Too Late to Say Forgive Me

"Walk slower, Sophie. You’re trembling," Beta Kingsley whispered beside her.

“I’m fine, Father,” Sophie murmured, clutching her bouquet harder. Her hands felt frozen, despite the spring sun casting pale gold through the trees.

At the end of the aisle, Alpha Dylan Wilson stood motionless under the silver wolf banners. His charcoal uniform clung to his rigid frame. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

Sophie’s heart pounded. This was supposed to be the day two packs united, but Dylan’s stare passed through her like wind through glass.

“Do you, Dylan Wilson, take Sophie Kingsley as your mate and wife?”

His lips barely moved. “I do.”

"And do you, Sophie Kingsley—"

“I do,” she said before the elder finished. Her voice cracked, but she held her chin high.

"You may kiss the bride."

Dylan stepped forward, brushed his lips against her cheek like one might a stranger, and turned to the crowd. His next words dropped like ice into her chest.

“She has ruined the only love I ever wanted.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat.

"Dylan," her father warned, low and sharp.

But Dylan had already turned, extending his hand toward the crowd. “Fiona. Come.”

From the second row, Fiona stepped forward, her pale blue dress billowing. She smiled demurely and bowed.

The crowd shifted uncomfortably as Dylan led Sophie—his new Luna—to the feast hall, only to seat Fiona beside him at the high table.

“To the woman who saved my life,” Dylan said, raising his cup. “Fiona of Silverclaw. For her courage.”

No one toasted the bride.

Sophie forced a smile, though her stomach twisted.

Later that night, after the hall emptied, Sophie stood at the balcony overlooking the moonlit courtyard.

The bedroom door creaked open, then shut again.

She turned. “Dylan?”

His voice came from behind the door. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be in the war room.”

She stared at the untouched bed, white sheets pristine.

"Good night," she whispered, to no one at all.