Juliette had always been foolish, trapped in the routine of sewing clothes, her heart lost in the past. Her childhood mate, Liam, repulsed her with his arrogance. On her wedding day, she made a grave mistake, marrying his best friend instead of him. Little did she know, that misguided union would awaken her—stripping away her foolishness. As Liam, the alpha, frantically searched for her, Juliette finally found clarity, discovering her true mate and realizing she was no longer a fool. The river that separated the two packs had always been a quiet reminder of the boundaries they lived by. There was the Serrin River Pack, known for its strength and leadership along the western shore, and the Serin River Pack, its eastern counterpart, known for its tradition and wisdom. The two packs shared so much—practically identical in culture and practices—that even their own people sometimes struggled to tell them apart. The ferry rocked gently on the water, its wooden frame creaking under the weight of its passengers. I huddled in the corner, clutching my small, embroidered bundle of belongings tightly to my chest. I could feel the ferry swaying with each passing wave, but all I could focus on was the harsh reality that awaited me back home. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be with him. As the sun dipped lower, casting a fiery red hue over the waters, I watched the ripples spread like gold dust. It was beautiful—so beautiful that I couldn’t stop myself from pausing. But just as the last bit of sunlight gleamed off the waves, the quiet chatter of the men at the far end of the ferry cut through my reverie. “Alpha still hasn’t taken a mate? He’s killing everyone with his indecisiveness,” one of them laughed, shaking his head. “No, no,” another corrected, “Our alpha has an arranged mate. Rumor has it the wedding’s soon.” A flicker of warmth bloomed in my chest, and my lips curled into a secret smile. It was me they were talking about, and they didn’t even know. It had been arranged when we were children, a promise made when we were barely old enough to understand its weight. Liam and I had grown up together, and as soon as I was old enough to wear lace and learn how to sew, it was decided I would be his mate. He’d always been kind—too kind, really. He gave me flowers, his favorite bites of food, and the best of everything. He cared for me in ways that seemed far beyond friendship. And when he drank that cursed sweet soup, he handed it to me, telling me to drink first, always. I drank it because it was for him. Because he was my Liam. But when the world turned dark, and I woke to the healer’s quiet whispers of “permanent damage,” I didn’t understand the depth of it. I was five. What did I know of forever? The elders, in their guilt, promised that when I turned eighteen, Liam would make me his mate in the full, sacred way. He would claim me, mark me as his, and we would be united. “Wait for me, Juliette. When you’re eighteen, I will make you mine,” he had promised, his hands gripping mine, his eyes filled with unspeakable affection. I waited. But when I was finally old enough—when I had waited long enough to finally say those words to him—I was met with nothing but coldness. Two years ago, I ran to him, so eager to finally share my joy. I was ready. “I can be your mate now, Liam. I’m ready.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look at me properly. His gaze was distant, almost disgusted. “You’ve got it wrong, Juliette. You wait for eighteen years, not just a few,” he sneered. His eyes flickered away as if I were a nuisance, not the promise he had made. As the rich, influential guests entered, including his best friend Garrick, Liam barely spared me a glance. “Liam, I envy you. Your betrothed is so quiet and refined, so well-matched.” I sat in the courtyard on a stone, trying to breathe through the pain that gripped my chest. I had loved him for so long. And yet, as the years went by, I wondered if I had been wrong. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t angry. Not yet. There was still time. So I would wait. Even if it took another eighteen years.
