Chapter 1
Skylar had always imagined what the perfect Omega wedding would be like.
Pink and white roses adorning the ceiling, petals gracefully descending through the air like freshly falling snow. Chandeliers bathing the hall in a golden glow, their crystals shimmering like fallen stars.
A soft piano melody echoing throughout the hall, making the scene feel serene. Her mother and Phoebe crying tears of joy. Her father and Mark finally proud of her for settling down.
But this—this was a nightmare.
Skylar stared at the projector in shock, tears falling from her eyes before she even realized.
Why? Why her? Had she committed some unforgivable sin in a past life?
Image after image, they kept flickering across the screen, each one more painful than the last. Ethan, her fiancé, in a hotel with her sister. The dim light glowing over their naked bodies.
Skylar's gaze flicked to the groomsman holding the remote. He was smiling—smiling like he had been waiting for this moment all along.
She took a deep breath, but the tears kept cascading through her face, carving paths down her pale skin like water through stone.
But that fragile calm shattered like a mirror when she saw the date in the corner of the screen.
Her heart stopped. It was as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs.
Two months ago.
During their engagement.
Tears kept falling. The hall was silent—too silent. Even a needle drop would echo.
Then a slow, mocking chuckle echoed through the speakers, making Skylar flinch.
"Damn, Ethan! You really had the best of both worlds, huh?"
The voice belonged to one of Ethan's groomsmen—the one holding the remote. He smirked as his gaze met hers.
"You had one omega warming your bed while another planned the wedding." He whistled. "Talk about efficiency."
Gasps rippled through the crowd, crashing over her like a tidal wave. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
Skylar staggered back, her chest tightening. It felt as if she were floating—until the hem of her dress caught on her heel.
Ethan—the man she had built a future with—had been cheating with one of the most important people in her life. Her sister, Phoebe.
A hand clamped over her mouth as bile rose in her throat.
"Skylar…" Ethan whispered, but she heard him loud and clear through the chaos.
She looked at him. His face had paled, sweat beading along his brow.
"I—I can explain."
Explain?
Explain what? The way he had kissed her that morning, whispering vows of forever—all while sliding into bed with her sister that same night?
Skylar's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. It felt as if a hand were crushing her heart, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Sweat beaded along her brow. She staggered again, her dress tearing—but she didn't care.
Ethan's gaze darted from left to right, his embarrassment growing. Did he truly want to explain to her? Or to the crowd?
Skylar's eyes searched the room, desperate, clinging to the last thread of hope. Surely, her family would defend her. Surely… right?
But as she met their gazes—her mother's cold stare, her father's blank expression, her brother's smirk—hope cracked like fragile glass.
"I'm sorry," Phoebe whispered, her voice small, eyes gleaming with tears. "It just happened."
Just happened.
Like spilling a drink. Like tripping on a step. As if betraying your own flesh and blood was something so simple.
The lights blurred, fading into a dull haze—just like the warmth in Skylar's eyes, turning to frost. Like the first chill of winter stealing the last breath of autumn.
She scanned the hall, locking eyes with each guest, memorizing their faces—carving their expressions into the depths of her mind.
The pity. The amusement. The indifference.
Each look was a knife to her soul.
Burning them into her memory like scars that would never fade.
Tears continued to spill down her cheeks. She looked at the floor, but it was the same. It didn't change when she needed it to.
It was true.
Monsters aren't born. They're made.
Her brother's smirk. Her father's unreadable face. Her mother's cold eyes. Her sister's false tears. Ethan's pale, guilty expression.
The whispers ceased.
Then a loud laugh rang through the air—mocking, twisting the knife deeper.
Skylar turned, her breath hitching as she met her brother's gaze. He was smiling.
Smiling as if her suffering was the grandest entertainment he had ever seen.
"Oh, come on, Skylar," Mark drawled, amusement lacing his tone. "You didn't actually think this was your wedding, did you?"
He savored the despair. To him, her tears were priceless gems.
Standing with his arms crossed, a slow smirk curved his lips. His dark eyes gleamed—not in shock, but in amusement.
Like he had expected this.
Like he had been waiting for it.
His voice, smooth and razor-sharp, cut her apart.
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Skylar… why the tears?" He tilted his head mockingly. "It's just a simple question."
The floor suddenly vanished beneath her.
A sickening realization coiled around her throat.
They knew.
They all knew.
Phoebe's tears weren't guilt. They were embarrassment. An act.
Mark's amusement wasn't surprise. It was satisfaction.
Her mother and father weren't shocked.
Because they had already made their choice.
They had chosen Phoebe.
The walls pressed in. Her breath hitched. The air grew thicker each second, suffocating.
The scent of roses thickened, turning cloying—like spoiled perfume drowning the air.
The chandelier overhead blurred, its golden glow warping and twisting, the whole room distorting like a fever dream.
A high-pitched ringing screamed in her ears, drowning out the murmurs, the gasps—even the frantic hammering of her own heart.
For the first time in her life, she felt like an outsider in her own family.
And the worst feeling isn't being lonely.
It's being forgotten by someone you could never forget.
A murmur swept through the guests, whispers growing into a relentless storm.
"Her own sister? Unbelievable."
"What a disgrace."
"I'd die if that happened to me."
Skylar felt the color drain from her face. The weight of a hundred eyes crashed onto her, pressing her down.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Her throat was dry. Raw.
Her knees wobbled, the world tilting beneath her feet. Desperate, she reached out—for something, for someone.
A hand brushed hers. A fleeting warmth.
Hope flared—fragile, desperate.
Then it was gone.
Cold. Absent.
No one reached for her.
No one would catch her.
The last thing she felt was the cold, unforgiving floor as her body collapsed.
Her vision darkened at the edges.
The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was Phoebe stepping toward Ethan, slipping her hand into his.
As if this had been their wedding all along.
As if Skylar had never been the bride.
Just a corpse, dressed in white, lowered into the grave of her love.
She was the bride.
But they had buried her instead.
And then—everything turned black.