Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 08

Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 08

The days before the wedding, I played the part of the dutiful bride. Dress fittings. Menu tastings. Floral arrangements.

I stood in front of the mirror in my white satin gown. Hand-sewn pearls. A veil that trailed three meters behind me.

The makeup artist said, “You look beautiful.”

She said that to every bride.

I looked at the stranger in the mirror. Her eyebrows were arched. Her lips were rose. Her cheeks were highlighted.

She was smiling.

It didn’t look like my smile.

The atmosphere at Winfeld Manor was suffocating. Servants moved quietly. Conversations were hushed.

Selina was the only one who spoke normally.

“Can’t believe five percent was enough to buy you,” she said, sitting on my windowsill, swinging

her legs.

I said nothing.

That seemed to annoy her. She laughed. “You know how much I’ll get when Father dies? All of it.”

I looked at her.

She smiled. “Jealous?”

“Very filial of you,” I said.

She was wearing a dark green dress. Deep neckline. Her lipstick was the same rose shade as mine.

Maybe on purpose. Maybe not. But if I’d asked, she’d have said, “Oh, I didn’t notice. They just look similar.”*

Selina’s *accidents* always worked out better than my *plans*.

Cole glared at me. “Throwing your life away.”

Drake nodded.

Kane scrolled through his phone, indifferent.

*Throwing my life away.* Was that what I was doing?

Cole had been saying that a lot lately. He’d held it in at the dinner table. Now it was out.

I didn’t care what they thought.

I remembered when they first came to my apartment. They couldn’t do anything. I’d taught them- how to use the washer, how to cook, how to work a smartphone.

Once they’d learned, they didn’t need me anymore.

I looked at Lorian.

He didn’t look as dark as I’d expected. Just… calm. He lifted his gaze and met mine.

That was when I noticed: when his eyes weren’t full of threat and danger, they were actually beautiful. Long, slightly upturned at the corners. Lazy.

There was light in them. Not sun-bright. Deep-sea bright. The kind of light that came from things

that lived in the dark.

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The morning of the wedding, I was dragged out of bed before dawn.

The sky was gray-blue. Like denim that had been washed too many times.

I sat in the makeup chair and let them layer things onto my face. Foundation. Concealer. Blush. Eyeshadow. Eyeliner. Mascara. Lipstick.

Layer after layer. Like painting a picture. Like putting on a mask.

The ceremony was at the Savoy. On the Thames. One of London’s most famous hotels. The ballroom

was overflowing with white roses – thirty thousand of them, hanging from the ceiling, threaded through chandeliers.

Hastings had personally overseen every detail.

Big spender.

I was pushed into a dressing room backstage. It was bigger than my apartment. Pale wallpaper. Crystal chandelier. A floor-length mirror.

For the next three hours, guests trickled in. Through the door, I heard snippets of conversation. Laughter. Champagne glasses clinking.

My parents came several times. “Ready?” “Yes.” “Good.” Then they left.

Same conversation. Same expressions. Same distance.

I checked the clock.

Then I turned to my assistant. “Betty.”

“Yeah?”

“Do what we discussed.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. Her face was paler than usual. Her palms were sweaty.

I was nervous too. But sometimes you do things even when you’re scared.

I slipped out of the dressing room with the flower girls. A flock of little white dresses, giggling and running ahead. My white gown trailed behind me.

Betty walked with me. “The restroom is at the end of the hall.”

I nodded.

No one questioned it.

In the restroom, I stripped off the gown and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt I’d hidden in Betty’s bag. Sneakers. Then I opened the window.

I’d *accidentally* opened it a few days ago. Maintenance had tried to close it, but I’d messed with the lock. This morning, conveniently, no one had checked.

A black car was waiting outside.

The drop was short. I climbed out and landed – a little hard – on the grass.

I got in.

As the door closed, I looked back at the hotel window. The white curtains fluttered. Like a woman. waving goodbye.

Safely in the car, I called Lorian.

No answer.

I frowned. Maybe it was too loud. Maybe his phone was on silent. Maybe –

I shook my head. *Don’t overthink.*

“Drive,” I told the driver.

The route was planned. Savoy to Waterloo Bridge to the A4 to Heathrow. Forty-five minutes, traffic permitting. Today, traffic was light. Everyone was watching the royal appearance on TV.

I opened the livestream.

Bartholomew had insisted on broadcasting the wedding. He wanted the world to see Selina step up and save him.

The host’s excited voice: “And now – the bride and groom!”

My heart sped up.

The doors opened on both sides.

Right side – empty.

No bride.

Silence. Two seconds. Then whispers. Gasps. The rustle of expensive fabric.

I laughed out loud.

On screen, Lord Winfeld’s face went from pale to purple. Lady Winfeld’s mouth formed a perfect O. Hastings’ mother looked confused, then furious, then terrified.

Then I saw a dark shape move on the left side of the screen.

My laugh died.

The groom’s side was empty too.

Bartholomew wasn’t there.

Neither was Lorian.

Pandemonium.

I stared at the screen.

