The Alpha's Forced Luna

Alina POV

There was a loud click when the heavy wooden door to the bridal suite closed, the faint scent of lilies lingering in the still air. That sound was somehow louder than the entire wedding—the final punctuation to a ceremony neither of us wanted. For a moment, silence stretched between us. Frederick stood by the door in his black suit, like a man who had just signed a prison sentence. Which, in a way, he had.

We looked at each other. His cold blue eyes locked with my burning defiance, and I wondered how two people so alike in stubbornness could be so completely at odds. The truth was clear: we hadn’t really been alone since the ceremony ended—until now.

My husband. The heir to the Alpha. The man who didn’t want me. The man I never planned to marry.

Frederick slowly untied his tie, the silk slipping through his fingers like molten frustration—each deliberate move a silent curse. Not rushed. Not awkward. Just angry. Like this whole thing was a pain in the neck.

"You can have the bed," he said flatly. No warmth. No softness. Just a wall of indifference.

I blinked. "That kind?" I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so sharp, but it cut through the quiet like a knife.

He didn’t even flinch. Frederick brushed past me without a glance, his fingers grazing mine for a fleeting second before he poured amber liquid into a glass with a sharp clink. He drained it in one long swallow and poured another.

Only then did he look at me again. "You can stop the act now."

"Act like what?" I asked.

"This marriage means nothing, I hope you know that right?"

Something in my chest tightened, like a fist squeezing hard. That was how tonight would go. Fine. Because I didn’t want to be a good bride either.

"Trust me," I said, crossing my arms, "I’m not playing."

The room fell silent again—the kind of quiet that made the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the night seem to press down like a living thing. Frederick looked at me like I was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.

Finally, he said, "You should understand something clearly."

"I didn’t want to get married," especially to someone like you.”

I laughed—a short, dry sound with no humour. "Thanks," I said. "Me neither."

That flickered something in his eyes—not anger, but annoyance.

"My grandmother set it up," he said. "You already know."

"Yes," I replied. "Everyone in the pack knows."

That the strong Alpha heir was forced into a political marriage with a woman he had never even dated. A move in politics. An alliance for a purpose. A joke to some. An embarrassment to others.

Frederick put his empty glass down with a heavy sigh. "You will live here."

"But don’t get that mixed up with anything else."

"Anything else?"

His eyes sharpened. "No love."

"No closeness."

"Don’t expect anything from me."

Every word hit like a stone. I should have felt offended. Ashamed. But instead, a cold flame of anger flared inside me, hotter and fiercer than any hurt.

"You think I’m going to fall in love with you?" I asked.

His jaw clenched. "That would be bad for you."

I stepped closer—not because I wanted to, but because I refused to look small in front of him. "You should relax."

"You're not my type."

His eyes darkened for the first time that night. Just a shade.

"Okay."

"Because you’re not mine either."

There it was. The truth. Sharp. Unpretty. Real.

Something hurt deep inside, but I ignored it.

"Then we agree," I said, "this marriage is just a deal."

Frederick nodded faintly. "Exactly."

I turned away and sat on the edge of the bed. The stiff fabric of my white wedding dress scratched against my skin like a cage, suddenly too heavy. Too tight. Not real enough.

After a few moments, Frederick spoke again. "You can change in the bathroom."

"I’ll sleep on the couch."

I glanced back at him, the heir to the Alpha, choosing the couch on his wedding night. The pack would never stop talking about this.

"Your girlfriend must be heartbroken," I said.

The room plunged into an icy silence. Frederick stayed still—but I felt the temperature drop ten degrees.

"You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t know."

"Oh, I get it perfectly."

Everyone knew who she was. Clara. Beautiful. Classy. The woman Frederick truly loved. The woman who should have worn this dress tonight. Not me.

"You had to marry this person," I said again. "And that cost her you."

His voice dropped lower. "That’s enough."

But I wasn’t done. "Does she know where you are tonight?"

His fist slammed on the table. The glass rattled violently. "Alina."

His voice was a warning. But I raised my chin.

"Yes?"

For a moment, he looked as if he might lose control. A dangerous gleam in his eyes. Then he exhaled slowly. Control returned—icy, sharp, unbreakable.

"You should be careful not to test my patience."

A shiver ran down my spine. Not fear. Something stranger.

"I think all we have is patience," I said, "since we’re stuck with each other."

Frederick stared at me—long, hard—as if weighing a choice.

Then, steady and calm, he said, "Let’s be clear about one thing."

"If you try to mess with my life..."

My heart slowed.

"...you will regret it."

I rose slowly, closed the distance between us, stopping just inches away. He was taller. Broader. More powerful. Every inch of him screamed Alpha.

But I wouldn’t back down.

"Do you think I care what you do?" I asked.

"I don’t."

Frederick looked down at me. Our faces were close now.

"You should."

His lips twitched, but no smile came—only something darker.

"Because you don’t have a choice..."

He whispered, "Now you’re my wife."

The words made me shiver in a way I couldn’t explain. I hated how he said it.

I stepped back immediately. "Just on paper."

"Good," he said. "Then we get each other."

Frederick grabbed his jacket and headed for the couch. The conversation was over.

Cold. Clean. Without feeling.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and stared at my reflection: the dress, the makeup, and the perfect bride mask for a marriage completely broken.

I slowly removed the veil. My fingers trembled—not from sadness, but anger. This wasn’t how my life was supposed to be. Not this way. Not with him.

Outside, Frederick’s phone vibrated once, twice, three times. Curiosity pulled me out moments later. He stood in the hallway, speaking softly—his voice gentler, softer. A stark contrast to how he spoke with me.

"...I told you it wasn’t my decision."

A pause.

"No, Clara," Hear me out.”

My stomach turned. Clara. For sure.

Frederick ran a hand through his hair. "I’ll take care of this."

Another pause.

"I promise." Clara… then the line went off.

My chest tightened. The truth.

My husband, telling another woman he would "fix" our marriage.

What did that mean? Divorce? Cancellation? Or something worse?

Frederick turned quickly, locking eyes with me.

For a moment, we were frozen.

He knew I heard. I was sure.

He picked his jacket and went out without saying a word to me, letting the space between us felt like a warzone.

I crossed my arms.

If this marriage was a battle, he would get exactly what he wanted: war.

Frederick might not want to marry me—but he would soon regret not taking me seriously.

And this was just the first night.