The ferry swayed violently against the rising tide, the scent of saltwater mingling with the damp earth beneath my feet. My heart hammered in my chest as I clutched my embroidered bundle, my fingers trembling with each shift of the boat. As the boat drifted closer to shore, wedding music drifted through the air, full of joy and celebration. This is where I belong, I whispered to myself. This is where I belong. The ferry bumped against the dock with a low groan, balloons soaring into the air . The scene before me was beautiful—too beautiful. But then, my gaze shifted to the far end of the ferry, where a bride sat hunched in sorrow, her face hidden behind a veil. I approached her quietly, whispering, “Sister, why do you cry on such a joyous day?” The bride wiped her eyes, but didn’t respond. Her shoulders shook as she wept, her sobs muffled by the veil. I reached into my bundle, pulling out a small doll. “Here,” I said softly, offering it to her. “Take this. Don’t cry anymore.” But instead of calming, the bride’s sobs deepened. She looked up at me, her eyes wild with desperation. “I don’t want to marry him!” she cried. My breath caught. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice tight with confusion. She gasped, struggling to speak through her tears. “I’m not his true mate. Alpha ‘s real mate ran away. The clan leader forced me to take her place.” My stomach dropped. “No… That’s not true! Alpha is mine! He’s always been mine!” The bride blinked, her tears halting. Her gaze softened. “Then… you’re the one he’s meant to be with?” I nodded, a fire igniting within me. “I’ve been promised to him since we were children. I’m going to find him. No one can take my place.” Her face broke into a bittersweet smile. “Go. You must go. Don’t let anyone stand in your way.” Days later, the ferry finally reached the shore. And there, standing tall and proud, was Alpha —his scent thick in the air, rich with the power of his Alpha aura. My heart raced, beating in time with the rush of emotions that flooded me. As I stepped off the ferry, my veil fluttered in the wind, and I saw him. Taller now, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes, his eyes locked on me. His gaze was fierce, and a growl rumbled low in his throat. A growl rumbled in his throat, low and guttural. “My Alpha!” I called out. But before he could speak, a voice shouted from behind us. “Alpha! The outcasts are at the border! They’re trying to cross into our territory!” “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice rough with authority. “Don’t move. Go to the pack house. Lock the doors.” “But Alpha—” I protested, vailing under the vail. His gaze softened just a moment, but the urgency was undeniable. “I’ll return soon. I promise you that.” I watched him turn, his powerful strides taking him toward the pack’s heart. The Alpha was needed. His pack needed him. And I… I was left standing at the edge of his world, powerless. I whispered to the empty night, my voice carrying on the wind, “I’ll wait for you, Liam. I’ll always wait.” The hours stretched endlessly, the moon rising high in the sky, its silver light casting shadows across the land. Still no sign of him. His Beta sent word that Alpha was still engaged in the fight. My heart clenched. The pack was under siege, and there was nothing I could do to help. Alone in the small room, I stared at the firelight flickering and the chest of old clothes. My fingers traced the worn fabric—garments that had once been full of his strength, now faded, their seams frayed. I had to do something. I couldn’t be the helpless mate, waiting forever. He needed me. I would show him I was more than just a promise. I would be his Luna, in every sense of the word. I took a needle and thread, beginning to mend his clothes. Each stitch was a vow to him—quiet, but powerful. I will stand beside you, Liam. Always. The needle pressed through the fabric until the sky began to lighten, and I finally drifted into sleep, clutching the mended clothes. In the haze between dreams and wakefulness, I felt him—sitting beside me, his gaze burning through the quiet darkness. He moved quietly, tucking the blanket around my shoulders with care, brushing my hair gently, a touch that said more than words ever could. I heard the creak of the door as he stepped out, his boots barely making a sound. His voice, commanding yet soft, reached me from the hallway. “Grandmother arrives tomorrow. Remember her temper. Keep things smooth, for her sake.” I closed my eyes, feeling the ache of him already gone. My heart pounded. Every moment he was away, the pack was at risk. The rogue wolves—always circling, waiting for weakness. I wanted him beside me, to not leave, even if just for a moment. But the pack needed him. He was Alpha.
Liam’s claws dug into the wooden armrest, his chest tightening with every passing moment. His eyes never lifted from the papers scattered before him. His mind, however, was elsewhere. “Elena,” Liam growled, his voice low and dangerous. His gaze remained fixed on the reports in front of him as he heard her hurried footsteps approach. She came closer, but hesitated just at the door, taking a moment to gather her breath before entering. “Liam, Juliette… she’s—” Elena’s voice cracked, her words trembling. “What now?” he barked, the words sharp, dripping with impatience. “Another dress? Did she make some new foollish designs and expect me to praise her for it?” “No, alpha Liam,” Elena hesitated, finally stepping forward. “It’s… Juliette’s not at dinner..” Liam’s jaw clenched. Not at dinner? “She’s been missing since this morning. We’ve looked everywhere, but she’s—” Elena’s words faltered, her voice softening with a hint of unease. “Liam, she’missing. ” He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back as he glared at her. “If she wanted to skip dinner, fine. Let her. If she’s throwing some tantrum, let her starve.” Elena backed away, fear flickering in her eyes, but Liam wasn’t finished. “She’s probably just sulking. And if she is, she’ll learn her lesson.” As the evening dragged on, Liam couldn’t help but glance toward the door, expecting to see her there. Dinner came and went, but her seat remained empty. The smell of roast meat filled the air, but the weight of her absence crushed every bite. Liam’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table, his wolf pacing restlessly within him. Every time he glanced over at her chair, a sharp pang of longing struck him. After the meal, the sound of the wind howling outside seemed to punctuate the emptiness that had settled over the room. It was only after the last plate was cleared that the thought hit him like a thunderclap. She’s not coming back tonight. Where is she? He rose from the table, walking toward the window. The wind shook the panes, and in the pale light of the moon, Liam could make out his dresses swaying in the breeze, each one hanging like a silent, waiting ghost. Each one was stitched by her hand. Juliette’s work. His breath quickened as memories flooded him—the last time she’d been in danger, the last time he’d been too late to protect her. That human… The trafficker. Two years ago. He had barely arrived in time to stop the bastard from taking her, and yet… he’d failed her. “You’re not smart enough for this world, Juliette. How could you be so foolish?” “He… he told me he had the latest fabric,” Juliette whispered between sobs, her voice breaking on every word, “He said it was the finest cloth—something you’d love. I thought I could use it… to make you something new. Something special.” “Does it hurt?” he whispered, a distant echo of the moment when he’d seen her hands bleeding, the needle stuck deep in her skin. “No,” she’d said, smiling through the pain. “It doesn’t hurt, Liam. Wait until you see the dress I’ve made for you.” He growled under his breath. Liam’s dreams were plagued by Juliette. Every night, her face—tear-streaked, fading into shadows—haunted him. He woke with a jolt, heart racing. The moonlight spilled across the room, but it was too cold. “Alpha! Alpha!” a servant’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Liam’s heart thudded. “Is she back?Tell him I won’t blame her, tell her I have chosen the date,” “No… Alpha, it’s the rings your booked for Garrick for his wedding gifts. They’ve arrived.” Liam’s chest tightened. He took the box, hands trembling. Inside, two rings—silver and jade, intricate, symbolic of bond and loyalty.
