The storeroom was cramped, a tight, musty space lit dimly by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. I crouched behind stacks of dusty crates, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure they could hear it from the hallway. I had slipped away from the reception room as soon as I could any excuse to avoid facing the pack's scornful eyes. Down here, at least, the muffled sounds from the party felt distant, less suffocating.
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breath, but then I heard it. The unmistakable rising giggles of a group of girls. My pulse quickened again, and I stripped the hope from my mind. No hiding from the everyone's whispers. They were all talking about me.
"I still can't believe my eyes" a voice bubbled, light and cruel. "Can you believe Sera really thought she was going to marry Alessandro and now, she is serving at the reception ceremony of the man who used and dumped her? What a disgrace."
I swallowed back a sting of humiliation. Their words washed over me, sharp and relentless. I wanted to shout, to burst out of my hiding place and demand they stop, but I couldn't. I was powerless here, defiled in the eyes of the people and even of myself.
"She must be miserable, stuck waiting on dishes when she was once thought herself fit to be wife of the boss's son," another sneered. "Bet she wished she never showed her face tonight."
The venom in their laughter was as cold and bitter as the night air outside. I longed to disappear, to dissolve in the shadows and never return. The weight of their mockery settled heavy on my shoulders, a relentless chain pulling me down.
A sharp knock at the door startled me so much I nearly screamed. The footsteps paused—then the door creaked open.
"Girls, enough gossip," a stern, yet gentle voice scolded. It was Maria, the head chef and my mother's friend. "The guests are waiting outside and you are here just talking?"
I held my breath as i listened to footsteps recede aand the sound of the door as it opened and shut. just as i relaxed, the storeroom door opened suddenly and there stood Marie looking down at me with a softened gaze. "How are you feeling?"
I stayed frozen, unsure whether to confess the storm of emotions raging within me, or to keep up my facade. "I'm fine," I lied quickly as i stood up and stepped out of my hiding place, forcing a calm I didn't feel. She nodded, stepping quietly inside with a tray of fresh drinks, which she placed just out of my reach.
"Remember, you're stronger than you think," she said quietly before closing the door behind her.
I exhaled slowly, a fragile sense of comfort nestling in my chest amid the turmoil. I couldn't afford to break down, not here, not now. would not allow that lying ex of mine have the satisfaction.
Gathering my courage, I stepped out of the kitchen and back into the lively reception hall. Heads turned as I entered, but instead of glaring or whispering, many averted their eyes, some with pity, others with disdain. I tried hard to keep my face neutral and took the tray of drinks in my hands. I had a job to do.
The room buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes. Guests milled about the ornate marble floor, laughter and music weaving through the night. But my steps felt leaden, weighed down with memories of how I once fantasized about a celebration like this for me, and the bitter reality that now set me apart.
I moved through the crowd, offering drinks with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. The guests received them politely, unaware or uncaring of the cold knot tightening in my stomach. I counted down the guests in my mind, each step moving me closer to the sight I dreaded most.
My heart clenched as I neared the newly married couple, standing proudly at the center of the room. My ex-boyfriend gleamed with satisfaction beside the mafia king's daughter, his new wife, his prize. I swallowed the lump of bitterness rising in my throat. My old life, shattered and tossed aside like an unwanted relic.
And then she was there, my former best friend, Alessandro's sister Her smile was sharp and fake, her eyes glinting with scorn. Just as I passed by, she shifted deliberately, her foot catching my ankle in a practiced throw.
I stumbled, arms flailing as I tried to catch myself, but the world tipped cruelly to the side. The tray slipped from my grasp, glassware shattering on the polished floor with a symphony of chaos. Gasps rippled through the guests. Laughter echoed, sharp, triumphant.
I felt the sting of tears prickling behind my eyes but blinked them back fiercely. Humiliated and trembling, I turned on my heel and fled, my footsteps pounding a frantic rhythm toward the nearest exit. The sound of mocking laughter followed me all the way.
Outside, the cool night air hit my burning cheeks, and I leaned heavily against the stone wall, desperate to catch my breath. I had fallen far—from favored mate to discarded servant mocking the very ritual that once bound me. But even as the shame clung to me like a second skin, something fierce ignited within.
I wouldn't stay down. Not forever.
The night air was sharp against my flushed skin as I leaned back against the cold stone of the packhouse exterior. The bitter taste of humiliation still burned in my throat, mingling with the sting of the cool breeze that whispered through the trees. The laughter echoed behind me—cruel, mocking. But I refused to let it define me.
I wiped the sweat and tears from my face, forcing myself to straighten. My hands were still trembling, remnants of adrenaline and mortification. How had I fallen so low? From the Master's son's girlfriend to the dumped woman forced to serve, tripping over her own feet.
I closed my eyes and let the quiet embrace me, gathering strength in the solitude. The mansion loomed behind me, a reminder of all I had lost and the kingdom I had once been meant to inhabit.
I couldn't go back in there, not like this. Not yet.
Footsteps rustled near the edge of the clearing. My eyes snapped open. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and purposeful. I wondered if it was one of the wedding guests, perhaps one there to mock me further.
But then I failed to recognized the confident stride and the cloak of authority that seemed to cling to him even in the half-light of the moon.
"Seems i'm not the only one displeased by this wedding." His voice was deep, calm—a stark contrast to the chaos still roiling in my chest.