The weddings would be on the same day too. A grand affair. A spectacle for the pack.
Vivienne made no complaints. She nodded when spoken to. She was docile now. Manageable. Exactly the daughter they wanted. But enthusiasm never returned to her eyes. She moved through her days like someone underwater, everything muffled, heavy, distant.
At night, alone in her room, she wished.
She wished Ingrid would trip on the stairs. Wished the mate bond would snap. Wished Charles would wake up one day and realize he had chosen wrong. Some nights, the wishes grew darker. She wished her sister would die.
The thought horrified her the first time. By the tenth, it felt comforting.
She stopped eating with the family. The long dining table, once a place of routine warmth, now felt like a stage where she was expected to perform forgiveness. She took her meals alone, if she took them at all. Sometimes the maids would find untouched trays outside her door hours later.
