The Mate They Regretted

The black carriage of House Hart rolled away from the estate gates, its iron-bound wheels cutting through the rain-slicked streets of Monaco like a blade through silk. The world outside blurred into mist and torchlight, while inside the carriage, everything felt sealed away—quiet, controlled, untouchable.

Evander and Vespera sat together at the back, as though carved from the same noble lineage.

Aveline sat across from them alone.

Still. Silent. Watching the passing city like it no longer recognized her as its own.

Vespera leaned forward first, her voice light and honeyed in that practiced way women of noble packs learned early.

“Sister-in-law,” she said sweetly, clasping her hands, “congratulations. At last, the Moon has bound you and Evander together for marriage.”

Her smile widened, carefully crafted. “He is the envy of every lady in Monaco’s allied houses. I truly admire you.”

Envy.

The word was too soft. Too polished for something sharp.

Aveline did not turn her head. Only the faintest curve touched her lips.

Envy… or regret that you were not chosen first?

In the narrow reflection of the carriage window, she saw Vespera’s expression flicker—just for a breath. Something cold and unguarded slipping through before it was hidden again beneath sweetness.

Vespera laughed.

“What nonsense,” she said lightly. “He is my brother by oath.”

Then she tilted toward Evander, her voice softening into something almost intimate.

“Besides, Evander only ever looks at you. Even if there were ten of me, I could not compare.”

She nudged his arm playfully. “Isn’t that right?”

Evander gave a quiet sound—neither agreement nor refusal.

Only acceptance.

Like a man allowing a story to continue as long as it served him.

His gaze drifted to Aveline in the reflection.

Dark. Even. Familiar.

The same eyes that once made her believe she was safe beneath his protection.

For a moment, she almost looked away.

Almost.

But she did not.

Because she had already learned what lived behind that calm.

**

The carriage stopped before a grand house of silk and stone—one of the Moon Pact’s bridal halls, where noble wolves sealed unions under ancestral rites.

Silver lanterns hung at the entrance, their light trembling in the rain like trapped spirits.

Evander stepped out first.

Vespera followed at once, naturally, as if the world already understood her place beside him.

From a distance, they looked like what everyone always assumed—future bound mates walking toward their union under the Moon’s blessing.

The attendants bowed.

“Lord Hart. Lady Hart. This way, please.”

No hesitation.

No correction.

Aveline stepped out last.

And the world rearranged itself without effort.

Vespera immediately slid her arm through Evander’s, smiling as though it had always belonged there.

“You are mistaken,” she said gently to the attendants, pointing back at Aveline. “She is the bride.”

A pause.

Then the shift—subtle, immediate.

The attendants bowed lower, flustered. “Forgive us, my lady.”

Aveline said nothing.

Vespera smiled brighter.

“Let her choose the gowns,” she added lightly. “I wish to see them as well.”

A lie dressed as kindness.

A command dressed as curiosity.

**

Inside, the bridal hall smelled of moonflower oil and old cedar. Rows of gowns hung like pale ghosts waiting for names.

Ten minutes passed.

Then Vespera stepped out.

The white gown clung to her like it had been stitched for her bloodline alone. Silver embroidery traced the hem in patterns of lunar blessing, meant for Luna consorts of powerful packs.

She turned slowly before the mirror.

“Evander,” she called softly, “look away for a moment.”

He frowned slightly. “Why would I do that?”

Her laugh was light.

“The first gaze is sacred,” she said. “You only see the bride in full on the night of binding.”

First gaze.

Old tradition among noble wolf houses. The moment of possession. The silent claim before the Moon itself witnessed the bond.

Evander exhaled and turned.

“Very well.”

But as he stepped away, something in him paused.

A flicker of instinct.

He glanced back.

Aveline sat alone on a velvet bench, turning the pages of a bridal manuscript as if none of it belonged to her.

Calm.

Detached.

Too still.

After a moment, he left anyway.

Relieved.

**

When Vespera returned fully dressed, she was smiling as if she had already won something unspoken.

“This is perfect,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “I almost wish I had a binding night of my own.”

Her gaze slid toward Aveline.

“Do you not agree, sister-in-law?”

Aveline looked at her quietly.

Then she smiled.

Not warm.

Not polite.

Just faint.

Like someone watching a ritual she had already seen before its beginning.

Vespera’s smile tightened.

“What is that look?” she asked, voice sharpening slightly. “Are you offended I helped you?”

Aveline did not answer.

She rose.

Unhurried. Quiet.

And turned toward the exit.

One of the attendants hesitated. “My lady… will you not try any gowns?”

Aveline shook her head once.

And kept walking.

No explanation.

No sound.

Behind her, Vespera clicked her tongue.

“Aveline,” she called, forcing sweetness back into her voice, “at least choose something. You are the bride, after all.”

Aveline paused at the threshold.

Then she lifted her hands.

If you like them, keep them.

Silence followed.

Not the empty kind.

The kind that presses.

Vespera froze for the briefest instant.

Because it did not sound like refusal.

It sounded like abandonment.

**

Outside, Evander’s voice carried in from the corridor.

“Vespera. May I come in?”

At once, her expression shifted—soft, flawless again.

“Of course.”

Then she reached out and caught Aveline’s wrist.

“Actually,” she added sweetly, “why don’t you try one as well?”

Before Aveline could step back, she was guided—firmly, almost eagerly—into the inner chamber.

The door closed.

The air changed.

Thick. Perfumed. Claustrophobic beneath rows of white gowns and mirrored walls that reflected every angle of breath and movement.

Vespera’s smile disappeared the moment they were alone.

Then she moved.

Her hand grabbed Aveline’s fabric, pulling sharply—too sharply. Cloth tore slightly under her grip.

Aveline pushed back instinctively.

Not forceful.

Just enough.

Vespera staggered.

And then—

she fell.

Too clean. Too precise.

A breath later, her hand rose.

She struck her own cheek.

Hard.

The sound cracked through the chamber like a ritual bell.

And just as the door opened—

Vespera was already on the floor.

Tears formed instantly, as if summoned.

“Evander…” she sobbed, voice breaking perfectly, “I only tried to help her… I didn’t mean to upset her…”

She looked up at him through wet lashes.

“If she is angry… I will endure it. Even if she strikes me again. I do not mind.”