Chapter 9: Unraveled

MAEVE

Five days after the wedding… I'm counting the days like I got a life sentence.

I've done nothing but sit in this stupidly luxurious room—too comfortable to feel real, too suffocating to feel like mine. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or who I'm supposed to be now. Jean had stopped by, just after Liam's awkward visit, telling me it was best if I kept out of sight. Her words still grated in my head: Don't draw attention to yourself. Let things settle. As if I could settle into any of this.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I sat, staring at the polished floors, browsing through books, hoping to find some answers for this insanity..Feeling trapped in this over-the-top cage. I was so close to saying "screw Jean" and marching out of this room—maybe even finding Siobhan to ask why she hadn't come to see me yet. And also, while I'm at it, I probably should ask if she found my phone because I'm pretty sure I left it in the tent before they stuffed me into the white dress of doom. 

I could barely sit still, ready to storm out, when —

Siobhan burst into the room like a tornado, her boots clacking against the hardwood floor with each heavy step. She doesn't wait for me to say a word, barely even glances at me before she starts pacing back and forth in front of me. It's like she's a tightly coiled spring, ready to explode at any second.

I sit there, my teacup halfway to my lips, books and scrolls thrown all around me, feeling a mixture of relief and dread. Relief because, well, it's Siobhan. My sister, my rock, the one person who can usually make sense of the chaos in my life. And now it got pretty messed UP. Dread, because when Siobhan looks like this—like she's about to set fire to the world—it usually means something has gone horribly wrong. And well… In this case, she is right. So terribly right.

"Maeve," she snaps, finally coming to a stop in front of me, hands on her hips, eyes blazing with fury. "What the hell are you doing here? And why the hell did they—" She gestures wildly to the rest of the house, or maybe the entire compound, "—throw you into this shithole?"

Ah, there it is. The fire's been lit, and we're just seconds away from the explosion. I can't say I didn't see it coming, but still, hearing it out loud has a way of bringing it all back, the whirlwind of the past six days crashing down on me like a wave I can't seem to swim out from under.

I place the teacup down carefully, as if moving too quickly will set her off again. "Siobhan, look, I don't like it either, but it could have been worse... I mean–"

"Don't 'Siobhan' me!" she cuts in, eyes narrowing at me like I'm one of those wolves she's about to take down. "You're living in a pack house with wolves. You're sharing a suite with Ronan Westwood, Alpha of the freaking West Coast, because they shoved you into Isabelle's wedding dress and tied you to him with magical bullshit that wasn't meant for you. How is this not a problem, Maeve?"

She's pacing again, muttering under her breath in what I can only assume is a string of curses aimed at Ronan, Jean, and probably the entire Westwood bloodline. The air feels tight, like she's sucking the oxygen out of the room with pure, unfiltered rage.

"It's... complicated," I finally say, but before she can fire off that very obvious observation, I hold up a hand. "And yes, before you say anything, I know it's the biggest understatement of the century. But hear me out." She's milliseconds away from blowing up—I can practically see the explosion coming—and I'm not about to stand in the blast zone.

 She's milliseconds away from blowing up—I can practically see the explosion coming—and I'm not about to stand in the blast zone.

"I know it. You know it. Hell, everyone knows I called planning this entire event complicated when we had to deal with witches, werewolves, and basically anyone with a pulse... or no pulse. But these past six days? Let me break it down for you: I married my boyfriend's brother, my life did a full 180, my new, loving mother-in-law decided to lock me in this gilded cage for fun, and now I'm stuck searching for answers to questions I don't even know how to ask." I pause, catching my breath and pointing to the books all around me. "Oh, and by the way, do you have my phone? Because I'm pretty sure I left it in the tent before they stuffed me into that bridal straightjacket."

Siobhan's expression is unreadable, but I can tell I've stalled her rage—for now. I press on. "Oh, and let's not forget about the fun little wedding gift I picked up—y'know, the visions that won't quit. So yeah, I'd say things are just a little complicated."

Truth is, I felt like my head was spinning from the moment I was shoved into that wedding dress. It's like someone hit me over the head with a rock at the altar, and then kept hitting and hitting with every new revelation. Sitting here, in this oversized mansion full of people I barely know, people who are supposed to be "mine" now, like a family—it's all surreal, like a bad dream I haven't managed to wake up from.

