Chapter 12 – The Wedding Night Aftermath

The cabin smelled faintly of cedar and new paint, it was as though it had been made hurriedly to be finished for the occasion. The grounds were lined with fresh rugs, candles flickered on polished tables, and garlands of pine twined along the mantel. It should have felt warm, even welcoming, it should be the beginning of a new chapter. To Ella, all it felt like, was like  a cage gilded with silver ribbons.

The door shut behind her with a soft thud that seemed to sound too final. She lingered just inside, clutching the folds of her dress in both hands, uncertain whether to step farther in. Without even sparing her a glance, Cole strode past her, his boots sounded heavy against the wooden floorboards. He pulled at the collar of his ceremonial robe and carelessly tossed it onto a chair, the crest of his house sliding sideways with the motion.

Ella’s heart gave a small, foolish flutter. Despite everything part of her had hoped that that maybe, just being away from the crowd, away from the weight of expectation, Cole would soften towards her. Maybe they could speak with honest,cone to some sort of fragile understanding. After all, they were bound together now. Fate had spoken, and whether they liked it or not, they were tethered to one another.

“Do you want me to light the hearth?” she asked softly, her voice catching in the silence.

Cole ignored her. His hand closed around a bottle on the shelf, the amber liquid sloshing as he uncorked it with his teeth. He poured a glass brimming and downed half of it in one swallow before pouring another. The sharp smell of whiskey filled the cabin, it smelled sharper than the pine.

Ella’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her gown. “You aren’t suppose to drink so much, especially on a night like this,” she tried to talk to him again, her words trembled between caution and concern.

He laughed, a low, bitter sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “On a night like this? Tell me, Ella, what exactly is tonight supposed to represent?” He gestured broadly at the room, the candles, the bed draped in white sheets embroidered with the Luna’s careful hand. “A celebration? A gift from the Goddess? No. It’s a freaking curse.”

Her breath stilled. “Cole—”

“I didn’t choose any of this,” he snarled, cutting her off. “Don’t you understand that? I never chose you. Fate did. And I never will.”

The words struck harder than she had prepared for. She had known he had resented the bond. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, felt it in the cold weight of his hand during the vows. But hearing it out loud, carved deep wounds in places she hadn’t realized were still tender.

He threw back another glass, the muscles of his throat tightening as he swallowed. His shoulders rose and fell with a shuddering breath, rage taking over. “Do you know who I’m supposed to be with right now? Sasha is the one.”

Ella’s chest clenched. She forced herself to stand straighter, though her knees wobbled beneath the heavy silk. “Sasha,” she repeated, her voice low, steady despite the storm brewing inside.

“Yes.” He slammed the glass down on the table, whiskey spilling over the rim. His eyes burned with when they met hers, it wasn’t filled with the warmth of a mate, but with resentment so raw it made her stomach twist. “She’s the one i truly love and want. Not you. She’s the one I’ve always wanted. Do you think one stupid ceremony will be able to erase all of that?”

Her fingers trembled, but she refused to let him see. “Then why bother saying the vows at all?”

“Because my father force me into doing it.” He spat the words like venom. “Because tradition shackled me and left me with no choice. Because rejecting you in front of everyone would’ve been suicide for my claim to the pack.” He dragged a hand through his dark hair, wild strands falling across his face. “I should have been strong enough to walk away. But I wasn’t. So now you and I are trapped in this façade of a union.”

Trapped. The word echoed inside her until it hollowed her out.

She turned from him, moving toward the hearth as if to put distance between them. Her hands shook as she struck a match, setting flame to the wood stacked neatly inside. The fire caught quickly, crackling into life, but it didn’t warm her.

“You speak of being trapped,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the flames. “But you seem to forget something crucial, Cole. I didn’t choose any of this either. I never asked for it neither did I desire it. Do you think I wanted to stand there tonight and promise myself to someone who clearly despises me?”

Silence fell behind her. It felt heavy, Suffocating even. She wondered if he even heard her over the roar of his own anger.

Then came the sound of liquid sloshing again, the glass refilled, the cork tossed carelessly onto the floor. “You could have said no,” he muttered.

Her head whipped around, anger flaring. “And be cast out? Banished? What would you have done if I had refused—stand there in front of your father and the entire pack and say no?”

He didn’t give her any reply. He only drank, his silence sharper than any words spoken.

Ella’s throat ached, but she refused to let her tears fall where he could see. “I may be bound to you, Cole, but don’t mistake that bond for weakness. I will never beg for your love. And I will not break just because you spit venom in my face.”

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in his gaze — doubt, perhaps, or even  shame. But as it appeared, it vanished l quickly. He sank into the chair, the bottle clutched in one hand, his glare pinned to the fire like it was his arch enemy.

Time passed by, the only sounds that could be heard were the sound of the crackle of the flames and the steady pour of whiskey into glass after glass. Ella moved mechanically, removing her veil, folding it carefully over a chair, loosening the pins that tugged painfully at her scalp. She unfastened her dress slowly as the dress weighed on her like armor, leaving herself in the plain slip beneath. Every motion was steady, deliberate, a defiance in the face of his indifference.

Cole was still drinking when she finally lay down on the far edge of the bed, her back to him. His mutters were slurred, they were incoherent at first, but then one word surfaced, repeating over and over again, it tore at her chest: “Sasha was the name being repeated.”

Ella’s body went rigid. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, her breaths shallow, her eyes burning with tears and despair. She stared into the dark until the ceiling blurred, her tears finally slipping free. She wept quietly, so softly that the crackle of the fire might hide it.

Cole stumbled to bed much later, beside her he collapsed heavily, his breath reeked of liquor. Within moments, he was fast asleep, a hand flung across the sheets, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

Ella lay stiff, awake long into the night. The fire burned low, shadows crawling along the walls. Each breath she drew seemed to echo the truth of his words: she was trapped, bound to a man who wished for another, chained to a fate she had never wanted.

And yet, somewhere deep in the hollow ache of her chest, a quiet vow formed. If this was her prison, she would not let it break her.

Not now. Not ever.