Chapter 3: The Shattered Altar

Every eye in the cathedral was a serrated blade, cutting into Chloe Vance.

Curiosity, mockery, pity... the air was thick with it. "Get a picture," someone hissed. The flashbulbs erupted in a synchronized execution. Reporters were already typing out the headline: Scandal! Sterling Alpha Rejects Bride at the Altar?

Chloe's knees felt like water. Under the scorching spotlights, she could see her stepmother and Tiffany wearing identical smirks of triumph.

"I knew it," Tiffany whispered, crossing her arms. "He doesn't value this marriage. If I were the bride, he wouldn't dare say those things."

Chloe's gaze sought her father, but he only gave her a cold, iron-faced look, signaling her to keep the ceremony going. No one was going to help her. She was the family's sacrificial pawn.

Silas Sterling leaned in, his charcoal suit rustling as he lowered his head to her ear. "Pick it up," he rasped, his breath hot against her frozen cheek. "If you want to finish this. And I know you have to."

Chloe stared at his polished leather shoe—it was planted firmly on the wedding ring.

"Hurry up. Don't waste everyone's time," Silas snapped, his toe shifting impatiently.

Chloe bit her lip until she tasted copper. To get her mother's items, she had to endure this. Just as her knees began to bend, the sound of a chair toppling echoed from the gallery.

"Sterling's sense of humor is certainly... unique."

A clear, resonant voice sliced through the tension. A tall figure stood up from the pews—Julian Thorne.

"Julian?" Silas narrowed his eyes.

Julian adjusted his cuffs and stepped toward the altar, his presence a calm but immovable wall against Silas's jagged intensity. "Is this a new ritual? 'Humiliating the Bride'?"

"Are you here to crash my wedding, Thorne?" Silas ground his foot harder against the ring.

Julian ignored him and knelt to Chloe's level. "Miss Vance, do you really wish to continue this? My legal team is at your disposal."

"Julian!" Silas roared, snatching Chloe's arm. He yanked her flush against his chest, his palm scorching her cool skin.

The world spun. Before Chloe could blink, Silas had hoisted her up and pinned her against the cold marble of the altar. His thumb brushed her waist, sending a jolt through her, while Julian simultaneously grabbed her other wrist.

"You're hurting her," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous chill.

******

"Go ahead, choose," Silas Sterling whispered, leaning down until the scent of expensive tobacco and something primal—something hot—brushed against Chloe's ear. "Show me exactly what kind of 'upbringing' the Vance family provided".

The cathedral was a sea of murmurs, but at the edge of the altar, Tiffany Vance looked like she was about to suffer a stroke. Her fingers dug into her father's arm as she watched the scene with wide, disbelieving eyes.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Silas was supposed to be a rotting invalid, not this god-like alpha. And Julian Thorne—the city's most eligible bachelor, the self-made billionaire she had spent months hunting—was currently offering her "disposable" sister a diamond ring.

Driven by a sudden, jagged jealousy, Tiffany retreated to the bridal suite and hurled a makeup brush at the vanity. The mirror shattered into a spiderweb of glass. "How?!" she hissed, her red nails drawing blood from her own palms. "When did Julian Thorne even meet that little bitch?"

Back in the nave, the air was thick enough to choke. Marcus Vance finally stepped in to play peacemaker, desperate to keep the two most powerful men in Holloway City from tearing each other apart in front of the press.

Julian Thorne adjusted his cufflinks, his voice smooth but lethal. "I heard the Sterling Corp's stock dropped fifteen points after that factory fire, Silas. Maybe focus on your balance sheets instead of your bride."

Silas's eyes darkened, his thumb flicking a gold lighter with a rhythmic click-clack. "You're awfully concerned with my domestic affairs, Thorne. I'm surprised your board of directors hasn't shipped you back overseas yet."

Julian ignored the jab, turning to Chloe with a gaze that was suddenly, unnervingly soft. "Are you alright, Chloe? You look pale".

