Chapter 2 Sophia's POV
“No”—My voice choked up, but I still tried to explain to him—“you got this wrong…”
“Do I, now?” Vincent looked down at me, his tone as cold as a devil in hell: “Why don’t you just drop the act already? You got what you wanted.”
As the voice fell, he finally let go of his hand around my neck, and then entered me roughly again. It hurt so much, was my first thought. A pain that swallowed me into oblivion.
Unable to control my tears anymore, I let them all out. I begged Vincent not to do it, but he didn’t stop, and with deep disgust he said in my ear, “Listen, you should have known the consequences before you even tried to pull this scheme.”
Just as he was about to continue punishing me, there was a knock on the door, outside of which his parents stood, followed by a large group of people. Vincent’s father, Zeweil, immediately declared to everyone that Vincent and I had consummated our relationship.
In just a few days, Vincent and I became each other’s mates. He was my Alpha, and I was his Luna.
It was a dream for me, though it was anything but pleasant. Because not only did Vincent not love me, he even despised me to his core. He hated the fact that my very existence had caused him to let down the woman he loved with his whole werewolf heart, my sister Marianne.
Soon, I snapped out of my reverie. I picked up my pace and got home as fast as I could. I couldn’t wait to tell the father of my baby the good news, and I hoped this kid could serve as a reason to keep Vincent by my side.
I came home full of hope, but all that vanished like smoke the moment I laid my eyes on Marianne in the yard. Despite not being a pure werewolf, my eyesight and hearing were much better than the average werewolf. Through the crack of the door, I could see Vincent putting his arms around Marianne, who was sobbing pitifully. Vincent, with a distressed face, hugged her as if she was his greatest treasure.
It suddenly dawned on me that he was being gentle with another woman in our home. Ours.
It was obviously midsummer weather, but there seemed to be a cold air attacking my heart.
“There, there,” I heard Vincent say. “I don’t care about these. It breaks my heart to see you sad.”
It breaks my heart—the words that I would never hear spoken to me stabbed my heart again and again, suffocating me.
I could sense their love for each other from a mile away. They were… made for each other, I thought despite myself. While I—his mate, the woman who had tied the knot with him—had never had the privilege of knowing his compassion and endearment.
It turned out I was the outsider here, a joke in this fairytale.
“But Vincent”—Marianne suddenly stopped crying—“I’m not good enough for you. Look, I’d better get going. I can face this alone; I shouldn’t have bothered you in the first place,” and walked toward the door.
Startled, I hid behind a tree beside me. But no sooner had I done that than I suddenly realized, why should I hide? I was the Luna of the Silvermoon pack, the wife of the Alpha, the lady of the house.
I had been waiting for the sound of the door closing, which did not come, and in its place was the friction noise of clothes. Peering from behind the tree, I found Vincent holding Marianne. I could hear him say, “Hush. I will not allow you to say such things. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I will make you my mate. I swear on my life.”
But what about me? It was all I could do to stop myself from rushing in and demand, “What about me?’’ What was I to him?
As if on cue, Marianne also thought of my existence. She leaned softly into Vincent’s arms like a little white flower. “But you already have Sophia, my sister. I cannot bring myself to rob her of her mate. She will hate me, I’m certain.”
Vincent lapsed into silence, then said, “I shall dissolve the relationship with Sophia. In my heart, you are forevermore the most important, and I will protect you. I doubt anyone can stop me.”
Vincent’s voice was like a spring breeze, but he had no idea how much damage this breeze would do me. I was shaking all over, trying to cover my ears. But Vincent’s voice kept finding a way into my ears and eroding my heart. “Marianne,” he said firmly, “you are my only mate and no one else."
This was a very heavy promise.
Like a prisoner who had been tried for a long time, I finally received my long awaited verdict: the death penalty. I broke out in a cold sweat, lost my strength, and knelt on the ground. I should have known that Vincent was an iceberg. And Marianne was the only one who could melt the iceberg.
When I was wallowing in my sadness, there was a movement from behind the tree: Vincent was going to send Marianne off. Given that I was hiding behind the tree and they were both too focused on each other to realize me, neither of them discovered me. As I watched them leave, the words that Vincent had just said came flooding back to me.
He only wanted Marianne to be his mate, which was why he hadn’t introduced me to anyone for a month. He had never shown me to anyone. Because only one woman in this entire world could have his everything.
