Talia’s POV
The dawn of my unwanted wedding day broke with merciless clarity.
Sleep had eluded me through the endless night.
My thoughts churned between fury and despair, trapped in a cycle of emotions that offered no escape.
Yet morning arrived regardless, bringing with it the inevitable reality I could no longer deny.
The sun barely painted the sky when Madame Hildegard swept into my chambers, followed by a procession of silent servants.
Their movements were precise and methodical, as though they were preparing an object rather than a person.
I might as well have been a porcelain figurine awaiting display.
Without ceremony, they guided me to a steaming bath infused with goat milk and vanilla essence.
The sweet scent filled the air as they instructed me to immerse myself for exactly ten minutes.
When the time elapsed, rough hands began their assault on my skin.
Every surface was subjected to aggressive scrubbing that left angry red welts across my body.
The ache from yesterday’s grueling climb up countless stairs merged with this fresh torment.
These women attacked my skin as if trying to cleanse away some terrible contamination.
Yesterday’s harsh treatment had made sense given my disheveled state.
Today’s brutality remained a mystery.
My protests went unheeded when four hands began coating my raw skin with coconut oil.
Despite my repeated insistence that I could manage this myself, they continued their invasive ministrations.
Privacy became another casualty of this morning’s preparations.
Layers of fine silk wrapped around my frame while cosmetic brushes danced across my features, depositing colors and powders until my face felt foreign beneath the weight of it all.
Heavy golden jewelry studded with emeralds encircled my throat, each piece more elaborate than the last.
A delicate circlet of silver adorned with tiny moonstones crowned my head before they lowered the traditional white bridal veil, obscuring my vision behind its gossamer barrier.
The mirror revealed a transformation that stole my breath.
A stranger gazed back at me from the glass—perfectly crafted, elegantly dressed, utterly unrecognizable.
This artificial creation would serve as Caspian Vanderbilt’s bride.
Madame Hildegard supervised as servants tested three pairs of bridal slippers on my feet, finally selecting the ones decorated with intricate white embroidery.
“Your feet are quite lovely,” she observed with clinical detachment.
Before I could fully process her comment, the chamber doors flew open with explosive force.
The servants instantly froze as tension saturated the atmosphere like a physical presence.
A woman from the Astral Ball entered with predatory grace, her emerald eyes locking onto mine with unmistakable hostility.
Recognition hit me immediately—her voice had been etched into my memory from that night.
“The bride appears ready for her special day,” she announced, each word dripping with barely contained malice.
“Miss Sinclair,” Madame Hildegard acknowledged with a respectful nod while the servants bowed deeply in synchronized deference.
“Everyone out.
Now.” The command brooked no argument.
The servants scattered like leaves before a storm, disappearing through the doorway within moments.
Silence settled between us, heavy and expectant.
Through the mirror, I watched her approach.
Miss Sinclair wore an emerald gown that hugged every curve, its plunging neckline accentuating her flawless figure.
Golden hair swept up in an elaborate style completed her regal appearance.
She embodied everything a bride should be—everything I wasn’t.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” she inquired, studying my reflection while her manicured fingers drummed against her crossed arms.
“No,” I replied without hesitation.
“Do you comprehend what’s truly happening here?” Her voice carried the sharpness of polished steel.
Silence seemed the wiser response.
She moved closer, her smile turning predatory.
“This honor doesn’t belong to you.”
Another step brought her nearer.
“He doesn’t belong to you.
Not even temporarily.”
She positioned herself directly behind my chair, her grip on the carved wood betraying her restraint.
Our eyes met through the mirror’s surface, hers blazing with raw emotion.
Jealousy.
Loathing.
Unbridled fury.
The truth crystallized with startling clarity.
Her hatred stemmed not from my cursed nature or my lack of a wolf.
This woman despised me because I was claiming her place beside Caspian.
“Are you finished with your speech?” I asked calmly.
Shock flickered across her features before anger ignited.
“How dare you address me with such insolence?
You’re nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s game.
Disposable.
Replaceable!”
Something rebellious stirred within me, compelling words I hadn’t planned to speak.
“If eliminating me were so simple, I wouldn’t still be breathing.”
Miss Sinclair stood frozen behind me, clearly unprepared for any resistance.
She had expected submission, not defiance.
The standoff stretched between us, neither willing to concede defeat through lowered eyes.
Finally, she shattered the silence with venom coating every syllable.
“Never delude yourself into thinking otherwise.
Caspian belongs to me.
He always has.
I’ll ensure you learn this truth.”
I exhaled slowly, deliberately shifting my gaze away.
“I wonder if Caspian realizes he’s already claimed,” I murmured thoughtfully.
The impact was immediate and devastating.
Miss Sinclair’ hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.
For one terrifying instant, I believed she might strike me.
Her body trembled with barely restrained violence.
Madame Hildegard’s timely return with her entourage interrupted the volatile moment, diffusing the dangerous atmosphere.
“Miss Sinclair, the ceremony bells will sound shortly.
Final preparations remain.”
The woman’s piercing gaze moved from Madame Hildegard back to me.
“Don’t settle into comfort, Talia.
Someday you’ll regret ever crossing this threshold.
I am Sybil Sinclair.
Remember that name.”
She departed with her threat lingering like poison in the air.
I had just created a dangerous enemy.