My Groom Humiliated Me with the Village Idiot

The morning light streamed through the stained glass windows of the Grand Ballroom, casting rainbow patterns across the marble floor. I stood at the top of the staircase, my fingers trembling slightly against the delicate lace of my wedding gown. Three hundred of New York's elite werewolf society filled the room below, their perfumes and colognes mingling in the air. My heart hammered against my ribs as I scanned the crowd for Liam.

"He's just running late," my brother Marcus whispered behind me, his hand steady on my shoulder. "The Andersons are never on time for anything."

I nodded, swallowing hard. The hand-knitted scarf I'd spent weeks making for Liam was clutched in my bouquet. Each stitch had been a prayer, a hope for our future together. I'd imagined him wearing it on cold winter nights, a reminder of my love.

The string quartet finished playing Pachelbel's Canon and launched into another piece. My stomach twisted. We were thirty minutes past the start time.

"Maybe I should call him," I murmured, reaching for my phone.

Before I could dial, a commotion erupted outside. Through the ballroom's floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw a beat-up station wagon pull up to the valet. The paint was peeling, one taillight was cracked, and it looked utterly out of place among the sleek limousines and luxury cars.

"What is that?" someone whispered.

The driver's door creaked open, and a man stumbled out. His suit was at least two sizes too large, stained with what looked like coffee and mustard. His hair was unwashed, sticking up at odd angles. But it was the crude cardboard sign in his hands that made my blood run cold.

"Here for the Bride," it read in uneven letters.

"Is that—?" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Caden Ward," Marcus growled. "The chauffeur's son. They call him the village idiot."

Caden's eyes were vacant, his mouth slightly open with a thin line of drool trailing down his chin. He swayed slightly as he held up the sign, looking around with childlike confusion.

My phone buzzed. A text from Liam.

"Since you like charity cases so much, I sent the village idiot to pick you up. He's more your speed."

The room fell silent for a heartbeat before erupting into whispers and poorly concealed laughter. I felt the weight of three hundred pairs of eyes on me, some pitying, others gleeful at the spectacle.

"Poor thing," a woman in pearls murmured. "Always knew she wasn't good enough for the Andersons."

"Did you see that sign? Oh my God, how humiliating!"

I clutched my bouquet tighter, the stems digging into my palms. The scarf—my gift of love—felt suddenly heavy and ridiculous.

"Stella, don't move," Marcus said urgently. "I'll handle this."

But something inside me snapped. Fifteen years of being the good beta, the understanding girlfriend, the one who never caused trouble—it all crystallized into a single moment of clarity.

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I've got this."

I descended the stairs slowly, aware of every eye tracking my movement. Caden stood at the bottom, still holding his sign, his vacant eyes fixed on me.

"Stella, don't do anything stupid," my friend Rachel hissed from the crowd.

But I wasn't listening anymore. I stopped in front of Caden and looked directly into his eyes. Behind the vacant stare, I thought I saw something flicker—a flash of intelligence quickly masked.

"Caden," I said clearly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Would you like to get married today?"

The gasps were audible. Caden's head tilted to one side, as if considering my question with genuine thought.

"Yes," he said simply, nodding with enthusiasm that seemed almost childlike. "Marry today!"

I took his hand—warm and surprisingly steady—and turned to face the stunned crowd.

"Since my fiancé has made his choice clear," I announced, "I'm making mine."

I helped Caden into the station wagon, ignoring the shocked faces and camera flashes. As we pulled away, I caught sight of my hand-knitted scarf lying abandoned on the steps, already forgotten.

"To the Pack House registrar," I told Caden firmly. "We're getting married today."

He nodded happily, humming tunelessly as he drove.

Twenty minutes later, we were legally bound. The registrar's eyes had widened at my request, but pack law was clear—I was of age, unmated, and free to choose.

"That's my wife!" Caden declared proudly as we signed the papers, his signature surprisingly neat despite his act.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins propelled me toward Anderson Pack headquarters. I needed to confront Liam, to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what I thought of his cruelty.

The receptionist's eyes widened when I stormed past her desk, still in my wedding gown, with Caden trailing behind me.

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"In his office, but—"

I pushed open the heavy oak door without knocking. The sight that greeted me froze the blood in my veins.

Liam had Alexa bent over his mahogany desk, her designer dress hiked up around her waist as he thrust into her from behind. Papers scattered across the floor where they'd cleared the surface for their activities.

They didn't even stop when I entered.

"Well, look who's here," Liam drawled, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "If it isn't the woman who married the retard. Finally found your level in the pack hierarchy, haven't you?"