Chapter 2: Chose Me, please!

Katherine Harrington:

In the five years I’ve stayed with Sebastian—through ten divorces—I’ve never once had the grand wedding he keeps promising.

Actually, no. I’ve never had any wedding with him at all.

I stand at the back of the wedding hall, half-hidden in shadow, arms wrapped around myself like I might hold the pieces together if I squeeze hard enough. The air smells of fresh flowers and candle wax. Soft music drifts from somewhere I can’t see. Everyone is smiling.

I’m not.

They gave me small tasks to keep me occupied. Useful. Invisible. I carried trays of crystal glasses filled with something sparkling, refilled them when they emptied, wiped condensation from the rims so no one would notice my hands shaking. Guests thanked me without really looking. Their eyes slid past like I was furniture.

At the front, Sebastian stood tall in a dark suit, Helen beside him in white silk that caught the light every time she moved. Her hand rested lightly on the gentle curve of her belly. He covered it with his own—gentle, protective, the way he used to touch me only in dreams I no longer allowed myself.

I watched him lean in to whisper something in her ear. She laughed softly, tilted her head against his shoulder. The sound of it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

One of the elders stepped forward with a carved wooden box. “May your union bring strength to the pack,” he said, voice warm with ceremony. Sebastian accepted it with both hands, bowed his head in thanks. Helen’s eyes shone with tears—happy ones.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. My tray trembled. A single drop of condensation slid down a glass and fell onto my wrist. Cold.

Then the doors burst open.

A man staggered in, clothes torn, face streaked with old grief and fresh fury. His voice cracked the room like thunder. “Helen! You promised me forever—you left me hollow, took my name, my pride, everything!” He raised a blade, eyes locked on her. “You don’t get to walk away happy!”

Gasps. Chairs scraping. Time stretched thin.

Sebastian moved. Fast. Decisive.

He shoved Helen sideways—out of the path—and stepped back.

The knife met my side instead.

Pain bloomed slow at first, then sharp and bright. I felt the blade slide in, felt the warm rush that followed. My tray clattered to the floor. Glasses shattered. Sparkling liquid spread across the stone like spilled stars.

I looked down. Red soaked through the pale fabric of my dress in a widening stain. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the edge of a table, knuckles white.

“Sebastian…” His name came out small, a question more than anything. “Sebastian, please…”

He didn’t turn. His arms were already around Helen, shielding her, murmuring low words into her hair while she clung to him, trembling. “It’s okay,” he told her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Security swarmed the man, wrestled the knife away, dragged him out as he kept shouting her name like a curse.

Sebastian glanced over once. His expression was tight, annoyed. “It’s just a stab, Katherine. You’ll live. The hospital’s close enough—ten minutes if you walk fast. Don’t make a scene. Go.”

I stared at him. Blood dripped onto the floor in slow, heavy drops. My vision blurred at the edges. “I… I protected her. For you.”

He exhaled through his nose, the sound impatient. “And I’m grateful. Really. But right now Helen needs me. Go get it looked at. You’re bleeding on the floor.”

The words landed soft, almost kind in their indifference.

I pressed my hand to the wound; it came away slick and warm. The room spun gently. Faces blurred into a sea of concerned murmurs, but no one moved to help. No one offered an arm. No one even asked if I was all right.

I turned, legs unsteady, and walked out alone.

Each step pulled at the injury. The corridor lights stretched long and hazy. My breathing grew shallow. Dizziness crept in like fog—slow, patient. I leaned against a wall for a moment, slid down until I was sitting, head tipped back. The world tilted sideways.

Blood pooled beneath me, dark and sticky. I stared at it. Thought about how many times I’d cleaned up after him. After them. How many sheets I’d changed. How many promises I’d swallowed.

Then nothing.

I woke to the sting of antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my skin. White ceiling. Thin sheets. A dull throb in my side that sharpened every time I breathed.

A nurse appeared at the bedside, her movements careful. “You’re awake. Good. That wound was deep—tore muscle, nicked something important. For an Omega with no wolf to speed the healing… you’re lucky it didn’t go worse.” She adjusted the IV line, pressed two pills into my palm. “Swallow these. Slowly.”

