"Sarah.... Sarah..." a soft voice murmured, pulling her from the depths of unconsciousness.
"Mmmmm..." Sarah mumbled, blinking her eyes open to a new day. Gretchen stood at the end of her bed, a dress bag draped over one arm and a collection of other items in her free hand.
"What time is it?" Sarah croaked, her throat dry, her body aching with the emotional toll of the past days.
"Eight AM," Gretchen replied kindly. "Time to wake up and get ready."
"Can I have some coffee first...?" Sarah asked, a desperate plea for a moment of familiar normalcy.
"Beside you," Gretchen said, her smile gentle.
Sarah looked over to the nightstand. There, steaming faintly, was a beautiful ceramic mug, filled with freshly brewed coffee. The sight, the smell, was a small, unexpected act of kindness. "Thanks, Gretchen," Sarah said, a flicker of genuine gratitude in her voice as she reached for the mug. The warmth of the cup in her hands was a fleeting comfort, bracing her for the unimaginable day ahead. "Now come on, let's see if this fits," Gretchen said, her voice warm, waving Sarah over to where the dress bag lay on the bed.
Sarah placed her coffee cup on the nightstand, its warmth a fading comfort, and moved towards the bag. With a hesitant hand, she unzipped it. The fabric whispered as it emerged, and before her was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. It featured a long-sleeved, laced top, intricately detailed, that flowed seamlessly into a long, sparkling tulle bottom – not too poofy, just enough to catch the light and create a graceful silhouette.
"Wow, Gretchen," Sarah breathed, genuinely stunned. "This is so beautiful." The gown was exquisite, a stark contrast to the grim reality it represented.
"I also got these as well," Gretchen said, her eyes twinkling, as she handed over a shoe box.
Sarah opened it, and nestled inside were white, strappy heels, delicate and elegant, each adorned with a shimmering butterfly. "Wow, Gretchen," Sarah repeated, almost speechless. "If anyone hasn't told you... you are an incredible shopper." The compliment was sincere, a moment of appreciation cutting through the pervasive fear, even as she felt a pang of despair. This beautiful dress and shoes were for a wedding she didn't want, to a man she barely knew, all part of a lie she would tell her sister. "Well, let's get this on," Gretchen said, her tone brisk but kind, bringing Sarah back to the immediate task.
Sarah, still feeling a strange disconnect from the beautiful gown, removed her clothing. The soft pajamas fell to the floor, replaced by the cool air on her skin. Gretchen expertly took the dress off the hanger, the sparkling tulle shimmering as she held it. Sarah stepped into it, feeling the intricate lace of the sleeves slide onto her arms. Gretchen deftly pulled the gown up, the fabric settling perfectly around her, and zipped it up the back.
"Wow, it fits you perfectly," Gretchen said, her voice filled with genuine pleasure. She stepped back, admiring her work, and for a moment, Sarah caught a glimpse of herself in the large, ornate mirror on the wall.
A stranger stared back. The reflection was undeniably beautiful, the dress transforming her into an ethereal bride. But beneath the lace and sparkle, her eyes held a profound sadness, a silent scream of betrayal and forced compliance. She looked like a fairy tale, but she felt like a prisoner. This wasn't her wedding. This was her surrender. Gretchen, ever efficient, bent down and grabbed the white, strappy heels from their box. "Alright, let's get these on," she said, gesturing for Sarah to sit on the edge of the bed.
Sarah complied, her mind still a jumble of disbelief and dread. As Gretchen carefully buckled the delicate straps around her ankles, the small, shimmering butterflies on the shoes seemed to mock the heavy chains she felt around her heart.
"How long have you been here, Gretchen?" Sarah asked, the question slipping out, driven by a sudden need to understand the woman's quiet compliance, her seemingly willing existence within this hidden, bizarre world.
Gretchen didn't hesitate. "Oh, well over ten years now," she replied, her voice calm, as if discussing the weather rather than a decade spent in a secret werewolf compound. Her fingers, steady and practiced, finished the last buckle. She looked up at Sarah, a faint, unreadable expression in her kind, tired eyes." Are you one of them?" Sarah asked, her voice hushed, her gaze searching Gretchen's face. The "them" hung unspoken in the air – the wolves, the shapeshifters, the hidden world she was now part of. It was a desperate plea for a normal connection, for someone in this house who wasn't bound by fur and instinct.
