CORA POV:

Three days later, I was a doll being dressed for slaughter.

The mating ceremony was being held at the Ward estate, a sprawling mansion that looked more like a fortress. I was shoved into a cramped dressing room in a secluded wing, far from the main festivities.

The white dress they'd provided was two sizes too small. It squeezed my flesh, the delicate lace straining at the seams. It was a deliberate humiliation. The makeup an equally cruel joke, a thick, chalky mask meant to hide my scar but only succeeding in making me look like a tragic clown.

Eleanor's hand-picked maids moved around me with barely concealed smirks. One of them yanked my hair so hard my eyes watered. I said nothing. I sat before the mirror, a statue of compliance.

The door creaked open and my cousin Molly sashayed in.

She was beautiful, in a sharp, predatory way. Her bridesmaid dress was a shimmering silver that complemented her blonde hair and bright, false smile.

"Cora, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Are you alright? You look a little pale. Don't be nervous. It's your big day."

I met her eyes in the mirror. She'd always been jealous. Jealous that despite being wolfless and scarred, an ancient contract had tied me to the most powerful Alpha in the region. She couldn't stand it.

She held up a small, ornate box. "I brought you something. A little family secret."

She opened it. Inside was a fine, shimmering powder that caught the light. "It's a blessing powder. My mother used it on her wedding day. It will make your skin glow."

There it was. The corrosive powder from the novel. The weapon meant to end any chance I had of a normal life.

I forced my lips to part in a gasp of delighted surprise. I stood, my movements clumsy, my face a mask of gratitude. "Oh, Molly! You shouldn't have! You're too good to me."

I moved toward her, my arms outstretched for a hug. As I did, my foot "caught" on the edge of the plush rug.

It was a perfectly executed stumble, a controlled fall that I had practiced a thousand times in my old life during training drills.

I pitched forward, my body a dead weight, aimed directly at her.

Time seemed to slow. Molly's eyes widened in alarm as I fell toward her. My hand, seemingly flailing for balance, shot out and struck her wrist with pinpoint accuracy.

A sharp crack echoed in the small room.

Molly cried out in pain. The beautiful little box flew from her grasp, tumbling end over end through the air.

It was almost poetic. The shimmering powder cascaded out, a deadly, glittering cloud that settled almost entirely over Molly's shocked face, her neck, and the exposed skin of her décolletage.

It happened in less than two seconds.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then the burning started.

A low hiss, like water on a hot pan, came from her skin. A pained whimper escaped her lips, quickly escalating into a full-blown, terrified scream.

"Aaaah! It burns! My face! MY FACE!"

She clawed at her skin, her manicured nails leaving red tracks through the powder. The scream she let out was primal, piercing the quiet elegance of the manor.

I, on the other hand, had collapsed to the floor. I stared at her, my eyes wide with "horror," my body trembling.

"Molly! What's wrong?" I cried, my voice shaking. "What was in that box?"

The maids, who had been watching from the corner, rushed forward. They froze when they saw Molly writhing on the floor, angry red welts and blisters already erupting on her perfect skin.

My training kicked in. "The Surgeon" took over, even through the facade of the terrified Omega.

"Water!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the panic. "Get cold water! Now! And call a doctor!"

My tone was sharp, authoritative, a stark contrast to my "frightened" demeanor. But in the chaos, no one noticed. They scrambled to obey.

Just then, Molly's mother, my Aunt Brenda, burst into the room, drawn by the screams. She saw her daughter's state and her face contorted in a mask of fury.

"Who did this?" she shrieked, her eyes scanning the room and landing on me, the only one who seemed unharmed.

I held up my hand. During my "fall," I had made sure to get a tiny amount of the powder on the back of it. A few small red dots were already forming. I let tears stream down my face.

"I don't know," I sobbed, the picture of a victim. "It was the blessing powder Molly brought... she tripped... it went everywhere..."

My performance was flawless. My own minor injury was the perfect piece of evidence. Molly, incoherent with pain, could only point a trembling finger at me and moan.

The narrative was set. It was a tragic accident. Molly Melton, in her eagerness, had become a victim of her own good intentions.

The ceremony officials arrived to find a scene of utter chaos. Molly was half-carried, half-dragged out of the room, her screams echoing down the hall.