I did. Water tasted like metal.

“Has anyone come for you?” she asked quietly, eyes soft with something like pity.

I shook my head. My voice cracked when I tried to speak. “No. No one.”

She squeezed my hand once—brief, kind—then left me with the beeping machines.

My phone was still in the pocket of the ruined dress they’d cut away. I pulled it out, screen cracked but working. My thumb hovered over his name for a long time.

I called.

He answered immediately. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you—”

A flicker of something warm sparked in my chest. He noticed. He cared. After everything, he still—

Then his voice flattened. “Helen’s sick. Really sick. She needs a kidney transplant—sudden failure. You’re the closest match we have on record.”

The warmth died. Cold rushed in to replace it.

I closed my eyes. Tears slipped free anyway. “Sebastian… I’m lying here bleeding. From protecting her. From the knife meant for her. I can barely breathe without it hurting.”

“Helen is pregnant,” he said, calm as if reading from a list. “You’re not. The child could die without this. Don’t worry—the wedding, the real one, we’ll do it. Just get tested. I’m on my way.”

I laughed once—a broken, wet sound. “You called because I’m useful. Not because I’m hurt. Not because I’m your wife.”

Silence on the line. Then, quieter: “Katherine, don’t do this right now. Helen’s scared. The baby—”

“I’ve been scared for five years,” I whispered. “Every time you walked out. Every time you came back promising more. Every time you chose her.”

He sighed. “We’ll talk later. Just… get tested. Please.”

The phone slipped from my fingers. I let it fall to the mattress. Tears slipped sideways into my hair. I stared at the ceiling until the lights blurred.

A short while later the door opened again.

Sebastian stepped in, coat still on, expression impatient. “Took longer than I thought to find which room. Come on—they’re ready for the test.”

I didn’t move. My body felt heavy, anchored to the bed by pain and exhaustion. “I can’t. Not right now. Sebastian… please. Just let me rest. The wound—”

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed my arm above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “No more excuses.” He yanked me upright. Pain exploded through my side like fresh fire. I cried out, doubled over, but he didn’t stop.

“Sebastian—stop! It hurts—”

He dragged me off the bed, my bare feet scraping the cold floor. The IV line tugged painfully at my arm before it ripped free, blood trickling down my wrist. I stumbled, trying to pull away, but his grip was iron. “You’re doing this. For her. For the child.”

“Please,” I gasped, tears streaming now. “I’m your wife. Doesn’t that mean anything? I took the knife for her—for you—and now you’re… you’re hurting me more?”

He didn’t answer. Just hauled me down the corridor, past startled nurses who froze but didn’t intervene. My hospital gown flapped open at the back, blood from the wound seeping through the thin fabric again. Every step jarred the injury, sent nausea rolling through me.

We reached another room—sterile white, bright lights, machines humming. A doctor and nurse waited inside, faces neutral.

Sebastian shoved me toward the exam table. “She’s here. Do it.”

The nurse approached with a syringe. “This will help you relax for the procedure,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “It’s a sedative—anesthesia to make the compatibility draw and any necessary biopsy easier. You won’t feel much.”

I shook my head weakly, backing against the wall. “No… no, I don’t want—”

Sebastian stepped closer, voice low and hard. “You will. Lie down.”

The nurse hesitated, glancing between us. “Sir, if she’s refusing—”

“Do it,” he snapped.

She pressed the needle into my arm. Cold liquid spread through my veins. The room softened at the edges, colors bleeding together. My limbs grew heavy, unresponsive.

I looked up at him through the haze. “Why… why are you doing this to me?” My words slurred, slow. “I loved you. I stayed. Through everything.”

He stared down, expression blank. “Because Helen needs it. And you can give it.”

Tears slipped free even as the sedative pulled me under. “Is this… what love feels like to you? Dragging me. Forcing me. Breaking me?”

For a second—just one—something flickered in his eyes. Regret? Guilt? It vanished before I could name it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the same empty words. “Helen comes first.”