9

Livia POV

"Not even a happy dog would wear this horrible dress!" I cursed under my breath, glaring at my reflection in the full-length mirror.

The gown was an absolute nightmare. A painful sight. Let’s not even talk about the heavy ivory satin, completely devoid of openings or breathing space. Like how was I going to breathe in this thing?

My fashion designer eyes instinctively pinpointed every single area that desperately needed fixing; a plunging neckline right here, a thigh-high slit there, and the waist needed to be snatched tightly. Maybe an elegant off-shoulder cut to give it some life. But to be covered entirely from head to toe in thick, unyielding fabric?

That was certainly not my style.

"Livia, please," Livyana pleaded from the bed, adjusting her veil for the upteenth time. "I'm begging you, stop complaining. You are cosplaying as me today, remember? You shouldn't always make everything about yourself."

"Don't even start with me, Livy!" I snapped, turning around to face her while clutching the stiff dress. "If I am going to spend three whole months of my miserable life acting like you, the least I deserve is a dress that looks somewhat presentable! I look like an upholstered armchair!"

"The Queen Mother personally sent that dress over this morning," Livyana reminded me gently. "She specifically sent a letter saying it was the exact gown she wore on her wedding day to the late Alpha King. She said it would be an honor if I wore it."

"No wonder it’s so ridiculously old-fashioned!" I threw my hands up in sheer frustration. "That explains why the boutique we went to yesterday was filled with ancient, outdated clothes! Puffed shoulders, heavy lace, and these hideous embroideries—it looks like I’m stuck in the Elizabethan era! Like, what on earth is this?!"

"There is nothing wrong with the dress, Livia," Livyana insisted soothingly. "You're only going to wear it for a few hours anyway. It wouldn't be wise to go around tampering with the Queen Mother’s prized heirlooms on her son's wedding day."

Before I could hurl another insult at the Victorian travesty I was trapped in, the bedroom door swung open. Our mother stepped into the room, her eyes shimmering with emotional tears as she looked at me.

"Oh, my darling Livyana," Mum breathed out, clutching her hands over her heart. "You look so breathtakingly beautiful, my child."

I stood perfectly still, watching her expression. A mother should be able to tell the difference between her own twin daughters, shouldn't she? I thought bitterly. But I had made sure the switch was completely unnoticeable. I gave myself a tiny bit of quiet accolades for my own acting skills and creativity—at least that talent belonged to me, Livia, and not the obedient persona I was forced to play.

"It's time, my dear," Mum said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "The ceremony is about to start. Your father is waiting downstairs."

The organ swelled into a powerful, booming march as the double doors of the pack cathedral swung open. I stepped into the aisle, my hand resting stiffly on my father’s arm. As we walked toward the altar, I glanced up at him. I stared into his stern eyes, wishing with everything inside me that he would look at me with love and endearing eyes just once in his life. It had been ages since he last smiled at me.

But I knew the truth—the luxury and pleasures of such warm fatherly affection belonged only to Livyana, the good sheep of the family. If playing the submissive daughter was the only way I could ever receive a smile from my own father, then I had to play this role to absolute perfection today.

When we reached the foot of the altar, my breath caught in my throat. Standing at the end of the runner, dressed in a burgundy bespoke tuxedo, was Alpha King Tarian.

He looked effortlessly, infuriatingly handsome.

It was hard to admit, but if anything, I was bluntly honest.

He was such a fine man.

Even though his character sips gutter water.

My father handed my hand over to him, giving my fingers a tight squeeze before stepping back to take his seat in the front row.

I glanced around the wedding hall.

The seating arrangement was very telling.

On the groom’s side sat an array of elite pack elders, wealthy dignitaries, state governors, and even presidents from neighboring nations.

On the bride’s side, the pews were practically empty—occupied only by my father, my mother, and Livyana, who sat quietly near the back in disguise.

My father had deliberately refused to invite anyone else from the Silver Moon Pack. When our family was drowning in debt and desperately needed help, those so-called friends had abandoned us completely. Fair enough.

"We are gathered here today under the watchful eyes of the Moon Goddess," the officiating priestess began, her firm voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

After a brief sermon, it was time for the exchanging of the sacred vows. Tarian stepped closer, taking my small cold hands into his large, warm palms. He stared down at me, his dark eyes hollow.

"I, Alpha Tarian, take you... Moriah..." he began smoothly.

I froze. My head snapped up, my eyes wide.

"My name is not Moriah," I whispered under my breath, cutting him off before he could continue. "It's Livyana."

Tarian stuttered, a rare flicker of shock breaking through his stoic composure. He cleared his throat quickly, correcting himself.

"I take you, Livyana, to be my wedded Luna..."

A sudden urge burned in my chest to ask him who the hell Moriah was, was she his mistress? A side chic? Definitely a side chic.

Oh Livyana your man can’t even get his side chic out of his mouth on his freaking wedding day!

You have not even married him and you already have a certain Moriah to share your husband with you.

Good gracious moon goddess. But then, I bit my lip hard, forcing the question back down my throat. As he recited the rest of his vows, I looked closely into his eyes. There was no warmth in them. No affection. Zero love.

When it was my turn to speak my vows, I forced Livyana's soft, timid tone into my voice, praying silently to the Moon Goddess that this entire three-month nightmare would pass as quickly as possible.

"By the power vested in me by the Moon Goddess, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priestess declared with a bright smile. "Groom, you may now kiss your bride."

My entire body went rigid. Kiss?!

My eyes darted frantically toward the pew where the real Livyana was sitting.

I shot her a desperate, panicked look. Livyana gave me a small, urgent nod, signaling for me to just get it over with and kiss him.

No way! my mind screamed. No absolute way am I kissing this insufferable man!

Tarian leaned down, bringing his full lips closer to mine. Acting purely on instinct, I jerked my head to the side, dodging his lips entirely.

Gasps rippled through the front rows. Tarian stiffened, visibly embarrassed by my sudden rejection in front of the world's most powerful dignitaries. But he quickly recovered. He let out a smooth, deep laugh, looking around at the chuckling congregation.

"It seems my new bride is just a little shy," he announced smoothly.

Before I could react, his large hand shot out, cupping my chin in a firm, unyielding grip.

He held my face completely in place, pulling me in and pressing his mouth firmly against mine.

I gasped against his lips, my brain short-circuiting. It was, without a doubt, the most delicious, intoxicating kiss I had ever experienced in my entire life, sending an unexpected jolt of heat straight down my spine.

I pulled away the second he released me, my cheeks burning red with deep humiliation. The entire cathedral erupted into a roaring chaos of cheers, applause, and laughter.

My hands were twitching.

I am going to slap him, I thought, my hands trembling violently inside my white lace gloves. How dare him kiss me? How dare him! I swear to the Moon Goddess, I am going to break his nose right here on this altar!

The next minute I was begging myself to calm down.

Hold yourself, Livia! I ordered myself, squeezing my eyes shut and drawing in a ragged breath. You are just a placeholder. Just three months.

I forced the rage back down into my throat, swallowing my pride as the humiliation ritual of our royal wedding continued around us.