Juliette’s pov Liam’s absence dragged on, each day more unbearable than the last. I knew, as long as the Outcast was still on the border, he would not return. I sat near the window, stitching winter clothes for Liam, trying to focus on the rhythm of the needle. But Violet, the servant who usually styled my hair, broke the silence with a teasing smile. “Yesterday, the Alpha kept staring at the clothes you mended, but he refused to wear them,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice. Maybe he doesn’t like the style. “Go buy more fabric—something for Liam’s winter clothes.” Violet left, but as she did, I overheard the murmurs from outside. “She’s already thinking of special fabric, just days after marrying him. What’s next? Gold?” The voice was sharp and accusing. I leaned out to see who was speaking, only to find an old lady standing in the courtyard, her gaze cutting through the air. “Already scheming for better clothes?” she sneered, eyes narrowing as she took in my unfinished work. I stepped forward, meeting her gaze with as much grace as I could muster. “I am making clothes for the alpha,” I said, swallowing my nerves. Her eyes flicked to the half-cut fabric, and for a brief moment, something like approval flashed in her sharp features. “Making his clothes yourself, huh?” she muttered, her tone softening ever so slightly. “I suppose there’s some honor in that.” But then her expression turned calculating, the matriarch in her reasserting itself. “But clothes won’t solve anything here, child. You need more than fabric to survive in this pack.” She left. I swallowed the lump in my throat, but before I could respond, the door creaked open. Another servant, Grace, entered with two unfamiliar women carrying a heavy chest between them. “This is from some locals,” Grace said, her eyes darting nervously toward me. “They heard you were in need of fabric.” The chest was opened, revealing bundles of luxurious cloth, sparkling jewels, and a thick stack of notes. But something didn’t sit right. One of the women stepped forward, her smile too sweet, her eyes too calculating. She leaned in closer, her voice low but dripping with malice. “I’ve heard alpha… well, some say he has enemies in the pack. You could help us with that, right?” I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I glanced at Grace, who looked away uncomfortably. Liam had always forbidden me to get involved in the pack’s politics, telling me it was dangerous. But now, as his mate, how could I not? His enemies would target him. … Garrick had been so busy these past few days that he hadn’t had the chance to return home. His main worry wasn’t the weight of pack matters, but whether his grandmother approved of his new Luna. However, the servants’ whispers told a different story—despite her sharp tongue, the matriarch seemed oddly satisfied with his wife. The first day his grandmother arrived, she disembarked from her ship with a stormy expression. “I never liked that scheming Alice,” she declared. “You should’ve sent her packing ages ago.” By the fourth day, Garrick heard that his wife had been visiting his grandmother’s quarters daily, chattering endlessly. “Your mate is like a sparrow,” his grandmother complained through a messenger. “Chirping on and on until my head spins. I have no patience for her.” On the fifth day, the tone of her message changed. “…She’s got a knack for handiwork,” was all she said. By the sixth day, there was no message at all. Suspicious, Garrick sent someone to inquire. His grandmother dismissed the servant with a cryptic reply. “What’s between me and your Luna is none of your business, boy. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Garrick allowed himself a rare chuckle, feeling a weight lift from his chest as the matriarch seemed to have found some grudging respect for his wife. But the relief was short-lived. His desk was piled high with unopened messages, one of which caught his eye—a message from his old friend, Alpha Liam, sent over a month ago. He opened his phone and read it during a rare quiet moment at his meal. “Brother Garrick, what would you do if you were forced to marry someone you did not love—a dull, unworthy mate—bound only by an unbreakable childhood pact? What course would you take against such a wind?” Garrick frowned as he stared at the message. Before he could form a response, the door to his dining hall swung open with a soft creak.
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