As I saw her walk down the aisle, I was momentarily tranced by her. Without the makeup like the one she had worn back then—which had been bold and daring—she looked so alluring. A beauty cloaked in innocence, the kind that makes you want to stain it, to drag it into darkness just to see how long it can remain pure.
I had to push my intrusive thoughts to the back of my mind because to me, this marriage had its own purposes. I was definitely not looking forward to marrying anyone, but she is a means to an end. A route to someone I want to destroy. And that person is definitely not me.
We make our way toward the limousine waiting outside. For the sake of appearances, I offer my hand to help her in. Her fingers are light against mine, hesitant, reluctant—but soft. I can't let my hold linger. Not now. I've got to keep an impression, got to play the part.
I walk around to the other side and slide in beside her.
The vehicle drives off, and even as the minutes pass, none of us bothers to say a word. She has her eyes fixed on the window, her expression unreadable, as I take in her features—the delicate lines of her face, the nervous way she presses her lips together, the tiny furrow between her brows. Little details I had failed to notice the last time.
And then there's her scent. Sweet. Tempting. It lingers in the confined space of the car, pulling at me with a strength I've never experienced. At first, I'd thought it was perfume, but werewolves don't wear scents on their wedding day. No, this is her. All her. She smells so fucking divine I have to clench my fists to stop myself from reaching for her.
Before her, there had been many women I'd taken to bed, many who begged for my attention, but none of them had ever made me feel this. This strange pull. This need to protect, to put someone before myself. I am a selfish bastard. Even others have called me that, and I never once denied it. Yet right now, with her sitting next to me, it feels like I would take a bullet for her.
And that's the cruelest part.
Because while I want to protect her, I also know I am the danger she should run away from.
I tilt my head, studying her profile. She looks fragile, almost breakable, but there's a stubbornness in the way she holds herself that makes me pause. She doesn't look at me. Not once. Maybe she thinks ignoring me will make me forget she's here. Foolish woman. Doesn't she realize she's all I see?
I force myself to look away, my jaw tightening. This was never supposed to happen. I didn't want a wife. I didn't want a mate. And I sure as hell didn't want to feel anything. But she's here, wearing my ring, bound to my name, tied to my fate.
And I don't know if I want to untangle her from it anymore.
As the car pulls into the long stretch of my mansion's driveway, she finally snaps her head toward me. Her eyes—stormy, defiant—lock on mine, and for the first time since the vows were exchanged, she speaks.
"So… what now?" Her voice isn't loud, but it's sharp, carrying that fragile edge of someone holding herself together by sheer willpower.
I know why she's asking. I know the words I said at the altar still bite. I told her she wasn't the type of woman I wanted to kiss—but the irony is, she was exactly that. Sweet, soft, tempting. Everything I wanted and everything I shouldn't want. The problem wasn't her. It was me. I didn't want attachments. Attachments made you weak, haunted you, and I couldn't afford that—not when her father was my target.
"You'll just have to behave as a loving wife when I want you to." My voice comes out colder than I intended, but I don't take it back.
I see it then—the flicker of disappointment across her face. Subtle, but there. Like she'd been hoping I'd say something different. Something kinder.
Her lips press together before she exhales and turns toward me again. "You know what, I don't even get why you married me. You could have picked anyone—someone you actually cared for." Her fingers fidget as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and the small, delicate action distracts me more than it should.
"I do whatever I want," I answer flatly.
And that's the truth. Power and money are sweet poisons—everyone bends for them. Her father certainly did. Ella had been promised to another man, and yet, the moment I stepped into the picture, he didn't hesitate. He handed her over to me like she was nothing but a bargaining chip. Greedy idiot. He thought he won by selling me his daughter. He has no idea he just signed his own downfall.
The car slows, finally stopping in front of the mansion. Before I can move, she pushes her own door open, almost too quickly, her frustration bubbling over. By the time I round to her side, she's already storming ahead, gathering the fabric of her gown in both hands as she struggles against the weight of it, the heels, the cobblestones.
And damn—what a sight to behold. Fierce even in anger, fragile even in defiance. Every step she takes away from me makes me want to pull her back.