I'm Getting Married but the Groom is not You

Allison’s POV

When I opened the door, moonlight spilled over the porch, illuminating the delicate crystal statue in Trisha’s hands.

It was beautiful — painfully so.

The award gleamed like a shard of the moon itself, caught in the shape of a hawthorn tree. The fragile branches seemed to sway faintly in the light, and beneath it, my name was carved with perfect precision. The magic sealed into the crystal shimmered like starlight. I knew exactly how much gold it cost the pack to commission something like this.

And yet… not a trace of congratulations touched Trisha’s face.

She stood there biting her lip, her usual wide, innocent eyes shimmering like she’d been hurt just climbing the stairs. The picture of frailty.

“Alli,” she said softly, almost as though she were reluctant to disturb me. “Alpha Caden asked me to bring this over. You’re amazing… to win something so precious.”

Her gaze dipped down to the award like it belonged to her already. Then she lifted her eyes back to me, feigning shyness.

“I…” she began, shifting her weight and clutching the crystal a little tighter, “I have a small favor to ask. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before. And you know how much I love things like this, right? Could you… lend it to me for a few days? Just to motivate myself. Maybe…” She gave a weak little laugh. “…maybe someday I could even replace you as Alpha Caden’s strategist?”

She looked up at me through her lashes. “I know it’s too much to ask, but please… just consider it? I really want to feel motivated.”

For just a moment, I didn’t know how to react. The sheer audacity of her request stunned me into silence.

Then I smiled faintly — but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was cold. “You already know you’re being thick-skinned to even ask,” I said, my voice sharp and low. “So don’t. If you want one, earn it yourself.” My eyes swept over her slight figure, her trembling hands. “But you can’t, can you? Because you don’t have the kind of talent I do.”

Her cheeks flushed at that, the pale skin turning pink with embarrassment, but she didn’t back down.

Instead, she clung tighter to the crystal, whispering, “Why are you saying it like that? I wasn’t going to keep it… just to keep it at home for a few days. Are you really so stingy you won’t even lend it to me? Am I being so unreasonable to you?”

I said nothing. I simply extended my hand, my meaning clear.

Give it back. But she refused to let go. Her grip tightened, her lip trembled.

I tightened my fingers on the base of the hawthorn tree, tugging it toward me.

“Give it to me!” I almost screamed in annoyance.

“Why can’t you just lend it?!”

The fragile thing slipped between our hands.

Time seemed to slow as it fell, spinning once, twice — then shattered on the hardwood floor.

The pieces scattered like fallen stars, and the soft moonlight trapped inside flared once before fading to dull glass.

Trisha gasped and immediately crouched down, her hands clutching at her shin as though she’d been wounded by the shards.

Just then, the gate slammed open.

Ryan and Warren stepped inside, the scent of wolf fur and the cold night wind clinging to them.

The moment their eyes fell on Trisha — kneeling on the floor, the broken crystal around her and blood trickling down her pale shin — they rushed forward.

“Trisha!” they cried in unison, both dropping to her side.

Ryan’s hands trembled as he lifted the hem of her skirt to inspect her shin, his jaw tightening at the sight of the shallow cut.

“You’re bleeding,” he muttered, his voice pained. “I’ll take you to the healer.”

“No, I—” she began weakly, but Ryan swept her into his arms anyway, his eyes dark with worry.

Warren stayed behind just long enough to round on me, his fury hot and bitter in the air.

“Alli,” he snarled, his fangs glinting. “You already have everything — why do you have to bully her too?!”

I froze. Then laughed bitterly.

“That was my award,” I said coldly. “I worked years for it. It’s my honor, my name carved on it. She clung to it and now it’s broken — and you think I’m the one who wronged her?”

I jabbed a finger toward the shards on the ground, my voice sharp as an icicle.

“She owes me an apology.”

But Warren’s eyes only burned hotter.

“It’s just a statue!” he shouted. “You can win and buy as many as you want! How can you compare that to Trisha being hurt?!”

He shoved a finger toward me, his wolf barely restrained under his skin.

“You should fucking apologize to her!”

Without waiting for a reply, he shifted — his dark gray wolf shaking off the remains of his clothes — and darted out the door to catch up with Ryan and Trisha.

The house fell silent again. I stood there staring at the shards of moonlight at my feet, Warren’s words echoing in my ears.

That I, the one who’d been wronged, should apologize. A laugh — bitter and dry — escaped my lips.

Then I noticed the pain.

Glancing down, I saw a long gash along my own shin, deeper than Trisha’s, blood running freely down my ankle.

I bit my lip, swallowed the sting in my throat, and crouched to pick up the shards one by one.

No one helped me. No one even noticed.

When I finished, I went to the bathroom, cleaned and wrapped my wound, and sat back on the couch in silence.

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

It was my mother — dozens of pictures of wedding rings filling my inbox.

Choose whichever you like best, my sweet moonflower, she’d written.

I scrolled through the pictures absently. Then I called her. Her voice was warm and bright, but after a moment she hesitated.

“Allison,” she said softly. “Is something wrong? You sound… tired.”

I blinked hard against the tears that threatened to fall.

“I’m fine,” I lied smoothly, my voice even. “I’ll be done here in about four days. How’s the wedding planning going?”

The words felt strange in my mouth, but I said them anyway.

I didn’t see them come in, but I heard the front door click shut behind me. Ryan and Warren’s scents hit me a moment later — wild and familiar.

They froze where they stood, hearing the last words of my call.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their faces darken. Their gazes locked on me, and then on each other — sharp as claws.

And they spoke at once, voices low and dangerous. "Wedding? What wedding?”