Chloe was indeed trembling—but not from the crossfire. Her father had just pressed a heavy, cold object into her palm: her mother's vintage silver pocket watch.

"Chloe," Marcus Vance hissed in her ear, his voice a poisonous thread. "Make them stop. If you want to see the rest of your mother's things, handle this now."

The humiliation was complete. Her own father was treating her like a trained animal, forcing her to apologize to the very man who had just terrorized her. Tiffany, returning to the hall in her champagne silk gown, smirked as she approached the altar.

"Need a lesson, sister?" Tiffany mocked, swirling a glass of champagne. "Why don't you get on your knees and beg for forgiveness? Just like you used to—"

SLAP!

The sound rang through the cathedral like a gunshot. Tiffany's head snapped back, her champagne splashing across the white marble as she stumbled.

Chloe shook her stinging hand, her voice like shards of ice. "Listen carefully. I won't bring trouble to those who actually care about me," she said, her eyes flickering toward Julian. "But I will never mistake your fear for respect again. And I am done letting you use that respect as a weapon!"

"You... you'll never get those heirlooms now!" Marcus roared.

"Then you'd better go and guard them," Chloe laughed, a wild, reckless sound. "Because if even one of them is damaged, you lose the only leverage you have left."

The silence that followed was absolute. Silas Sterling let out a low, dark chuckle. He strode toward her, crushing the fallen glass under his boots. He loomed over her, his heat radiating off him in waves.

"So," he murmured, his face inches from hers. "You have an objection to this wedding?"

Chloe ripped off her veil and dropped it at his feet, covering the diamond ring Julian had offered. "I do. I have absolutely no interest in beasts."

The crowd gasped. Silas's pupils narrowed to slits. He snapped his fingers, and the heavy bronze doors of the cathedral slammed shut with a boom that shook the chandeliers.

hloe's skin prickled. The temperature of Silas's hand on her jaw was rising to an unnatural, feverish heat.

Movement flickered in the shadows. Armed Lycan guards in tactical black emerged from the side doors, their eyes glowing with a predatory amber light. They weren't here to protect the wedding; they were here to secure the kill.

"We're dead. We're all dead," Tiffany whimpered, biting her nails as she backed away.

Chloe felt the weight of history in the room. The Vances had built their empire on Lycan pelts; now, the debt was coming due. If she were Silas, she wouldn't wait either. This was the perfect moment for a bloodbath.

But she couldn't die yet. Not before she found the secret her mother had died to protect.

"Silas," she forced the words out, "think about the peace treaty. Think about what this will do to the other Packs".

Silas leaned in, his breath scorching her skin. "On the count of three, crouch."

Before she could ask why, he began. "One."

"It's not our fault!" Tiffany screamed at the guards, pointing a trembling finger at Chloe. "The wedding failed because of her! Punish her, not us!"

"Two."

Julian Thorne lunged forward, grabbing Chloe's wrist to pull her away. But Chloe wrenched herself free. Her hunter's instinct was screaming, but it wasn't screaming danger—it was screaming transformation.

"Three!"

Chloe dropped to the floor just as Silas let out a guttural roar. The seams of his bespoke suit jacket shredded as his spine arched, jagged bone protrusions ripping through the fabric.

Tiffany, in a fit of panicked "loyalty," snatched a silver-plated steak knife from a nearby table and lunged at Chloe's face. "I'll kill this bitch for you, Master Sterling!"

Chloe tried to dodge, but her heel caught on the altar steps. She fell backward, the lace of her gown snagging as Tiffany's blade came down.

"Chloe!" Julian shouted, but Marcus Vance grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"Let her go, Thorne," Marcus hissed. "If you want a Vance for your business partner, Tiffany is the one worth saving. This one is already dead."

Chloe saw the blade glinting, aimed directly for her eyes. There was no time to escape. She twisted her body mid-air, a bitter smile touching her lips.

Take the scar, she thought. Just stay alive.