The Proxy Wedding

Elowen

I shifted back into my human skin the moment I crossed the tree line of my father's property. The rough bark of the old oak tree scratched against my bare back as I leaned against it, gasping for air. The impenetrable night swallowed the surrounding woods, offering a thick blanket of darkness to hide my shame. I sneaked through the back door of our house, naked, my bare feet padding softly against the cold floorboards. I slipped into my familiar bedroom and immediately collapsed into the darkest corner.

The tears came without warning. They fell so heavy and fast that my eyes swelled shut within minutes. Alpha Killian's dominance and sheer cruelty echoed in the silence of my room. He did not look at me as a person. He looked at me as leverage. He had condemned me to a bleak, loveless existence as his unwanted Luna, forcing my poor father's hand with threats of slaughter. Sitting miserably on the floorboards, a crushing realization washed over me, heavy enough to steal the breath from my lungs. My life was over before it had even truly begun.

Despair took root in my chest. I crawled toward my vanity and pulled open the bottom drawer. My fingers brushed against the worn leather cover of my precious book of dreams. I dragged it out and sat back on the floor. I opened the cover, slowly flipping through the tear-stained pages. My desperate hopes stared back at me. Pages filled with messy handwriting detailing my plans to study medicine, to become a doctor who could heal our pack. Pages of combat sketches and workout routines. I had trained relentlessly, pushing my body to its absolute limits, dreaming of becoming the very first female Delta our pack had ever seen.

But most importantly, I turned to the pages dedicated to my deepest desire. My fated mate.

Because Killian’s original mate had tragically died, his forced marriage arrangement placed me in an impossible, agonizing position. The Moon Goddess would bless me with a true mate one day, and I would be forced to reject whoever she ultimately chose for me. I would have to sever a divine soul tie just to keep my pack alive. A blinding, destructive rage clawed its way up my throat, mixing with suffocating grief. I grabbed a handful of the thick pages.

Each rip felt like I was pulling a piece of my own heart out of my chest. I ripped the pages straight from the book. The sharp sound of tearing paper slashed through the quiet room, loud and destructive. I tore out the medical diagrams I had carefully drawn. I shredded the Delta training logs detailing my hard-earned victories. I destroyed the passages about my fated mate. I scattered the physical manifestations of my ruined future across the wooden floor. Surrounded by the torn fragments of my life, I curled up on the bare boards and finally cried myself into an exhausted sleep.

The very next morning, the sound of the bedroom door opening pulled me from my misery. My father knelt beside me, his rough hands brushing the tangled hair from my face. He woke me with agonizing gentleness.

"I am sorry, little one," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I wish I had another solution."

I looked up into his tired eyes. He carried the profound pain of a broken man who had sacrificed his entire life for the sake of peace. He had given up his Alpha title, accepted demotions, and now, he was handing over his only daughter to a tyrant.

"I am not mad at you, daddy," I reassured him, pushing myself off the floor and pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. He smelled like stale coffee and defeat.

"You have to be strong, my child," he whispered against my hair.

I nodded against his shoulder, holding onto the fleeting comfort of his arms. Then, he pulled back slightly. His next words shattered my fragile sense of calm.

"Please get dressed. The wedding will be taking place in the evening."

My heart stopped. My inner wolf, Lumina, snarled in a panicked frenzy, clawing at my mind to run. "Why so soon?" I choked out, my throat raw.

He sighed, standing up slowly. "He said you confronted him yesterday."

The arrogant bastard. My reckless confrontation had deeply provoked him. He maliciously sped up the wedding date purely to punish me. He wanted to strip away my time to prepare, my time to mourn, my time to simply breathe.

The next few hours blurred into a rushed and miserable preparation. Ms. Genevieve arrived with a frantic energy, hauling bags of cosmetics and nail supplies into my room. She directed me to sit at my vanity while she worked on my nails. The file scraped against my cuticles, a harsh, grating sound that matched my mood.

"You need to cheer up, dearie," she coaxed, offering a strained, polite smile as she painted a pale coat over my fingernails.

I glared at her reflection in the mirror. Resentment flared hot in my veins. "Easy for you to say," I snapped back viciously. I was a nineteen-year-old girl being forcefully shoved into a loveless nightmare, and she was asking me to smile.

Her polite smile vanished. The file slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the vanity. I watched through the mirror as tear-filled eyes replaced her forced cheerfulness. She took a ragged breath.

