I Died When My Stepsister Married My Mate

AURORA'S POV

Suddenly, my soul floated into the air and flurried away. Before I knew it, I found myself in the venue of Clara and Brent's wedding.

The atmosphere was filled with joy and celebration — a celebration that I would never be a part of.

I continued flowing through the air and soon found myself in one of the hotel rooms.

Inside, I found my mom and Clara. Clara was having her make-up and her hair done. Beside her, my mother stood, cooing over her.

“Oh, aren't you the prettiest bride anyone has ever seen? You are just perfect, my darling girl.”

Clara smiled up at her. “Thank you, mother.”

I watched her hesitate before she began speaking again, “Mother, do you think Aurora will still come to the wedding?”

I'm right here, you bitch, I screamed into the air, furious that I couldn't be heard by them.

She continued speaking, “I don't know why she would refuse to attend or why she would do this to me. It wasn't my fault that Brent chose her over me at the end.”

“Hush, now, baby,” admonished my mother, “Don't you dare think about that good for nothing selfish thing. It's her bad luck that made Brent abandon her. Besides, you're prettier and smarter than she is.”

“But I want her to be here. She's my sister, afterall, and she's supposed to be by my side as a bridesmaid.”

“I have to be truthful with you, Clara, ” said my mother. “I called her several times and made her promise me she would be here, but you know how Aurora is, she is always so stubborn. Jackson even sent her a text message but he got no reply. It's better if we forget about her.”

The door opened and Jackson came in.

“Oh, Jackson, have you seen Aurora?” Clara wailed to him, and immediately, a cold look descended on my brother's face.

“You shouldn't taint your big day with her filthy name, Clara. She doesn't care for this family. You should forget about her and focus on your new life with your husband.”

“Exactly what I've told her,” chipped in my mother. “Now come on and let's go. The people are waiting for you.”

I watched the grand hall from the back, unseen and unnoticed, just as I had been in life. Clara beamed, her white gown glittering under the chandeliers, and Brent looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. People clapped, cheered, and celebrated, but I couldn’t feel a thing. No joy. No sorrow. Just emptiness.

I hovered near my mother, Melissa. She sat with my stepfather, Alex, and my brother, Jackson, at the head table. All smiles, all praise for Clara. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” my mother gushed to the guests around her. “My perfect daughter. I’m so proud of her.”

They all nodded with smiles, agreeing.

Some pack members asked about me. The question pierced through the noise like a sharp blade.

“Where’s your other daughter? Isn’t Aurora attending?”

My mother’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the subtle shift in her eyes, the way she twisted the truth like she always did. “Aurora... refused to come,” she sighed, shaking her head dramatically. “Jealousy, I suppose. Always been so greedy, never satisfied with what she has. No matter how hard I tried to make her see reason, she just wouldn’t.”

The guest, some pack member I didn’t recognize, tutted in sympathy. “Such a shame. What sort of person would do that to her own sister on her wedding day?”

Others joined in, their voices blending into a chorus of disapproval.

“Ungrateful.”

“Selfish.”

“After everything you’ve done for her. She really needs to be disciplined, or else she'll think she can do whatever she pleases and get away with it.”

My mother soaked it all in, nodding along as if she were the perfect mother, burdened by such a terrible daughter.

It was always like this. Ever since I could remember, my mother painted me as the problem, the disappointment. She turned the entire pack against me with her lies, making them believe I was the ungrateful one, the bad seed.

But I wasn’t born bad. I remembered how things were before, when my father was alive. He loved me. He loved all of us, really. When he was around, the house was full of warmth, and my mother... well, she was different then, or maybe she just hid it better.

But everything changed after he died.

I could still see it, clear as day, the fire that took him from us. I was nine. Jackson and I had been playing in the living room. We were kids, messing around, and Jackson accidentally knocked over a candle. At first, it was just a small flame, something that could’ve been easily put out. But panic set in, and before we knew it, the fire spread.

Dad rushed in, trying to save us, to save the house. But the flames were too much. He died from the burns sustained in the fire.

Melissa, my mother, blamed me. “If you hadn’t been playing, if you hadn’t distracted Jackson, this wouldn’t have happened,” she spat at me, the words searing into my heart like the fire itself. Not only that, she made sure she told the pack members that I was the cause of the fire, the one that had killed their beloved Alpha, further cementing their hatred for me.

I was the evil child that had started the fire — the evil child that had killed her own father.

One day, I had caught her crying after my father's death. Like a good daughter, I had rushed to hug her but she had shoved me away so hard that I had slammed my head against a table, almost passing out. Even with that, she still beat me with a belt, calling me the badluck of the family who had kill her father and now her husband.

I shut the memory away and watched the wedding, the smiles and the laughter. Clara had it all now. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong in Melissa’s eyes. I was just a ghost, a shadow of the past, forgotten by everyone except for the lies they told about me.

It hurt, even now, in this strange, detached state. I thought spirits weren’t supposed to feel pain, but every word against me stung like a fresh wound. My mother could lie to them, could make them believe whatever she wanted, but I knew the truth. I had lived it. I had suffered it.

I wasn’t the villain of this story, but in their eyes, I always would be.

My mother raised her glass, a toast to the happy couple. “To my daughter Clara,” she said, her voice ringing out clear and sweet. “May she have all the happiness she deserves.”

They cheered, clinking glasses.