My fingers dig into the satin of my wedding dress.

Outside the dressing room door, the emcee's voice drones on.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Frankson stands there, his phone clutched in a death grip.

"The wedding is delayed" he says, his voice rough and gravelly.

He storms out of the room.

My mother doesn't even spare me a glance as she rushes past, her high heels clicking on the marble floor

The door of the dressing room slammed open, and I flinched.

I gritted my teeth, yanking at the zipper that had caught on the fabric, and a low growl rumbled in my throat as the silk dug into my skin, leaving angry red welts.​

"Where's the groom?"

"He's gone,the wedding is off."

This was the second time.

Three years ago, I'd almost died in that car accident, my wolf hovering on the brink of permanent dormancy.

He'd held my hand in the ICU, promising to marry me the moment I woke up.

Now, I stood here in my wedding dress, abandoned for another she-wolf.​

As I watched the last of the guests filter out of the grand hall, the fading sunlight cast an otherworldly glow over the empty pews.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out, my heart stopping at the message from the hospital: "Alice is out of danger. Minor fractures."​

The hospital room door hung ajar, and my mother's sobs seeped through the crack like poisoned honey.

"Silly girl, don't do anything reckless again..."

As I pushed the door open, the metallic stench of antiseptic mingled with a nauseatingly familiar scent-the sweet, cloying aroma of Frankson's pheromones.

The alpha was bent over a tray, his fingers stained red from peeling shrimps.

Each discarded shrimp shell hit the bin with a soft thud.​

The glass bowl filled with glistening shrim.

"Only you could make me do this willingly, my little wolf," he murmured.

He didn't even glance up as I entered.

His entire focus was on the she-wolf in the bed, Alice.

He lifted a perfectly peeled shrimp to her lips.

It was the same look he'd given me during those long, sleepless nights when I'd lain comatose, broken and vulnerable.​

My mother finally noticed my presence.

Alice flinched.​

Frankson's head snapped up

A shrimp shell slipped from his fingers, clattering against the metal bin.

Three years ago, they'd told me Alice was just a placeholder, a temporary comfort until I recovered.

But the way my mother stroked Alice's hair, the way Frankson's eyelashes fluttered as he peeled the shrimp-they told a different story.

"I came to check on Alice,"

Alice peeked at me from behind my mother's shoulder, her eyes glinting with a victorious gleam.

Frankson's jaw tightened.

But instead, he grabbed a handful of tissues, scrubbing at his shrimp-stained fingers.

My mother's cooing words cut through the tense silence.

"Are you hungry, dear? Let Frankson peel you some more shrimp."

I didn't need to turn around to know Frankson would comply.

I could almost feel the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders would hunch over the tray, lost in the familiar ritual. Just like he'd done for me three years ago, spending hours peeling shrimp until his fingertips were raw and wrinkled.​

The hospital corridor stretched out before me, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the tiled floor. I fought to keep my wolf in check.

The heavy skirt dragged behind me like a death shroud.​

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Frankson's text burned through the screen:

"Olivia, I'm sorry. Once Alice recovers, we can-"

I deleted the message, shoving the device deep into my bag.

When the elevator doors slid open, my reflection stared back at me, a ghostly figure in white.

My smudged eyeliner traced a jagged tear down my cheek.​

A thousand days and nights.

That's all it took for Frankson to replace me, for Alice to worm her way into my family.

That night, I returned home alone.

As I stepped onto the porch, the motion-sensor light flickered to life.

Inside, the house felt like a haunted mausoleum.

Every room was veiled in a hazy fog.

Nothing except for the guest room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

That room held a tangible presence, a lingering scent of Alice .

Even after she'd moved out, my mother would often say,

"We should keep it ready for when Alice comes back."

Three days later, as the sun began to set, the doorbell shattered the eerie silence.

Frankson stood under the porch light.

Behind him, Alice cowered, clad in a cream-colored trench coat.

As Alice lifted her eyes, droplets clinging to her lashes.

The last time I'd seen her before my coma, she'd clutched the velvet hairpin Frankson gave me, her voice sickly sweet: "Olivia, this color suits you so well."

"She just got discharged. There's trouble in her neighboring mansion," Frankson pulled Alice protectively behind him. My gaze locked onto the pale pink scar on her knuckles-a relic from the museum collapse three years ago.

I remember how Alice had swung that fire axe, the blade narrowly missing her ankle as it buried itself in the rubble.

Her crescent-shaped scar pulsed beneath my stare, a mocking reminder of the bond they'd forged in my absence.​

My mother offered Alice a pair of slippers-my size.