"No," Gretchen said simply, her tone soft but firm, a small, quiet island of humanity in Sarah's swirling nightmare. She finished adjusting one of the shoe straps, then looked up at Sarah with a gentle, almost sad smile. But I've learned to live alongside them. It's... a life."
The revelation was a small, unexpected comfort. Gretchen was human. She understood, at least on some level, what it was like to be an outsider in this world. But her casual acceptance, her "well over ten years" here, also painted a chilling picture of how deeply intertwined with the supernatural this place truly was. If a human could live here for a decade, then escape truly might be impossible. The subtle glint of the butterfly on her shoe seemed to mock her, reminding her of the beautiful cage she was willingly stepping into.
"Now, let's do something with this hair," Gretchen said, her voice cheerfully pragmatic as she picked up a brush and a handful of hairpins.
Sarah sighed, looking at her reflection with a detached weariness. "Is there really a point to all of this? I'm basically marrying for the paper. "I should really just do it in pajamas." The elaborate dress, the shoes, and now the hair – it felt like a cruel masquerade, dressing her up for a life she neither wanted nor chose.
"It's custom, regardless of the situation, for the bride to look like a bride," Gretchen replied gently, undeterred by Sarah's cynicism. Her hands moved deftly, gathering Sarah's hair. She began to twist and pin, pulling Sarah's dark locks into a neat, elegant bun at the nape of her neck. Then, with a delicate touch, she wove tiny sprigs of baby's breath into the finished coiffure, the delicate white flowers contrasting beautifully with Sarah's dark hair.
Sarah stood up, turning to face the large, ornate mirror. She looked at herself, truly looked, taking in this only-one-time look of being a bride. The elegant dress, the intricate lace, the delicate flowers in her hair – it was undeniably beautiful. It was the image of a woman on the happiest day of her life. But the woman staring back had haunted eyes, a forced composure, and a heart filled with despair. Tears began to build, stinging her eyes, threatening to spill over and ruin the perfect façade.
Just then, Gretchen came forward with one last item. With a tender gesture, she pinned a small, delicate veil onto the bun, letting it fall softly around Sarah's shoulders.
"There," Gretchen said, stepping back, a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips. "A beautiful bride."
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of the veil, the pristine dress, the image of a "beautiful bride" pressing down on her. She was a picture of conventional happiness, utterly belying the profound misery of her reality. "I will go let Jamie know you are ready," Gretchen said, her voice gentle, before quietly leaving the room.
Sarah just continued staring at her reflection in the mirror, the image of the "beautiful bride" a cruel mockery. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, pressing against the soft lace of the dress. The reality of the life growing inside her, Jamie's child, was a cold, hard knot in her gut, tying her irrevocably to this nightmare. This was it. The point of no return.
Gretchen returned a moment later, her entrance jolting Sarah out of her morbid thoughts. "He's ready, and wants you to come down now," Gretchen said, her voice quiet, acknowledging the gravity of the moment.
Sarah nodded, a single, decisive movement, though every fiber of her was being screamed in protest. She followed Gretchen to the door that led to the garden, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Gretchen opened it, revealing the idyllic scene beyond.
Standing at the fountain, its waters shimmering in the morning light, were Jamie and the minister. Jamie was dressed in a dark suit, looking impossibly stern, his gaze fixed on the path, on her. The minister, a kindly-faced older man, held a book, his presence adding a chilling legitimacy to the farce about to unfold.
Feeling like she was going to puke, Sarah took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. This was for Laura. This was for the child. This was her only way forward. With a final, silent prayer for strength, she began to walk down the path towards them, towards her forced destiny. As Sarah began her slow, agonizing walk down the garden path, Jamie stood by the fountain, his posture rigid, outwardly composed. But beneath his controlled exterior, a storm brewed.
God, she is beautiful, he thought, his gaze fixed on her. The delicate lace, the sparkling tulle, the soft veil – Gretchen had done an exceptional job. She looked every inch the perfect bride, a cruel irony given the circumstances. With every hesitant step she took towards him, the butterflies in his stomach churned harder, a furious, unsettling flutter he couldn't control.
She's carrying my pup too... The realization, already known, landed with a fresh, unexpected weight.
A dangerous thought, fleeting and unwelcome, brushed against his carefully constructed defenses. I bet I could have loved her... The notion was quickly, brutally suppressed. He shoved it deep down, forcing it back into the darkest corners of his mind. He couldn't afford that weakness, that dangerous distraction.