With a sore heart, I forced myself to look away, then took out my phone and sent Vincent a message: “Are you home? If not, can you make it home earlier? I have something to tell you.”
I heard a muffled beep from Vincent’s phone.
My heart was pounding against my chest as he picked up the phone. My excellent eyesight allowed me to see Vincent frowning just at the sight of my name, yet he still read the message. I clenched my phone, wishing for nothing but a positive answer. My wish was not granted.
He put away his phone after reading the message, then hugged Marianne again and took her out of here. It wasn’t until the two figures completely disappeared from my sight that I was suddenly wrenched out of my daydream. I laughed at myself. “Ha.”
How could I still not get it at this point? I mean, what was I compared to the woman who held his entire heart in the palm of her hand?
Putting away my phone, I stood up holding the tree, and every step I took into the house felt like hell to me. This place was my home and Vincent’s, but it reeked of Marianne. I suddenly felt sick. I sat on the sofa waiting for Vincent to come home, and he finally came back when the night was dark and the moon was high up.
“Vincent.” I stood up almost immediately when I heard the voice. I clutched my sleeves. “You’re back. I’ve been waiting for you for some time now.”
In the darkness I could feel him freeze for a second. He turned on the light and gave me the briefest glance. “You didn’t have to. Next time, go to bed first.” His tone now was cold, nothing in common with the Vincent who was with Marianne.
It was as if my heart had been spiked through, and I loosened my bottom lip which I didn’t know I had been biting down on. I stepped forward and said, “I-I need to tell you something—”
“Yeah? So do I,” he said, and sat down on the couch with the grace of a king. He looked down at me with his usual cold eyes. “Marianne is pregnant, and I want to make it official with her. I want her to be my mate.” Vincent didn’t tell me exactly what he wanted me to do, but I knew. I knew all too well. He wanted me to give up this position myself.
He loved Marianne, and he hoped that Marianne could be his mate, not as a mistress who robbed her sister’s husband. But why? What had I done wrong?
My face must look awful now. I wrung out every last bit of my strength to barely ask, “She’s pregnant… but how about the baby? Is it yours?”
It felt like time had stopped. Vincent frowned, as if my question was acid to his ears.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said.
It had nothing to do with me? How could he say that?
My voice trembled: “Carl Vincent Williams. I am your mate…”
My hand stroked my lower abdomen, inside which a new life was growing, the product of the union between me and Vincent, my last hope. I tried to put on a smile as I said, “I have a good news for you—” The ringing of Vincent’s phone cut me off. He glanced at his phone and answered it without any hesitation, and soon his face clouded over.
“What, Marianne tried to kill herself? I’m going to the hospital right away.”
I was jolted awake. Had Marianne committed suicide?
I looked at Vincent, who had grabbed his coat on the couch and was darting toward the doors. It was then that I grabbed his sleeve and pleaded, “A few seconds, that’s all I need.”
But he, cruel as he was, pried my hand away. His frown had never been this harsh. “Didn’t you hear? Marianne tried to kill herself. I don’t have time for this conversation.”
“How could you say that?” I stood behind him and shouted, “Are Marianne and the baby in her womb that important to you?! If she could call you to the hospital, it proves that she is all right. She is all right, so why don’t you just spare me a few seconds of your time to finish what I have to say?!” My voice was starting to crack.
Vincent finally stopped in his tracks, by the door. I thought he was finally willing to grant me a morsel of his patience, but before I could speak, he said, “Why don’t you stop comparing yourself to Marianne.”
I had never known that intangible words could feel like a hammer, shattering my illusions of joy. “You don’t even come close to her.”
He added, "She means the world to me, as is her child. Both she and her child are my treasures, and no one—no one—can compare to them.”
I took a step back subconsciously, and I could feel blood draining from my face. I seemed to have suddenly lost the ability to speak, and however hard I tried to fumble for a reply, nothing came out.
I realized now how naïve I had been. I had deluded myself into believing that this child could make Vincent look at me for once and choose to stay by my side. But now I had lost all courage to tell this man that I was pregnant with his child.
As a strong abdominal pain suddenly swept over me, I clutched my stomach and leaned against the sofa next to me. The pain in my body sent me retching. It suddenly occurred to me that I had seen this scene playing before my eyes again and again. Watching Vincent leave me for Marianne. Again and again.