Chained By The Alpha Jessica Hall

Cleo

The morning light filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow that does little to warm the chill in the air-or the ice in my veins

The makeup artist's hands tremble slightly as she applies foundation, her brush strokes attempting to cover the marks of last night's terror which still sting. Alpha Dane came in during the night forcing more sedatives on me

The bruise on my cheek, a harsh reminder of Boyd's brutality, resists concealment along with the large gash marks that will be forever etched into my skin since I couldn't shift or heal them without my wolfNôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

"Sorry, darling, this is the best I can do under

the circumstances," she murmurs, sympathy in her eyes that I can't meet in the mirror

I nod, my stomach a knot of anxiety. Today was supposed to be my wedding day. Instead, it feels like I'm dressing for a funeral-my own

The dress 1s a cascade of silk and lace, designed to enchant and captivate an audience that shouldn't be witness to this farce. As the fabric slips over my head, enveloping me in its cold embrace, a shiver runs down my spine. Alpha Dane's plan is clear: parade the union before the city, make a spectacle of his power. But every fiber of my being rebels against the role I've been forced to play

Outside, the preparations buzz with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet dread that fills the room. I overhear snippets of conversation from the hallway-last-minute details about the

ceremony, the array of guests arriving, and the live broadcast that would supposedly cement my fate

"You look beautiful, Cleo," my father says as he steps into the room, his voice hollow

Deep creases line his forehead and the corners of his eyes, etched by years of stress and disappointment, showing signs of his age. This entire ordeal aging him drastically lately. His salt-and-pepper hair combed back more grey, showing these days than dark locks, the faint glint of silver strands a reminder of his age. His eyes, when I finally meet them, are filled with a sadness that does nothing to ease the betrayal

"Beautiful and betrayed," I reply, my voice steady despite the trembling in my heart. "Is this how you protect me, Father?"

He flinches, the weight of his choices etched deeply in the lines of his face. "I'm doing what must be done," he insists, but his conviction sounds as frayed as the edges of my nerves as he flattens his white suit jacket. I turn away from him dreading the moment we have to leave the room. I still haven't heard anything from Zayn which is making me nervous

"Come on, time to head down. Alpha Dane has prepared everything," my father tells me like that is supposed to make me feel better

"Cleo!" My father calls again, and I grit my teeth, moving to take his arm

The walk down the stairs is a blur; my eyes focused on the ground as if I could find a way out through the cracks in the floorboards. The outside world is alive with movement and color, from the bright flowers adorning the ceremony

to the bustling figures preparing for the event

The guests! faces are a mixture of emotions, some smiling with genuine happiness, others looking curious and confused. My arm through my father's feels like a shackle, each step forward a descent into a life I never chose

The floral scent of the wedding decorations mingles with the sharp tang of alpha pheromones, creating a strange, conflicting scent. My father's cologne adds a hint of familiarity, but it's tainted by the smell of fear

The guests are a sea of faces, some joyous, others curious. All of them oblivious to the sham before them. Alpha Boyd stands at the altar, his smile tight, and the gash on his head healed, he's a predator basking in his triumph The tent looms before us, large and grand with intricate designs and patterns adorning its silky

walls. Brightly colored flowers and ribbons hang from the ceiling, creating a festive atmosphere. The ground beneath our feet 1s soft, covered in a thick, plush carpet that muffles our steps. As we enter the tent, the fabric curtain door brushes against my skin, its texture smooth and cool against my skin as the music starts. As the ceremony begins, my mind races. This isn't right. Zayn, where are you?

The music intensifies as we make our way down the aisle, a haunting melody that seems to echo the dread pounding in my chest. Every eye in the tent is on me; I can feel their gazes like physical weights pressing against my skin. Yet, none are as heavy as Boyd's - his smirk, confident and victorious, sends waves of revulsion through my veins