench. His movements were effortless, controlled.

"Nervous?" His voice was low and rich, sending an unfamiliar shiver down my spine.

Before I could answer, his hand closed over mine. Even through the gloves, warmth seeped through, steady and solid.

I refused to look at our entwined hands, stubbornly clinging to my assumptions—he was probably as beastly as the stories warned. But when curiosity got the better of me, I stole a glance... and my breath caught.

His hands weren’t rough or monstrous. They were flawless. Strong, with long, well-shaped fingers that exuded an effortless grace.

"Why?" he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

I blinked rapidly, realizing I had been staring.