Where was Bartholomew? He was supposed to be on the left, in his black suit, holding flowers, waiting for his bride.

And where was Lorian?

After two minutes, Bartholomew appeared. His collar was crooked. His shirttail was untucked. He was sweating. He almost tripped over a flower arrangement.

Then he saw the empty bride’s side.

His face crumpled.

In that moment, I saw a man go from *expectation* to *realization* in slow motion.

The room was dead quiet.

He cleared his throat. Walked to the altar. Took the microphone.

“The truth is,” he said, “the bride was never Evelyn. It’s always been Selina. The woman I truly love

Selina Winfeld!”

The room erupted.

Screams. Shouts. Applause from Hastings’ relatives, who’d known all along.

Then my phone rang. Lorian.

I answered.

“Where are you?” His voice was rough.

“Heading to the airport.”

Silence. I heard his breathing. Faster than usual.

“You – “I started.

Then a news alert popped up on my phone: [BREAKING: Hastings heir is NOT who you think

SIREN revealed!]

I clicked.

A photo of Lorian. Black suit. Hair slicked back. His expression – cold- but his eyes held something else. Something powerful. Commanding.

Comments rolled in: *Looks like a wolfen?* *No – look at his pupils. Vertical.* *Siren.* *A siren inheriting a地产集团?*

Theories multiplied. A distant relative. His mother’s secret son. An orphan adopted by Hastings.

But one comment stood out: *Whoever he is – he’s got the shares now. Bartholomew’s been sidelined.*

Bartholomew had been *sidelined*.

That was why he looked so wrecked at the ceremony. He’d found out on the way there.

And that speech about Selina – that was his last, desperate move.

“Lorian,” I said.

“Mm.”

“Were you about to…”

I didn’t finish. I couldn’t.

Because saying it out loud would mean someone had been willing to do something that ridiculous

for me.

Wolfens had a tradition. *Bride theft.* If a wolfen took a human bride on her wedding day, the groom’s family had to accept it – or start a war.

Sirens didn’t have weddings. But they had *abductions*. On full moons, they’d surface and take people from the shore. Not out of malice. Out of instinct. They wanted something – so they took it.

What would Lorian have done if Bartholomew’s people hadn’t stopped him?

I didn’t want to think about it.

But my heartbeat told me I already knew.

“I’m leaving the country for a while,” I said.

I hung up.

If he wanted to follow, he would. If not I’d live. That was what I told myself.

Then I went back to the livestream.

The ballroom was chaos.

Selina stood by the altar, her white dress dirty, her face blank. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Like a fish out of water.

Lord Winfeld’s voice boomed. “Find Evelyn!”

Lady Winfeld’s voice shook. “She’s gone mad!”

Bartholomew was yelling at Selina. “You said you liked me! Your sister wanted us to be happy why won’t you just – ”

Selina looked lost. “What are you talking about?”

She genuinely seemed confused. She thought this was just a wedding where the bride had run away and she needed to fill in. She didn’t know Bartholomew’s “I’ve always loved you” was rehearsed. A

performance.

Maybe part of her confusion was real.

Bartholomew’s mother stepped in. “If my son loves Selina, let them marry. It’s still good for both

families.”

*Good for both families.* A bride missing. A groom desperate. A siren stealing company shares. *Good.* But she was a survivor. You pretend nothing’s wrong until everyone agrees with you.

I’d already blocked my parents, the steward, and Selina.

Lady Hastings had spoken. No one could refuse without looking bad.

Lady Winfeld looked at Selina. Pleading. Ordering. Expecting.

Selina bit her lip. “I won’t!”

*I won’t.* Finally, the truth.

Bartholomew’s face darkened. “What? You’ve been lying to me?”

Selina stepped back, tears in her eyes. “You had three wives die! Why would I like you?!!!!

Three wives. Dead. Selina had never mentioned that before. Not in all their conversations. Their calls. Their lingering looks.

Now she was screaming it in front of hundreds of people. On a livestream.

Bartholomew’s face went white.

Not because it wasn’t true. Because Selina had chosen *this* moment to say it.

“You

11

The room fell apart.

Screaming. Fighting. Crying. Servants trying to pull people apart. Security trying to control the crowd.

I watched, entertained.

Then I saw three familiar figures in the corner.

Kane stood at the edge, arms crossed, expressionless. He watched Selina and Bartholomew tear into each other with an *I told you so* look.

Drake stood beside him, his usual smile reduced. His gaze was fixed on the empty bride’s side.

Where I should have been.

Cole wasn’t in frame. I searched. Found him crouched by the back door, hands in his hair, veins standing out on his neck.

Not angry.

He was crying.

I turned off the livestream.

I didn’t want to see any more.

The car kept moving. City to suburbs to countryside to open fields.

Ahead – the airport.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the window, feeling the bumps in the road.

*Is this really what you want?*

*Yes.*

*No regrets?*

*No.*

*…Really?*

I opened my eyes.

A plane was descending outside. Silver wings glinting in the sun.

I didn’t know.

But I wasn’t turning back.