Lethal Temptation (by Michelle Ray) novel Chapter 10

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Mara

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Three weeks passed. I almost let myself believe the Nighthorns had changed their minds. No

word, no message, no summons.

I let myself dream–maybe they’d called it off, maybe Darian had succeeded, maybe the nightmare would end quietly without a final act.

But then my mother told me the date was set.

The wedding was in one week.

I had never been so afraid in my life. My chest heaved until I vomited–over and over–desperate

for it all to be a bad dream I could wake up from.

But the dream was real. And it was wearing white.

Darian and Rowan were still gone. Still silent. Still unreachable. I tried not to feel abandoned, but

that’s exactly what I was–left behind. Left alone.

My mother and I went gown shopping. The whole time, I felt like I was sinking through the floor.

She didn’t speak much. I didn’t need her to. I could feel the weight in her chest like it was my own.

Even our wolves were quiet.

Mine hadn’t spoken since this whole thing began. I hadn’t shifted, hadn’t hunted, hadn’t been myself

in weeks.

Weddings were supposed to be beautiful. A dream.

This was a quiet death.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucian–his voice like cold iron, listing his rules like my life was a

contract he regretted signing.

There would be no love. No kindness. Not from him. The way he spoke, he’d already made up his

mind about me, and falling for each other was off the table before we’d even stood at the altar.

I used to think I was a joke–pining after Darian while he smiled and offered friendship like a reward. But now, I knew what it really meant to be laughed at. To be humiliated.

Married to a man who loved another. Married into a house where I wasn’t wanted. That wasn’t just painful–it was erasure. It made you question your worth until you disappeared from your own life.

The ceremony was to be held at the registry. A quiet, formal thing. No fanfare. Then a small

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reception at our house.

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Tradition dictated the bride’s family handled the wedding–but I knew the truth. Martha didn’t want

anything to do with it. We were beneath her. And I didn’t want her anywhere near me anyway.

My wedding day came.

I didn’t cry.

Not because I wasn’t grieving. But because I had nothing left to give to grief. I had poured it all out

-into pillows, into midnight sobs, into conversations that led nowhere. I had begged. Pleaded. And

none of it mattered.

So now, I stared into the mirror, unmoved.

The makeup artist had done an incredible job. I looked radiant. Untouchable. Like a bride in a

storybook.

But beneath the paint and powder, I was steel.

Today, I made a vow–not to Lucian, but to myself. I would not break. I would not let these people

see me bleed. I was a Gamma.

Third strongest of my generation. I was born to serve the pack, not bend to the whim of

power–hungry families and broken traditions.

Lucian’s coldness wouldn’t destroy me.

Martha’s sneers wouldn’t undo me.

They would not get the satisfaction of watching me wither.

I fastened the veil.

And then my mother walked in.

Her eyes were red. Puffy. She’d been crying–of course she had.

Today wasn’t just a wedding. It was goodbye. And she knew what I was walking into. A house

without love. A marriage without warmth.

She handed me an envelope.

“What is this?” I asked, confused.

“Open it, darling,” she said softly, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she couldn’t fix.

Inside was a debit card.

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“That’s half of what Alpha Vander paid us,” she said. “We know he doesn’t love you. We know he

won’t treat you right. But we’re not fools, and we’re not beggars. You might be going into that

house with their name, but you’ll go with ourpride.”

I stared down at the card, stunned.

“Use it for whatever you need,” she continued. “They won’t let us send your clothes to the mansion

-I don’t know what they’re planning. But this money is yours. Start a business. Shop. Take care of

yourself. Don’t ask for anything. Don’t let them put you in a position to beg. If you need a

chequebook, go to the bank. It’s under your name.”

My hands shook as I held it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

I pulled her into a hug and held her tightly, trying to burn her warmth into my skin. This was love. This was real love–not the twisted version the Nighthorns practiced with contracts and control.

And I made another promise to myself:

They may have bought my name, but they would never own me.

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