Chapter 16 Are you calling me old?" His voice carried mock offense. I'm just saying I'm impressed. Most ancient artifacts don't retain information that well." Ancient artifacts?' He sounded genuinely wounded now. "I prefer 'vintage collectible." I giggled before I could stop myself. "Vintage implies you're valuable. Jury's still out on that one." 'Ouch. My ego may never recover." The easy banter felt natural. "Actually," I said, settling deeper into the cushions, "you want to hear a joke?" "Should I be worried?" 'Do you know why wedding dresses are white?" "Enlighten me." I grinned. "Because it's the happiest, day of a woman's life, so all the appliances should match." Silence. Then his laughter filled my ear genuine and unguarded. "That's terrible, Sabi." "But you laughed! Want another one?* 'I'm afraid to say yes." "Why do grooms wear black tuxedos?" His voice carried fond exasperation. 'I'm listening." 'Because it's the last time they'll get to make a decision!" This time his laughter came immediately. "Are you warning me to enjoy my remaining freedom?" "Maybe." I bit my lip, suddenly aware of how comfortable this felt. How easy it was to talk to him. "Elena must be pretty famous. Getting an appointment with her can't be simple." "We've worked together for a while." His tone became casual. Almost too casual. "She's been making dresses for my future queen for some time now." I caught the key phrase immediately. "For a while? How long exactly?" He paused. "About… three years or so." Three years. My mind flashed to all the gossip I'd heard over the years. Blood Moon Pack's Alpha daughter. Silver Ridge Pack's heiress. Every major pack seemed to have a candidate they wanted to marry off to the Lycan King. The rumors said the waiting list could stretch to next year. I laughed, going for casual and teasing. "Wow, three years! Sounds like His Majesty's got quite the harem of candidates. Elena must be exhausted designing dresses for all those beauties." Carlan's laughter was warm and surprised. "Harem? Where did you learn that word?" 1/4 TV dramas! I giggled. 'But seriously, there must be tons of gorgeous Alpha daughters lining up to marry you, right?" His voice shifted, becoming oddly complex. "Not many. Actually… just one person." I blinked, not expecting that answer. "Huh? Just one?' The atmosphere suddenly felt charged. Caelan seemed to realize he'd revealed more than intended, quickly changing the subject. "It's getting late. You should rest. I will send the pictures tomorrow for you to choose, and we can discuss them then. "Okay." I didn't want to hang up. This feeling - being cared for, listened to, valued I didn't want it to end. "Goodnight, Sabi. "Goodnight, Caelan." The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in the dim hotel room. I hugged a pillow to my chest, replaying every word of our conversation. Esme stretched contentedly in my mind. "This is how it should feel." I know. Then my phone buzzed again with an incoming message. Darrell's name on the screen made my stomach clench. A video file. Don't open it. Every instinct screamed at me to delete the message without looking. But my finger was already tapping the screen. The video started black, then sound filled my ears. Heavy breathing. Moaning. The rustle of sheets. The image cleared to show a luxury hotel room. Darrell was on the bed, naked and moving rhythmically above someone. The camera angle showed everything. Camila lay beneath him, her back arched in obvious pleasure. She was performing for the camera, making sure every sound carried. 'Relly, you feel so good," she gasped, looking directly at the lens. "So much better than-* 'Sable's useless in bed," Darrell panted. His voice carried clearly through the phone's speaker. "Just lies there like a dead fish." My hand started shaking. "Poor thing probably thinks she's doing something right," Camila laughed breathlessly. "Has she ever made you come this hard?" "Never." Darrell's movements became more aggressive. "She has no clue how to please a man. Thank fuck you're back." They continued their performance, each word designed to cut deeper than the last. "Some women just aren't built for passion," she said between moans. "They think showing up is enough." "At least she kept my bed warm," Darrell replied with cruel laughter. "But now I remember what real woman feels like." The video went on for three more minutes. Three minutes of graphic sex punctuated by increasingly vicious commentary about my supposed inadequacies. 214 When it finally ended, I sat in absolute silence. No tears came. No screaming rage. Just cold, crystalline clarity. I deleted every photo of Darrell from my phone. Every text thread. Every video call record. Three years of digital memories wiped clean in thirty seconds. Then I typed back a single message: "Thank you for showing me what garbage looks like." My phone buzzed almost immediately with a response. I knew it was Camila using Darrell's phone: "Let's see how long you can pretend not to care." I stared at her message, then did something that surprised even me. I laughed. Not the bitter, broken sound I expected. A genuine laugh of relief. They actually think this hurts me. Then I blocked Darrell's number. The next morning when I was busy with my morning routine, my phone buzzed with incoming photos. Twenty-three messages from Caelan, each containing a different dress design from Elena Milano. I nearly dropped the device. Every gown was a masterpiece. The champagne-colored dress flowed like liquid silk in the photos, its train adorned with hand-sewn pearls that caught light. like trapped stars. An ivory design featured intricate lace details that must have taken months to complete. The pearl-pink option looked elegant yet playful, with delicate cap sleeves and a fitted bodice that would highlight every curve. How am I supposed to choose between perfection and perfection? Each design was more stunning than the last. The attention to detail was extraordinary - from the hand-beaded bodices to the custom-dyed fabrics that seemed to glow from within. I scrolled through the photos twice before accepting defeat. There was no way I could make this decision alone. After agonizing for another ten minutes, I decided to crowdsource some opinions. I posted three of my favorite designs on Instagram with the caption: 'Choice paralysis in full effect… which one speaks to you?" The responses started flowing immediately. Most were enthusiastic compliments from random followers, but then the familiar names began appearing. Lisa Morrison: "An orphan wearing designer gowns? These have to be rentals." Jennifer Walsh: "Probably borrowed for photos. Some people will do anything for social media likes." Ryan Cooper: "Still dreaming about marring our Alpha, I see. Wake up call: this isn't Cinderella." My jaw clenched as more pack members piled on with increasingly vicious comments. They were like vultures circling wounded prey. Then my phone buzzed with a private message from Darrell: "What the fuck is this attention-seeking bullshit? Stop using wedding dresses to pressure me into marriage. Delete this pathetic post right now." 3/4