Chapter 3: He’s Cheating on Me
Dahlia
The halls of the Thorne estate are silent as I walk back alone. Not a soul in sight. Just the soft tap of my heels against the marble floor, echoing like accusations.
I just need to reach the guest wing, close the door, and pretend the last ten minutes with Alaric were just a dramatic hallucination brought on by drinking too much champagne. Easy.
I should be thinking about my husband. About how I’m supposed to crawl into bed beside him and pretend to be his. But all I can think about is the way Alaric looked at me like I was the best thing he had ever seen. Like it finally clicked why we were mated when I spoke back. Or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking? If he liked me, he would be thinking of ways on how to divorce his wife, not plan to reject me. Not that I expect him to leave his wife. We only just met and CLEARLY, we do not get along.
“Men are so confusing!” I growl. I’m halfway down the hall when a sound stops me cold.
A feminine giggle that’s too close and gut-wrenchingly familiar.
I pause.
It’s coming from the hallway just ahead, half-shadowed by a tall vase and a curtain drawn halfway.
I take a step closer. I know I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Another giggle. A hushed voice.
“You should go back before she notices.”
A low chuckle follows. My stomach twists.
Adrian.
I press my back to the wall, heart thudding in my chest. I don’t want to see it, but my heart already knows.
“She won’t,” he says. “She’s probably crying or staring dramatically out a window.”
“Psh, she isn’t THAT dramatic.”
“Come on now, she wouldn’t smile once during the ceremony! She is the saddest and most dramatic woman that I’ve ever met!”
Dramatic? Is that all I am to him? Some tragic little bride in a ball gown? I hate him for talking shit about me. For cheating. For disrespecting me so much that he has no trouble sticking his boner inside another woman on our wedding day. I also hate him for judging me like that. I hate it even more for the fact that he isn’t entirely wrong.
I am dramatic. I also want to cry and be... delicate.
But I’m keeping it all together because I’m used to holding it all together, and crying means I’ve failed. And I already did that at the altar.
The girl laughs again. Her voice is breathy. Familiar. “You should be careful. She’s smarter than she looks.”
My fingers tremble as they brush the curtain. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s not her. Maybe I’m just jealous and bitter and looking for a reason to run.
But my gut already knows.
I peek past the edge of the pillar.
Adrian is holding someone against the wall, his mouth at her neck. One hand tangled in her hair. Her dress is midnight blue. It’s the one Isolde wore during the rehearsal dinner. I caught Adrian looking at her repeatedly during our dance and ceremony. I shouldn’t be surprised.
But I am.
I didn’t think Adrian would cheat.
But he did.
With her.
And I feel... nothing. And then everything, all at once. Like I’m ten years old again, watching Dad try not to cry at Mom’s funeral while I keep my sisters from falling apart. Like my chest is full of cracked porcelain, and one wrong breath will shatter me across the floor. I want to vanish, or melt into the wall, or just be anyone else for the next five minutes.
Only I don’t get to fall to pieces. I never have.
The floor doesn’t fall out from under me. No. That would be merciful.
Instead, my ribcage tightens. My lungs forget what to do. My eyes blur.
I step back before I make a sound. Before they know I was ever here.
My wedding night. My husband. My marriage.
He’s cheating on me. And he didn’t even wait until the sheets were cold.
I don’t cry because the cheating bastard doesn’t deserve it. Crying would give him something. And I’ve given away too much already.
Instead, I walk away like I’m fine. Like I didn’t just see what I saw. Like the ache in my chest isn’t growing teeth.
I make it to our shared bedroom, where rose petals are sprinkled on top of the white romantic bedsheet that says ‘newlyweds.’ I don’t want to touch it, but I have to. This is the softest place to sleep, so I sit down on the edge of the bed, swearing at the dress I can’t take off by myself. I could scream. Tear the petals apart. Trash the room. But they’d hear that. And I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing I broke.
“Fuck this wedding night!”
Adrian said I’d be crying. Well, now I am, so congratulations, Adrian, you’re officially psychic. Or just an asshole with good timing.
And I’m such an idiot because I married Adrian thinking it was the right thing to do for the future of my pack, only for him to cheat on me!
Tears spring to my eyes. My heart pounds faster.
Mom would’ve told me not to trust pretty boys with pretty words. She would’ve said I was meant for more than this. But she’s not here. And apparently, neither is my worth.
And I married a man who doesn’t even pretend to care about me.
I don’t scream. I don’t shatter mirrors. I just sit there with my mascara running down my painted face.
Quiet and alone in a mansion with walls so thick that no one would hear me if I screamed. Everyone wants a Luna. No one asked if I wanted to be her. I’m going to become the future Luna of the Yellow Stone Pack. Everyone thinks that I have it all, but it’s so empty living behind these walls. This whole estate is beautiful and hollow. Like everyone in it.
I hug my arms around my legs, eyes vacant. Tears roll down, but I don’t sob. I won’t let myself make a sound because I can’t risk the chance of anyone finding out that I have a heart.
Because when people know that you have feelings and a soft center, they will do anything it takes to break it.