I can't do that to Laura, he reminded himself, the thought a cold, necessary anchor. Laura, his true mate, his destiny. This was for her. For the pack. For the child.
This is how it has to be, he repeated, a grim mantra. I have to hate her to keep Laura. The lie, the deception, the coldness he would force himself to maintain – it was all a shield, a necessary evil to protect his mate and his place within the pack. He looked at Sarah, her eyes wide and tear-filled, and hardened his resolve, pushing down the unsettling tremor in his chest.
Sarah made it to the fountain, her legs heavy, and turned to face Jamie. His eyes, fixed on some point just over her shoulder, stubbornly refused to meet hers. The cold indifference was a stark, painful contrast to the desperate, almost tender thoughts she had just sensed from him. He was already playing his part, building the wall he promised.
The minister, a kind-faced man whose gentle demeanor seemed utterly at odds with the clandestine, forced ceremony, began to recite the familiar marriage vows. His voice was calm, clear, speaking words of love, commitment, and eternal bonds – words that were a bitter mockery of their reality.
"Do you, Jamie, take Sarah to be your wife?" the minister asked.
"I do," Jamie said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet firm. As he spoke, he took Sarah's left hand, his fingers surprisingly warm as he slid a beautiful diamond ring onto her finger. It glinted in the sunlight, a heavy, cold symbol of her new, unwanted reality.
"Do you, Sarah, take Jamie to be your husband?" the minister's voice now turned to her.
Sarah froze. Her throat tightened, and for a terrifying moment, she thought she couldn't speak. Every fiber of her being screamed no. But then, she saw Jamie's unyielding gaze, felt the subtle pressure of his expectations, and remembered Laura, and the child.
"I do," she managed, the words a thin, shaky whisper. She reached for the ring Jake was supposed to wear, but it was Jamie's hand she grasped, sliding the plain band onto his finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Sarah's eyes widened in horror. What kiss?! she thought, panic flaring. He hadn't mentioned this. It was a detail she hadn't accounted for, a public performance of intimacy she couldn't bear.
Jamie leaned in, his eyes still unreadable, apparently intending to give her a simple, perfunctory peck on the lips. But something shifted. As his lips met hers, what started as a cold brush quickly intensified. His kiss got harder, hungrier, demanding, pulling a strange, unsettling response from deep within her. It was a brief, potent moment of raw, unexpected passion that stunned them both.
Then, just as quickly as it began, he pushed back, breaking the contact. Jamie's face was a mask once more, his breathing slightly heavier than before. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Sarah standing alone by the fountain, the diamond cold on her finger, and the ghost of his unsettling kiss lingering on her lips.
The minister cleared his throat awkwardly, a human sound in a moment that felt utterly inhuman. Gretchen moved forward, her face etched with a silent sympathy.
But Sarah barely registered them. The weight of the moment, the surreal perfection of the setting contrasted with the brutal reality of her forced vows, finally buckled her. Her legs gave out.
She fell to her knees amidst the scattered rose petals that had been tossed for a joyous occasion, now mocking her profound despair. Her hands flew to her face, trying to staunch the hot, fresh torrent of tears that erupted from deep within her. Sobs racked her body, raw and uncontrolled, echoing the shattering of her life, her dreams, and her very self. The beautiful white dress became a shroud, the veil a curtain through which she saw only darkness. She was married. To him. The impossible had become terrifyingly real. Gretchen was at Sarah's side in an instant, her gentle hands on Sarah's shoulders. The minister, looking deeply uncomfortable, quietly retreated, sensing this was a moment beyond his sacred duty.
"Sarah, dear, come on," Gretchen murmured, her voice filled with quiet compassion. "Let's get you inside." You shouldn't be out here."
But Sarah was inconsolable. She shook her head violently, her sobs wracking her entire body. The meticulously arranged veil slipped, partially obscuring her tear-streaked face. "No! I can't... "I can't do this!" she choked out, the words raw and broken. The forced kiss, the sheer finality of the vows, the lie she was about to live – it was all too real now.
From a distance, the other pack members, who had been observing the ceremony from discreet vantage points, began to disperse. They offered no comfort, no overt reaction, simply melting back into the shadows of the compound as if the dramatic culmination of the "wedding" was a normal, everyday occurrence. Their stoic acceptance only amplified Sarah's isolation.
