4.

Things moved very quickly after that. The wedding was quite literally the next evening, so we had to move fast. I was bundled up and taken to my parents’ house that night and they assured me they’d handle my lease and my job.

Not like I’d need either after a year married to Damian, if their promises of security and wealth were true.

I let myself daydream about what I’d do with all that money and freedom. I’d move out of that apartment, somewhere remote and away from the messiness of the city. A home with a toilet that flushed immediately and floors that didn’t creak. I’d build myself a nice library. I’d get a couch that wasn’t stolen from an alley next to an old furniture store. I’d pick out wallpaper because I liked it, not because it was on sale.

I imagined all of this to avoid imagining what the next year would entail.

My parents filled me in on what exactly they’d agreed to with Damian. The marriage was purely political, of course, and like all political or business arrangements, childbirth was involved. I had a year and a half to produce—or at least get pregnant with—an heir for the Moretti family.

That alone nearly made me back out. But it was too late. The moment I agreed, my father had whipped out a contract and made me sign it. I knew the man wasn’t above taking me to court if I tried to run now.

He also insisted that before the year was over, I’d be out of the marriage and wouldn’t have to worry about actually having a baby. Daria couldn’t elude them for that long. I chose to believe that.

The rest of the car ride was spent filling me in on the nuances of the relationship between Damian and Daria.

Which was little to nothing.

They’d had a few lunches together, barely speaking during them. Damian had attended one of her recitals in Paris. All in all, they’d been cordial.

Again, bitterness surged through me. They really had been willing to force my sister to marry a man—a werewolf—she barely knew.

After an hour of driving, the house I’d grown up in loomed ahead of us, white stone and wrought iron gates gleaming beneath the early light, pristine and unforgiving as ever. My stomach twisted as we passed through the gates.

I hated being back.

Inside, everything looked pretty much the same. The staff avoided my eyes as they ushered me upstairs, into the room that had once been mine. It had been wiped clean of anything that ever made it feel like me.

The maids got to work immediately, slipping me into the elegant wedding dress and powdering my face.

The gown had been altered to fit my body, I was a little skinnier than Daria. My hair was styled the way she always wore it for formal events, smooth and controlled. Makeup softened my sharper features, and I folded my demeanour into something that resembled hers. My blonde hair was even darkened slightly to match Daria’s.

After all this, I was driven along with my parents and to the wedding venue where I waited in the entrance hall for all the guests to be seated and for the groom to take his place.

“Don’t slouch,” my mother murmured suddenly, stepping forward to adjust my posture. “Daria never slouched.”

I sighed and rolled my shoulders back.

Everything about me already had to be corrected if I pass Daria. The way I walked. The way I held my hands. The tilt of my chin. Every movement was examined, refined, erased, and rewritten until I felt like a counterfeit wearing my own face.

In the few quiet moments before the ceremony, a thought came to mind and I turned to my parents.

“You owe me an explanation,” I said.

My father looked puzzled.

“What’s the reason for this marriage?” I asked. “When it was announced on the news, everyone had the same question. We’ve lived with the werewolves in relative peace for years. There’s no need for a marital alliance.”

He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he’d refuse to answer.

“Our business is failing,” my mother said quietly. “We’re buried in debt.”

I stared at them. “That’s not possible.”

I knew my parents. There was no way they were suddenly drowning in debt. My father didn’t make a single decision unless he was certain it would bring profit. Even his risks were carefully calculated.

“Even the most careful men make mistakes,” my father said tightly.

“No,” I replied. “You don’t. And I haven’t heard anything about you being in trouble.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and brittle.

Finally, he exhaled. “We kept it quiet. We’ve been struggling for a while. I borrowed money from the Santoros to fund some business ventures, but they failed and I couldn’t pay them back. They were threatening us Nika, threatening your sister. Damian Moretti approached us first. I suppose these werewolf families keep track of things like that. He offered assistance in exchange for Daria’s hand… and a share of our profits.”

“But why?” I asked, more to myself than to them. “Why would the most influential werewolf in North America clear the debt of a human family for a marriage? Wasn’t he already engaged?”

My father merely shrugged.

Nothing made sense. Not really. Not since I’d come home to find my parents on my couch, telling me my boyfriend had run away with my sister and they wanted me to marry a werewolf in her place.

Mother stepped forward and adjusted my veil so it fell over my face. “Let’s not think about that right now. Mr. Moretti has done more for us than we deserve. Now we have to keep our end of the deal.”

More like I had to keep their end of the deal, but semantics, I supposed.

“Remember,” my mother said anxiously, “from the moment you walk down that aisle, you are no longer Nika. You may look like Daria, but you must act like her, even when you think no one is watching. If Alpha Damian even suspects we’ve deceived him—”

“I know,” I replied stiffly.

I took a deep breath and turned toward the door leading into the weeping hall.

My father extended his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, I looped mine through it.

The music began.

The doors opened, and we took our first step into the hall. The lights blinded me briefly as all eyes turned toward us, including those of the man standing at the end of the aisle.

I kept my gaze on the carpet, releasing a shaky breath.

The music grew louder the farther we walked, and my bodice felt like it was tightening with every step. Too soon, we reached the stairs leading to the altar. My father handed me over to my sister’s fiancé.

My fiancé.

The priest began to speak, and finally, I forced myself to look up—

—and into the stormy grey eyes of my soon-to-be husband.