On my wedding day, my fiancé slapped me across the face. “Can you stop picking on Freya?” My cheek was burning. My ears were ringing. All I could see were Damon’s eyes, pupils blazing gold with rage. His hand was still hanging in the air. On his knuckle — our engagement ring. Platinum band. I designed it myself. Behind him stood Freya, eyes red, wearing my moonlight wedding gown. The one I’d spent eight months making by hand, stitch by stitch. I’d known Damon for fifteen years. Today was supposed to be our wedding. The open lawn of the family estate was filled with white roses and baby’s breath. A breeze rolled in off the lake, carrying the smell of water and fresh grass. Everything was perfect. Like something out of a dream. That is, if Damon hadn’t spent the entire time since he walked in looking for Freya. “Isn’t she your bridesmaid? Where is she?” That was the first thing he said to me. No you look beautiful. No I missed you. Not even a hug. I was standing in front of the mirror in my robe while the makeup artist filled in my brows. Damon stood in the doorway, suit immaculate, eyes wandering around the room. “It’s Freya’s first time at an event like this. Make sure she’s not nervous.” “She’s probably in the lounge. Did you want to see me in my dress?” “It’s fine. I still have guests to greet.” And then he left. I stared at my face in the mirror — blush not yet applied — and swallowed the words: I designed the dress myself. Freya had joined the pack three years ago. It was a blizzard that night. Damon brought her back himself. After that, she started showing up in our lives more and more. At first, I told myself it was just pity. But Damon remembered her favorite foods. He bought her gifts. After pack meetings, she was always the first person he went to find. He even left my birthday dinner early because Freya had a fever. I shouldn’t mind, I told myself. As future Alpha, Damon has a responsibility to take care of every member of the pack. There were a few maids standing outside the dressing room. The moment they saw me, their expressions shifted. “Miss Lyra…” “What is it?” No one answered. I pushed the door open. And then I stopped. Freya was standing in front of the mirror, wearing my wedding dress.
There she was — Freya, in front of the mirror, in my wedding dress. “So this is what it feels like to be the Alpha’s mate.” She tilted her head, admiring herself. “No wonder every woman wants to marry Damon.” The silver-white train pooled across the floor, the moonstone embroidery along the entire skirt catching the light. I had designed that dress for half a year. Revised the pattern twenty-seven times. Lost count of how many nights I stayed up, how many times the needle broke skin. “Take it off.” Freya didn’t react. She gathered the skirt in her hands and spun slowly in front of the mirror. “It fits me perfectly — isn’t that something. Even better than I expected. Are you really this thin? Will it even fit you?” “I said,” I repeated, “take it off. Right now.” Not a trace of panic on her face. “Don’t be so stingy. I’m just checking how it looks.” “You have no right to touch it.” “Really?” She smiled. “Because Damon was with me till midnight last night helping me pick out a necklace. He said white diamonds suit me better than blue.” Something tightened in my chest. Because Damon had told me last night he was busy with wedding preparations. “You know, Lyra,” Freya said, “I’ve always wondered. If it weren’t for the engagement contract — would Damon have chosen you at all?” “Freya.” My voice was flat. “I’m only going to say this once. Take it off. Now.” I walked up to her and reached for her arm. That’s when Damon’s voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” My hand hadn’t even touched her. But the second she heard his voice, Freya crumpled to the ground — as if I’d shoved her. Damon rushed in and caught her. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and leaned softly into his chest. “I just wanted to check the fit for Lyra,” she said quietly. “I was worried the dress wouldn’t be right for her. She got upset out of nowhere and said she was going to throw me out of the estate.” “Lyra.” Damon’s jaw tightened. “Apologize to Freya.” I stared at him. “On what grounds? She’s wearing my dress.” He frowned. “So what? It’s just a dress.” “It’s my fault,” Freya murmured. “I’m sorry. All of this is on me.” “What are you talking about?” I said. “You’re the one who—” I didn’t finish. Damon’s hand came up, and he slapped me across the face. “Enough. Can you stop picking on Freya?”
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