Jamie was gone, already vanished back towards the house, leaving her to deal with the immediate aftermath of his calculated act. Gretchen, however, remained steadfast, her presence a small, steady anchor in Sarah's storm of grief. She didn't press, didn't lecture, simply knelt beside Sarah, offering a silent, comforting presence until the worst of the sobs began to subside.
Eventually, the tears began to slow, leaving Sarah feeling hollowed out and utterly drained. She looked up at Gretchen, her eyes red and swollen, a desperate question in their depths. The immediate crisis of the wedding was over, but the reality of her new life, bound by blood and deceit, was just beginning. Eventually, the raw edge of Sarah's grief began to dull, leaving her feeling profoundly weary. With Gretchen's gentle urging, she finally pushed herself up from the ground, her limbs stiff and heavy.
"Let's take a walk in the garden," Gretchen suggested softly, guiding Sarah away from the fountain. The beautiful surroundings, once a cruel backdrop, now offered a measure of quiet solitude.
"I know this is a lot, Sarah," Gretchen continued, her voice empathetic. "The wolf life is confusing, but everything does fall into its place. It shouldn't have happened the way it did for the both of you, but right now, all you can do is take it day by day. She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "Jamie's dad was very strict and seemed cold, but he does have a softer side, just like Jamie."
Sarah scoffed, the bitterness sharp in her tone. "Sure doesn't seem like it. He's been nothing but cold to me from the moment we woke up next to each other. "He was so sweet at the bar." The contrast between the charming man from The Den and the cold, unyielding alpha who now claimed her was jarring, almost unbelievable.
They stopped near a tranquil pond, its surface reflecting the clear sky. Sarah looked out at the still water, the image of Jamie's hardened face burned into her mind. Sarah stared at the placid surface of the pond, the image of Jamie's cold face superimposed on its reflection. "So what happens now, Gretchen?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost lost in the vastness of her despair. "Do I just live in hatred for the rest of my life, while lying to my sister? What happens if Jamie and Laura want to get married and have children – or wolves, whatever you all call children?"
Gretchen sighed, a soft, sympathetic sound. "Well, it won't be easy, but no, you won't live in pure hatred all your life. You will have love." She paused, then continued, her voice tinged with a subtle regret. "I don't have an answer for Jamie and Laura's future."
The ambiguity in Gretchen's reply was unsettling. While she offered a glimmer of hope for Sarah's own emotional well-being, the future of Jamie and Laura remained a dark, unresolved question mark. It was clear that even within this hidden world, not all paths were predetermined, and some complexities, like this impossible love triangle, defied their "code." "So, what about the dinner?" Sarah finally asked, the question changing the subject to the next immediate, terrifying ordeal. "How am I supposed to sit there and lie to Laura's face? How am I supposed to introduce her to my 'husband' and tell her I'm pregnant with his child?"
"We'll be there," Gretchen said simply. "Jamie, David, and I. We'll help you. We will all be a family, a group. No one will question it."
"Family," Sarah scoffed, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. She looked down at the diamond ring glinting on her finger, a symbol of a lie. "And what about David? What does he get out of this?"
"He gets to stay in the pack," Gretchen said, her voice dropping. Jamie's alpha. He can do whatever he wants, but he has to have the pack's respect. And he's in love with your sister. He can't get that without us. Without you."
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, but the picture they formed was no less terrifying. Sarah was a pawn, a necessary evil, a convenient lie to ensure Jamie could have his mate without breaking the "code." The realization, however, didn't make her feel better. It just made her feel more trapped, more used, and more alone." Anyhow, why don't you go get dressed into some better clothes and go tour the grounds a bit?" Gretchen said, breaking the heavy silence. "I'll make some lunch." Any requests?"
"A bacon club would be incredible," Sarah said, the mundane request a small anchor in her chaotic world. The thought of a normal sandwich, a taste of her old life, was a surprising comfort.
"Very well," Gretchen said with a gentle smile, and with that, they parted ways.
Left alone in the room, Sarah went to the mirror once more. She stared at her reflection, still dressed in the stunning, now-tainted wedding gown. She carefully removed the delicate veil, its soft fabric no longer a symbol of hope but a painful reminder of her surrender. With a heavy heart, she stripped out of the beautiful dress, folding it with a strange mix of reverence and revulsion. As she stood there, clad only in her undergarments, her hand instinctively went to her stomach. The faint, barely-there swell was still invisible to the eye, but the knowledge of the life within, a life that belonged to Jamie, felt as real as the cool air on her skin.