"My heart goes out to you, Elowen. And we all know you are doing this to make sure we don't get killed," she confessed, her voice breaking with genuine sorrow. She picked up a cotton pad, her hands shaking. "If only your uncle had not plotted against Alpha Killian. His failed political plot cost us everything." A tear spilled over her cheek. "My mate died in that fight. He was killed before he could even formally claim me. I know what it means to lose a future."

Her profound words of understanding hit me like a physical blow. She wasn't just a pack member blindly accepting my sacrifice; she was a woman mourning her own ruined life.

"It's okay, dearie," she whispered, stepping behind me and placing her hands gently on my rigid shoulders. "You can cry. It is just us here."

At those words, the fragile, numb shell I had painstakingly built crumbled. I buried my face in my hands and broke down into uncontrollable sobs, grieving for myself, for her, and for the pack.

By five o'clock in the evening, my father led me out of the house. We walked toward the garden. There was no grand hall, no beautiful decorations. A pathetic, makeshift aisle had been hastily arranged on the damp grass. A cheap jukebox played a tinny, lifeless melody.

But the worst part was the dress. Killian had specifically picked out the gown and sent it over. It was a sheer lace nightmare. It clung tightly to my hips and chest, the intricate lace patterns doing nothing to hide the curves of my body beneath. The delicate fabric scraped against my skin, a constant, itchy reminder of his control over my physical body. I felt exposed and degraded.

Surviving pack members stood on either side of the makeshift aisle. Old men and women who had watched me grow up now wept openly as they watched me march toward my doom. I kept my chin up, bracing myself to face the monster who demanded my submission. I scanned the end of the altar. My stomach dropped.

The ultimate insult awaited me.

Alpha Killian wasn't even there.

I blinked, sure my swollen eyes were playing tricks on me. But no. The dangerous brown-haired man from his house, the guard who had yanked my shoulder yesterday, stood confidently in his place.

"What is happening?" I demanded, turning to my father as panic and fury warred in my chest.

"He is representing Alpha Killian," my father explained softly, his voice laced with heavy defeat. "He couldn't make it. He is busy at the office."

I stopped breathing. I stared at the proxy, who offered no apology, only a blank, intimidating stare. I had never witnessed or experienced such profound, public humiliation in my entire life. Killian couldn't even be bothered to attend his own wedding. He had forced this rushed ceremony to punish me, draped me in a humiliatingly revealing gown, and left me standing at the altar with a bodyguard.

The ceremony was a rushed, soulless affair. The officiant rushed through the vows, skipping the traditional pack blessings. I numbly repeated the words, staring at the chest of the brown-haired proxy. There was no kiss, no reception, no celebration. Just a final, hollow declaration that Elowen was now bound to Alpha Killian.

As soon as the officiant finished speaking, the brown-haired proxy turned to me. He did not offer his arm. He simply gestured toward the waiting black SUV. He escorted me away from my crying pack and drove me directly to the Alpha's massive house. The car ride was silent. I stared out the tinted window, watching the familiar trees of my territory fade into the imposing, heavily guarded borders of Killian's pack lands.

We arrived, and he bypassed the grand staircase entirely. He led me down a quiet, isolated hallway and opened the door to one of the stark guest rooms.

"Alpha Killian left instructions," the proxy said casually, leaning against the doorframe. He pointed a finger toward a heavy wooden wardrobe in the corner. "Change into the basic slacks left in there. You stay here."

He shut the door behind him, the heavy click of the lock echoing in the sterile room.

I stood frozen on the plush carpet. Realizing I wasn't even meant to step foot inside the master bedroom tonight. I was a prisoner, stored away in a guest room like unwanted luggage. I moved like a mechanical doll. I walked into the attached bathroom and turned on the shower. I stripped off the degrading sheer lace gown, letting it pool on the cold tiles. I stepped under the spray. I took a hollow, scalding shower, letting the blistering water burn away the lingering touch of the pack members' pity.

Within my mind, my inner wolf Lumina maintained a heavy, depressed silence. She had fought so hard yesterday, but now, she was just as defeated as I was.

I turned off the water and dried my skin. I didn't bother opening the wooden wardrobe to put on the assigned slacks. I didn't want to wear anything Killian had prepared for me. I walked back into the bedroom, clad in nothing but my simple underwear. I crawled into the cold, massive bed. I pulled the heavy comforter up to my chin. I stared at the ceiling, cried a bit more into the sterile, unfamiliar pillows, and finally surrendered to an exhausted sleep.