CLOVER
The air in the Oakshade Pack’s manor was electric, a mix of grandeur and suffocating tension that wrapped around me like a noose. Lucille and Thomas’ wedding was everything I had expected—over-the-top, meticulously planned, and utterly hollow. My lavender gown, carefully chosen by Howard, felt out of place, a cruel joke in the face of my past with the groom.
Howard’s hand rested lightly on my arm as we entered the hall, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a protective intensity. He didn’t need to say it; I knew he was watching for any sign of trouble. The tension between us, forged from secrets and truths that had unraveled over the past few weeks, felt almost comforting now—an anchor in the storm of emotions I was trying to suppress.
Before we could take our seats, a servant approached me hesitantly. “Luna Clover,” she said softly, eyes darting nervously toward Howard, “Lady Lucille has requested your presence in the preparation room.”
Howard’s hand tightened on my arm. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument if I said yes.
I shook my head and signed, I’ll be fine. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded, his gaze lingering on mine as I followed the servant.
The bride’s preparation room was a gilded cage, every surface shimmering with opulence. Lucille stood in the center, her ivory gown clinging to her like armor, while Margot hovered nearby, a smug smile plastered across her face. Their twin expressions of mockery greeted me before a single word was spoken.
“Clover,” Lucille cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I’m so glad you could make it. It must be... difficult for you, attending this wedding.”
I didn’t respond, keeping my expression neutral as I stepped further into the room.
Lucille’s smile widened, her eyes narrowing like a predator sensing weakness. “Do you know why Thomas rejected you?” she asked, her voice low and conspiratorial. “It was me. I told him you weren’t good enough. That you were cursed.”
Margot’s laugh rang out, high and cruel. “And he listened. Poor, mute Clover, left behind while we had our fun.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I refused to react. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Lucille stepped closer, her perfume sickly sweet as she leaned in. “We’ve been together ever since. Even before his rejection, I had him wrapped around my finger. And now?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’m pregnant. Thomas and I are starting a family. Something you’ll never have.”
The words hit like a blow, but I kept my mask in place, my face unreadable. Instead, I met her gaze and signed, Congratulations.
Lucille’s smirk faltered, just for a second, before she recovered. “Run along, then,” she said dismissively. “Your crippled husband is probably waiting.”
Her words echoed in my ears as I left the room, my heart pounding. The hallway felt too small, too quiet, until I saw Howard at the far end, waiting. His sharp gaze softened when it met mine, and he wheeled toward me with a calm that steadied my trembling hands.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
I forced a small smile and signed, Nothing important. Let’s get this over with.
Howard didn’t press, but his eyes lingered on mine, as if he could see every crack in the mask I was desperately holding together. Together, we entered the hall, the ceremony already starting.
The doors to the altar opened, and Thomas stood there, waiting. His gaze flicked to me, lingering for a moment too long, and something unreadable passed through his eyes. But it wasn’t his expression that made my heart stop.
Tanya stood among the guests, her posture regal, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over Howard and me. A knowing smirk tugged at her lips, her eyes locking on Howard with a gleam of intent.
She was planning something. I could feel it in my bones.
And as the first chords of the wedding march filled the room, I couldn’t help but wonder—was I walking into a celebration or a trap?