"She has no family," my father's sigh was a death knell.

The dining room table groaned under the weight of Mexican chili burritos, Buffalo wings drowning in spicy sauce.

The pungent aroma of cayenne and habanero slammed into me like a physical blow, triggering a violent coughing fit. My sensitive wolf stomach churned, memories of Frankson hovering over the stove, carefully preparing mild pasta dishes for me-now replaced by the sight of him deftly slicing a juicy ribeye for Alice.​

"Easy, love. No one's going to steal your meal," he cooed.

Blood-red juices oozed from the steak.

My mother piled avocado salad onto Alice's plate, her voice brimming with affection: "I asked the cook to spend hours perfecting that smoky paprika dressing you adore."

She even forgot my chili allergy.​

When Alice choked on a piece of steak, Frankson dropped to one knee behind her, massaging her back.

As his wrist flashed, I caught a glimpse of the silver bracelet I'd given him before my coma, the delicate engraving of "O.L." glinting mockingly.

The way he held the glass of water to Alice's lips, his thumb gently tilting her chin-it was an exact replica of the countless nights he'd nursed me back to health.​

I set my fork down.

The burning sensation of capsaicin seared my throat.

In the ornate floor - length mirror at the stairwell corner, the silhouettes of three figures huddled around Alice, their forms a grotesque mockery of a loving family.

Three years ago, trapped in the rubble of the collapsed museum basement, the crackling static of the walkie - talkie had been louder than Frankson's labored breaths.

It was Alice who had been the first to breach the cordon, her claws shredded and her fingertips raw as she frantically pulled at the twisted steel bars.

Friends later told me that in his delirious state, Frankson had clung to Alice's hand, calling out my name with each ragged breath.

But when she pressed his blood - stained palm against her cheek, his eyelashes had fluttered, and a single drop of blood had landed on the crescent - shaped scar on her leg.

I sat in the darkness of my room.​

On the bedside table, a framed photograph mocked me with its innocence.

In the image, Frankson's arm was wrapped protectively around my shoulders.​

From downstairs, the clatter of cutlery and the soft, melodious laughter of Alice drifted up the stair.

Reaching under my pillow, I retrieved my phone.

As the screen flickered to life.

There was Frankson, standing before a majestic ancient Roman sculpture in the museum.

Little did I know then that the very same museum would crumble around us, trapping Frankson in its ruins and making me a vegetable for three years..

And when he was finally pulled from the debris, the first face he saw was Alice's.

The door to my bedroom slammed open, and Frankson's alpha presence filled the room.

"Things have been crazy lately. I forgot about your favorite cold - smoked salmon," he murmured"Tell me what you want, and I'll make it up to you."​

"I want her out of this house."

The warmth of his embrace vanished in an instant.

"There was a murder near her place. She's terrified. She needs someone to look after her right now."

He pressed a kiss to my ear, but it felt like a bite.

"Stop being difficult..."​

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from the living room.

Frankson and I both snapped our heads up.

There stood Alice at the top of the stairs.

Shards of a broken glass glistened at her feet like a spider's web, and tears welled up in her eye.

She turned and fled into the rain, wincing as her injured foot slammed into the door frame.

Frankson's grip on me disappeared in a blur.

His trench coat button popped off as he bolted after her, landing at my feet with a hollow click.​

Back in college, when he'd broken his leg during a basketball game, I'd stayed by his bedside, sobbing.

He'd wiped away my tears and promised, "Little crybaby, I'll take you to Rockefeller Center for cheesecake once I'm better."

Back then, he'd worn the silver bracelet I'd given him, the one with a single "O" engraved at the end.​

Now, as I watched him sprint into the downpour after Alice, it hit me like a tidal wave.

He wasn't afraid of Alice seeing us together. He was terrified of losing her.

Dawn broke.

Frankson hadn't returned.

I clutched my phone, dialed his number again and again.

It wasn't until the afternoon that the truth came crashing down.

Alice had been in an accident.

A car with malfunctioning brakes, destined to strike Frankson, had instead plowed into her.

For half a month, Alice recuperated in the hospital, and for half a month, Frankson never once set foot back in our home.

Finally, driven by a masochistic need for closure, I found myself outside Alice's hospital room.​

Before I could enter, I caught a glimpse through the half - open door.

Alice, her head swathed in bandages, clung desperately to Frankson's waist.

"Frankson," she sobbed.

"I've been your substitute willingly," she cried.

"I'd give my life for you without hesitation!"​

"If Olivia hasn't waken up, would you have loved me?"

The seconds ticked by.

Then, finally, Frankson's lips parted.

"Yes,"