I don't recognize my life. Not really.

For the past five days, since the wedding, I've done nothing. Nothing but sit in that damn study—which has now become my bedroom—staring at the same four walls, locked away from the world. I've spent hours browsing through books, searching for answers, but I haven't got a clue where to even start. Wondering, over and over, what the hell I've gotten myself into.

But I should be doing something. I mean, that's what normal, rational people do, right? They investigate, call people, ask questions, demand answers. Yeah, Maeve, about that—losing your phone at a time like this? Really top-notch planning. Gold star for you. It's like I'm trapped in this ridiculous castle, a prisoner in my own life, locked away in a tower, staring at these same suffocating four walls. Waiting.

For what, exactly? A fairy godmother to pop out of nowhere and explain the terms and conditions of this magical prison sentence? Yeah, right. Maybe she'll bring a glass slipper while she's at it. 

I'd Google it, but let's be honest, "human gets weird powers after being forced to take part in a magical wedding ritual during a Red Moon" probably wouldn't get me many hits. Unless there's a subreddit for that kind of thing, which honestly wouldn't surprise me at this point.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm stuck. And that's not me. I've always been someone who moved forward, who dealt with the chaos, who fixed problems. But now? I don't even know where to start.

Siobhan's pacing pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink, trying to shake off the fog that's been hanging over me.

"Complicated?" Her voice slices through the air, bouncing off the high ceilings of this absurdly extravagant living room. I still haven't figured out how to be comfortable in this place—like the velvet couches and crystal chandeliers are mocking me. "Maeve, you're just a wedding planner! You don't belong here. You definitely don't belong with the fucking Alpha of the entire West Coast, and you sure as hell don't belong in the middle of all this magic that could—let's be honest—get you killed."

There it is, the explosion. The part no one wants to say out loud. But she just did.

"I know, Siobhan. I know. And trust me, I'm freaked out too. But right now, you're the only person I can fully trust, so I really need you to stop yelling the obvious and help me figure this out. Because I sure as hell don't want this to get any of us killed."

I wince, and that's all it takes for Siobhan to stop pacing, her eyes going wide as if she's suddenly realized the weight of my words. "Wait," she says slowly, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. "Maeve... don't tell me you're still pretending. We both know you're not okay. You haven't been since the vision."

Of course, she knows. She was right there when it happened—when I had my first vision of Isabelle, bloody and terrified. She'd held me as I crumpled to the ground, shaking and gasping for breath, while an image of death and darkness took over my mind. Siobhan already knows I'm not okay, and no amount of pretending is going to convince her otherwise.

But pretending is all I've been doing since the moment I put on that damn wedding dress. Ever since Isabelle disappeared and left me standing in her place at the altar, I've been stuck in a role I never asked for. I've been avoiding the truth—that I'm tethered to Ronan, to this pack, by magic I don't understand and can't control. And maybe... maybe I'm avoiding the fact that I'm afraid of what's happening to me.

"I told him," I say, my voice soft but steady. I don't need to say his name—Siobhan knows exactly who I'm talking about. "But only part of it. I still don't know who I can fully trust in this place. And it's not like I could reach out to you these past five days. Right now, I'm fine, really. Not hurt or anything. Just... really fucking overwhelmed with all of this."

"Overwhelmed?" Siobhan steps closer, dropping onto the couch beside me, her hands finding mine. Her grip is tight, fierce in that protective way that's always been her signature. The anger she walked in with starts to fade, replaced by something softer, more familiar. "Maeve, you shouldn't be here. None of this should have happened. This whole thing—the wedding, the rituals—it's wrong. They should've stopped the second it was clear you were standing there instead of Isabelle."

She says it with such certainty, like this whole disaster could've just been undone with a snap of the fingers. 

"We both know it doesn't work that way," not when you're standing in front of a hundred supernatural guests who are watching your every move. When Isabelle disappeared, there wasn't a choice.The wedding couldn't be called off, not without risking war between the factions. That's why I had to step into her place. To stop everything from falling apart.

But the rituals? That's a different story.