The alpha begged me to be his brother's substitute

I spin around, heart pounding, to find Alpha Arther looming behind me.

His gaze pierces through me like a silver - tipped arrow.

"Bellona says the Oceanic Auditorium in Webber is perfect for our wedding. Since you're familiar with the place, handle the arrangements."

My eyes lock onto the corner of a pale blue invitation peeking from his pocket.

The smell of antiseptic in the air mingles with the memory of Nelson's last moments, his blood - and - salt - tinged scent fading in a room much like this one.

"What's the hold - up?"

Arther bends to retrieve the invitation, his Alpha aura flaring instinctively. But as his eyes meet my red - rimmed ones, it vanishes as quickly as it came.

The shrill ring of the nurse's station breaks the tension.

Arther's Adam's apple bobs, and I crouch to pick up the invitation.

The edges of the paper cut into my palms, a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

I look up, forcing a smile as tears fall onto the "Wedding Invitation" printed in elegant script.

"Would you like the ceremony area decorated with fields of lily - of - the - valley, or a starry sky projection?"

His hands clench, veins bulging, as Bellona's coquettish call echoes from the nearby ward.

"Once the wedding's over, you're free to leave for good."

I nod. My mission is finally coming to an end.

Webber, with its beautiful scenery, is a lawless borderland.

Arther dispatches a horde of bodyguards to escort Bellona to the most luxurious hotel in the town.

Bellona feigns concern, pinching a scented handkerchief to her nose.

"Alpha Arther, Ava reeks of medicine. We can't have her stinking up our wedding."Her pink silk skirt brushes against my stained uniform.

"Why don't you find a proper place to clean up?"

Arther's fingers pause on the guest list.

His cold gaze sweeps over my pale face.

"You heard her. Sort yourself out and don't disgrace the venue."

He pointedly ignores my trembling hand clutching a blood - stained bandage.

I clench my skirt, nails digging into the old scars on my palms.

He doesn't remember how, ten years ago in the ruins of Webber Town, I'd grabbed his pant leg, sobbing that I had nowhere else to go.

Back then, he'd furrowed his brow and bandaged my wounds. Now, I'm nothing but a disposable tool.

That night, as rain pounds the window of my seedy motel, I'm jolted awake by a splitting headache.

In the darkness, my fingers find the hidden compartment of my suitcase. T

he moment I touch the wolf's tooth pendant, memories flood back.

I can almost feel Nelson's bloody hand pressing it into mine, his last words echoing in my mind: "Keep it. Survive."

My fingers trace the rusted lock of the diary, where every memory of Webber lies hidden.

Thunder cracks the sky open as I clutch the wolf's tooth pendant and the worn leather journal to my chest.

The wail of an ambulance in the distance blends with the storm, transporting me back to the night Nelson took a bullet meant for me.

The next evening, under the glittering crystal chandeliers of the grand ballroom, a sleek - suited alpha swirls his whiskey, ice cubes clinking like mocking laughter.

"Still attached to your shadow, Arther?" he jeers. "She's like a mangy mutt that won't let go."

My grip on the champagne flute tightens until my knuckles turn white.

Across the room, Arther leans against the ornate railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You heard him. Everyone knows how pathetically you cling."

"I remember you promised I could leave after the wedding."

The words drop like a lead weight, silencing the room.

Arther's cigarette flares, and his Alpha aura surges, pressing down on me like a vice.

"Playing hard - to - get?"

He strides forward, the scent of tobacco and cedar overpowering my senses.

"Shall we show our guests just how far you'll go?"

Laughter erupts as rough hands yank my hair back.

A chilled champagne glass is forced against my lips.

"Drink up, mutt. This 1982 Lafite is too good for your kind."

Amber liquid spills down my chin, soaking my dress.

Then the entire bottle is dumped over my head, drenching me in humiliation. "Heard you took a bullet for Arther? Should've aimed for your brain instead."

The acrid stench of alcohol stings my nostrils as I bite back a whimper.

A searing pain shoots through my lower back, where the old silver bullet wound throbs angrily.

When Arther's gaze lands on my soaked bodice, his eyes turn as cold as a winter storm.

"Filthy thing. Go change before you ruin the party."

Head bowed, I stumble towards the restroom.

In the mirror, I see a broken- hair dripping wet, scars on my collarbone glistening menacingly.

Memories flood back - of rogues' whips tearing into my flesh, of Arther's cold voice echoing: "Just make sure she come back alive."