Everyone in the pack knows Marcus has loved me for a decade—that I'm his destined mate. He's devastatingly handsome and brilliant, the youngest and most gifted pack healer we've ever had, with she-wolves practically throwing themselves at his feet. Yet this alpha prince has eyes only for me. But when I was nearly assaulted by a rapist, Marcus signed a settlement agreement on my behalf and issued a psychiatric diagnosis, condemning me to a mental institution. Inside the institution, I was attacked by the truly insane—they tore at my hair with clawed fingers and kicked my stomach until I couldn't breathe. Meanwhile, he held the rapist's sister Victoria close and told me: "Emma, I'll take care of you. I'll compensate you when you get out, but Victoria has severe depression. She can't handle her brother getting in trouble." Even more ridiculous—when I begged him to let me see my suicidal sister one last time, he was honeymooning with that woman in Iceland, hanging up on my eighty-nine calls. The day my sister died, I coughed up blood in that mental hospital. Three years later, he came to get me, saying he still wanted to bring me home as his mate. Looking at his careful demeanor, I suddenly laughed. Marcus, do you know? No matter how high the mental hospital walls are, they can't stop someone who's crawled back from hell for revenge. What you owe me, what you owe my sister—I'll collect it all with interest, using what you care about most.
View MoreI lied to Marcus. I wouldn't appear at the wedding ceremony.The promise I'd given him in the hospital was just another manipulation, another piece in my carefully orchestrated revenge.I no longer wanted to become Marcus's bride. That naive girl who'd dreamed of white dresses and happy endings had died in the mental hospital three years ago.The morning of November fifteenth, I watched from across the street as guests arrived at the cathedral. Pack elders in expensive suits, business partners checking their watches, distant relatives gossiping about the absent bride.I blended into the wedding crowd easily, just another face in the sea of curious onlookers. I'd dressed simply—black jeans, dark hoodie, sunglasses to hide my identity.Nobody recognized me. Why would they? The Emma they remembered was soft and smiling, not this hollow-eyed stranger.At exactly 2 PM, as Marcus stood waiting at the altar in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, I activated the device I'd planted earlier.The cere
Marcus continued his grand wedding preparations with obsessive determination, even more elaborate than the day he proposed.After discovering Victoria's lies, he threw himself into the wedding planning like a man possessed, convinced that a perfect ceremony would somehow erase three years of pain.He sent invitations to all the influential figures in the city—pack leaders, business moguls, old family friends who had watched our relationship bloom."It has to be perfect," he told the wedding planner for the hundredth time. "Emma deserves perfect."The invitations were embossed with gold, the cathedral booked for the entire day, the reception hall decorated with thousands of imported roses.Marcus spent a fortune he didn't have, borrowing against his future just to create the wedding of my dreams.The day before the wedding, I called Vincent.I had been monitoring Victoria's family since their financial collapse, waiting for the right moment. Vincent had been drinking heavily, drowning h
This time, Marcus really had wronged Victoria.The irony wasn't lost on me as I watched him choke the life out of her through the hidden cameras I'd installed weeks ago.I was the one who smashed the wedding suite. Every shattered photo, every destroyed flower, every torn piece of fabric—all me.And I was even the one who deliberately leaked the video at the perfect moment for maximum impact.To destroy someone, first make them go mad.That was the lesson I'd learned in the mental hospital, watching patient after patient break under pressure.I had arranged to meet Victoria in the wedding suite earlier that day, sending her a text from a burner phone: "I know what you did. Meet me at the cathedral if you want to keep your secrets."Victoria came, just as I knew she would.She couldn't resist the opportunity to confront me, to gloat over her victory.When she walked into the wedding suite and saw all the decorations—the white roses she knew I'd chosen, the photos of Marcus and me lookin
Marcus became a laughingstock overnight. The romantic narrative crumbled as people saw me on my knees, admitting to actively seducing Vincent, apologizing with blood streaming down my face."Look at this fool," the comments read. "Planning a wedding for a whore who seduced other men.""No wonder she was in the mental hospital. She's insane.""That doctor is pathetic. She played him like a fiddle."Marcus used thunderous methods to suppress the videos, calling in every favor he'd ever earned. He contacted platform administrators, threatened lawsuits, even deployed his pack's influence to pressure major media outlets into silence."Take it down," he demanded during a conference call with legal teams. "All of it. I don't care what it costs.""Dr. Marcus, once something goes viral, it's nearly impossible to completely erase—""I said take it down!"But for every video they removed, three more appeared. The internet never forgets, and it never forgives.When Marcus finally finished dealing
To find me, Marcus began preparing for our wedding with the desperation of a man drowning."She'll come back for this," he told himself, staring at the empty apartment. "She has to."Marcus remembered how much I used to anticipate our wedding. How I'd spent hours browsing bridal magazines, showing him pictures of dresses and flowers."Look at this one," I'd said, pointing to a photograph of white roses. "Aren't they perfect?"He'd barely glanced up from his medical journals then. "Whatever you want, Emma."Now he wished he'd paid attention to every detail.Marcus believed that as long as he prepared everything needed for the ceremony—everything I'd ever dreamed of—I would definitely return to his side.He threw himself into the planning with manic energy. He hired the most expensive wedding planner in the city, booked the cathedral where we'd first talked about getting married, ordered thousands of those white roses I'd loved.Marcus set our wedding date for my birthday, just like I'd
I returned to the home Alice and I once shared. The cramped apartment felt like a mausoleum now.Her coffee mug still sat in the sink, unwashed. Her favorite sweater hung over the back of a chair where she'd left it before going to the healing center.The cramped apartment was filled with traces of our sisterhood—photos of us at Christmas, her sketches taped to the refrigerator, the friendship bracelet she'd made me for my birthday still hanging from the bathroom mirror.Everything screamed her absence.I opened her bedroom door for the first time since her death. Her bed was still unmade, sheets rumpled from her last restless night before the hospitalization.On her nightstand lay her diary, locked with a tiny brass key she'd hidden behind her jewelry box. I opened it with trembling fingers.The last entry was dated three days before her suicide:"The videos are everywhere. People at the facility keep showing them to me on their phones. Emma kneeling, begging, apologizing to that mons
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