Amidst the pandemonium, I was told the ceremony must go on. I was helped to my feet, my shoulders shaking, my head bowed. I looked like a frightened little rabbit.

But under the veil of my downcast eyes, a cold, triumphant smile touched my lips.

This was only the beginning.

CORA POV:

I walked into the grand hall like a lamb to the slaughter.

Every head turned. Hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on me, and I could feel the weight of their judgment. The air was thick with whispers, sharp and stinging as a swarm of wasps.

"Is that her? Draven's mate?"

"God, she's... large. And that scar..."

"I heard she's wolfless. What a disgrace to the Ward Pack."

I kept my chin up, my face a blank mask. I pretended not to hear, not to see the pity and disgust in their faces. Their words were meaningless noise. My focus was on the man waiting for me on the raised dais.

Draven.

He stood tall and imposing in a perfectly tailored black suit. He looked like a king waiting for an execution. When his stormy eyes met mine, a flicker of revulsion crossed his face before it was replaced by that familiar icy mask.

The Pack Elder began the ceremony, his voice droning on about ancient bonds and the blessings of the Moon Goddess. It was all a farce.

The real drama began when the parents were called to give their blessing.

Draven's father, Arthur Ward, a man with a stern face and the same arrogant air as his wife, stepped forward. He didn't even look at me. He addressed the crowd.

"Today, we are merely fulfilling the obligations of an old contract," he announced, his voice booming. "Nothing more."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. It was a slap in the face.

But Eleanor was the one who delivered the killing blow. She took the microphone, her painted lips curled into a sneer. Her voice was not loud, but it carried to every corner of the silent hall.

"The Ward family will not acknowledge a wolfless woman of questionable bloodline as our Luna."

The gasp from the crowd was a collective punch to my gut. Publicly. She had publicly disowned me at my own mating ceremony. I stood there, exposed, the centerpiece of a humiliating spectacle. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my short nails digging into my palms.

Draven's jaw tightened. I saw a muscle twitch in his cheek. This was too much, even for him. It was dishonorable. It was a stain on his family's name. But he remained silent.

I was about to open my mouth, to say something, anything, when a voice roared from the back of the hall.

"Eleanor, what is the meaning of this!"

My adoptive father, Robert Melton, stormed down the aisle. He was a big man, the Alpha of a small, insignificant pack, but he had a spine of steel. My adoptive mother, Laura Hicks, followed close behind, her face a mask of theatrical outrage.

Robert pointed a thick finger at Arthur. "Are you breaking the pact? Do you wish to make an enemy of the Melton Pack?"

Laura rushed to my side, enveloping me in a cloud of cheap perfume and feigned sympathy. "My poor baby," she wailed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "How could they do this to you?"

I leaned into her, letting my shoulders shake, playing the part of the broken victim.

Arthur's face was a thundercloud. He hadn't expected the meek Meltons to make a scene.

"We are simply speaking the truth!" Eleanor shrieked. "She is not worthy of my son!"

"Not worthy?" Robert laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "The contract was witnessed by the Goddess herself! Are you defying her will? I will take this matter to the Alpha Council!"

The threat hung in the air, heavy and potent. The Alpha Council. Their involvement would mean a formal inquiry, a public scandal that the proud Ward family could not afford.

Finally, Draven spoke. His voice was low, but it cut through the tension like a blade.

"Enough."

All eyes snapped to him. He looked at his parents, his expression unreadable. "The ceremony will proceed. She is my mate. That is a fact."

His word was law. It wasn't about me. It was about his authority. He would not allow his parents to undermine him in front of his entire pack and distinguished guests.

Arthur and Eleanor fell silent, their faces tight with fury.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur of forced smiles and suffocating tension. When the Elder pronounced us mates, I felt an invisible chain lock around my soul. There was no kiss. No embrace. Just a cold, hard look exchanged between Draven and me.

The moment it was over, he turned to me, his voice a low command. "You will be housed in the east wing. Stay out of my way and do not cause any trouble."

Then he was gone, swallowed by a crowd of well-wishers, leaving me alone on the stage.

Laura came over, fussing with my dress. "Don't you worry, sweetie," she whispered, her eyes darting around. "We're here for you."