Chapter 13: Playing the Part

MAEVE

Sitting at a vanity table I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the image of someone I barely recognized. I wasn't Maeve Halloran anymore. Now I was Maeve Westwood. 

Funny, I'd imagined that name attached to me one day, but I always thought it would happen by marrying Liam, not Ronan. How the hell did this happen? 

Of course, I knew how it happened—Jean had spun her web of lies, wrapped it all up in a pretty bow, and tossed me right into the middle of it. The same Jean who used to be part of the Coven before she married Ronan and Liam's father, the former Alpha. Now I was supposed to sell the world on this ridiculous narrative.

The one where Ronan and I had fallen in love during the months of wedding planning. Right. 

Never mind the fact that I had been planning this wedding for Ronan and Isabelle, not for myself. That minor detail was conveniently left out of Jean's grand political scheme. And whether or not Jean was still secretly pulling strings for the Coven, her brilliant ideas hadn't exactly made life easier for anyone—especially me.

I let out a breath, trying to ground myself. I had to keep it together. Freaking out wouldn't help. Not now. I was about to stand beside Ronan, my supposed new husband and love of my fucking life, and lie through my teeth in front of every supernatural leader, pack member, and reporter who'd come to feast on this scandal like hyenas.

A knock sounded at the door, and it swung open to reveal Ronan, looking as stoic as ever. That should have been reassuring—his composure, his strength. But the storm brewing in his eyes told me he was two seconds away from exploding.

"This isn't happening," he growled, crossing the room with fury simmering beneath the surface.

I turned slowly in my chair, meeting his gaze head-on. He knew exactly what was happening. Jean had already set everything in motion, and there was no stopping it now. He may have been the Alpha, but his mother was the one running the show. 

She had spun her web—crafting this ridiculous love story about us while showing Isabelle as a heartbroken recluse —and now the press had eaten it up, turning us into their new headline.

"Oh, it's happening," I said flatly, standing up. "Unless you've convinced Jean to take it all back, we're stuck with this."

Ronan's jaw tightened. He knew there was no undoing it. His mother had made sure of that.

I folded my arms, staring him down. "How did she even get away with it? You're the Alpha, not her."

His expression hardened further, the frustration shifting. "She listens to me about as much as you do," he said, his voice edged with bitterness. "She's been playing politics longer than I've been alive. I trusted she knew what she was doing. Clearly, I was wrong."

Ronan clenched his jaw so hard that I was surprised it didn't crack. He was silent for a moment, clearly weighing how much he hated everything about this situation. Then, finally, he muttered, "It was supposed to be temporary. You were never supposed to be... public."

"Yeah, well, temporary's dead," I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. "Jean made sure of that." I could feel the anger bubbling up, but I kept my voice calm. "We're in this now, whether we like it or not. So what are we going to do about it?"

Ronan stared at me, his gaze still full of tension, but something flickered behind his eyes—something that almost looked like defeat. Slowly, he nodded. "We deal with it. But Jean crossed a line."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Jean doesn't just cross lines— she uses them to play hopscotch. You think she's losing sleep over this? The Coven's loving every second of it. They've got their perfect little narrative, and we're the main attraction." I shook my head, frustration biting at the edges of my voice. "Face it, Ronan. Everyone's using us, and for what? I still don't even know what the hell they really want from us."

Ronan didn't reply. He didn't have to. We both knew that we weren't just pawns in this game. We were the whole damn board.

***

I walked onto the stage, the flash of cameras blinding me for a moment. It felt like walking into a den of wolves. Fitting, really. Only these wolves weren't after blood—they were after a story, and I was the headliner. 

I glanced to my left, where Ronan stood, his face an unreadable mask of Alpha perfection. His dark hair, slightly too long and tousled, framed his sharp features, and the beard that traced his jawline only added to his brooding, untouchable presence. He looked every bit the leader, solid and composed, while my insides were twisting into knots.

Showtime.

I cleared my throat and leaned into the microphone, trying to keep my voice steady. "Good afternoon," I began, plastering on a polite smile. "I'm Maeve Westwood. I know that recent events have raised a lot of questions, and I won't pretend this situation is typical." I paused, letting that sink in. 

Understatement of the year.

"But Ronan and I have stepped into this new chapter together, and our focus is on the future—on protecting our community and ensuring the peace we've worked hard to maintain."

I felt every eye in the room on me, and the cameras clicked faster. This wasn't about peace or community. It was about the scandal. They all wanted to see the woman who supposedly stole Ronan's heart while his bride-to-be conveniently disappeared. 

Across the room, I saw him — Liam. He was standing against the far wall, arms crossed, his face shadowed in the dim lighting. Even from here, I could see the tension radiating off him. He looked like he wanted to tear the whole place apart, starting with me. And honestly, I couldn't blame him.

Three years together, and now I was standing on a stage, pretending to be in love with his brother. Thank God no one had figured out we'd been dating, we were very private about it - simply because we wanted to avoid this type of situations. Jean's story hadn't left room for that little tidbit, and it was probably the one thing keeping this entire situation from becoming even more of a circus.

I continued, my voice unwavering despite the anger churning in my gut. "Our focus now is ensuring the stability of our alliances. That's what's most important."

Well, that and surviving this shitshow.

"Maeve, how does the fact that you're human affect these alliances? Some might say it complicates things." One of the reporters in the front row shot up a hand.

Oh, there it was. I could feel Ronan shift beside me, tension crackling in the air. From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand twitch as if he was about to reach for the microphone. We hadn't discussed this, and I could practically feel his concern radiating off him. But I beat him to it.

I gave a small, polite smile, leaning slightly toward the mic.

"That's a fair question. Historically, alliances have been forged through political marriages between supernatural beings, yes. But sometimes, strength isn't about who can shapeshift or cast a spell—it's about who can bring fresh perspectives, practical solutions, and unity."

 I let that settle for a moment before continuing,

 "The supernatural world may be powerful, but it's also one that increasingly has to interact with the human world. Blending in, adapting, and thriving in both spaces requires understanding both sides. And who better to help bridge that gap than someone who understands what it's like to be human?"

I could see a few heads nodding in the audience, the logic landing. "Supernaturals are already moving toward integration with the human world, subtly, carefully. My perspective adds to that effort. It's not about hiding in the shadows—it's about adapting to the world as it is and ensuring we all thrive in it."

I gave one final, confident nod and stepped back from the mic. The room seemed to settle, reporters scribbling down their notes, murmurs of agreement spreading through the crowd. I glanced at Ronan again—his stance was still rigid, but that flicker of approval in his eyes was enough for now. I'd done my part.

Or so I thought.

"Mrs Westwood, one more question," a voice rang out from the back of the room, sharper and more eager than the rest. The kind that hinted at something dangerous.

I shouldn't have turned toward it, but I did.

The reporter stepped forward, his notepad clutched tightly in his hand, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. He didn't even wait for the microphone to reach him before firing his shot.

 "Mrs. Westwood, there have been whispers suggesting that before your sudden marriage to Alpha Ronan, you were romantically involved with his younger brother, Liam Westwood. Can you address these rumors? How does that past relationship impact your current role as Ronan's wife and the future of your alliances?"

The room went dead silent.