Chapter 210: Vow

Adam had stumbled upon her in his basement purely by accident when we first arrived in town, and out of sheer pity, he hadn’t kicked her out onto the street. She had the incredible nerve to beg him for help, remembering from my trial that his nephew worked at the central registry where all soulmate marks were logged into the national database. Her mark was clearly visible on her inner wrist: a delicate compass with its needle pointing steadfastly north.

Adam possessed a legendary memory, sharpened by decades as a surgeon and his ongoing practice while personally overseeing my health and Matthias’s development. Lately, he and Alan had grown suspiciously close as well.

Once we managed to obtain photos of Raymond—including one from a high-society gala where he stood with his arm extended, clutching a flute of champagne with his tattoo in plain view—Adam brought everything to Sayan and me.

Imagine our collective shock when we searched the restricted database, pulled up his recorded mark, and brought in the weathered, ragged Greta to cross-reference the facts.

The poor, foolish woman was currently convinced that Sayan was her true mate. She had no idea that today she would come face-to-face with her real mate, nor that her elegant sleeveless gown had been chosen with calculated intent. He would have no choice but to see the mark—and his true mate—standing right in the arms of another man.

Vengeance promised to be exquisitely sweet.

The car door swung open smoothly. Casting aside all internal dread, I stole one final glance in the rearview mirror to check my flawless makeup and adjusted the thin strap of my dress. My swept-up hair fully exposed the permanent mark etched into my neck. Crimson heels and a matching bold lipstick mirrored the exact shade of the paired mate mark on my hand and Magnus’s. Every detail had been chosen with ruthless precision—even my bouquet. Everything combined into a single, striking statement that screamed our right to be together.

Stepping out of the vehicle into a barrage of blinding camera flashes, I deliberately bypassed my warm coat. I smoothed the long, flowing skirt of my white wedding dress as it billowed in the icy wind, lifted my chin high, and marched toward the courthouse steps with the flowers resting securely in my arm.

For a split second, the journalists fell dead silent, stunned into stillness, before the crowd exploded into a deafening roar.

We had strategically packed the perimeter with bribed bloggers and influential journalists imported from the capital and abroad. Every single person we personally invited had secretly accepted a massive payout and signed an ironclad non-disclosure agreement.

I didn’t know the exact sum paid to buy their silence, but it certainly hadn’t come cheap. Still, they were going to have to pull off monumental journalistic gymnastics to outshine the corrupt hacks previously bought off by the city governor.

Today was going to trigger a seismic shift. Certain political figures stood to lose far more in this earthquake than they ever could have gained from our defeat.

The heavy thud of car doors slamming shut echoed from the parking lot behind me, but I didn’t bother turning around. The entire council was marching in step behind me, heading toward this hearing—the first and last of its kind.

The rumble of the crowd grew louder with every step.

The snow crunched beneath my red heels like shattered glass. Wisps of steam curled from my lips, yet I felt no cold. An inner fire coiled like a venomous serpent across my burning skin, vaporizing every stray snowflake the instant it touched me.

Stepping through the grand doors, we swept confidently through the dense crowd of civil servants filling the lobby. The session was set to begin in precisely one minute, and every bureaucrat had gathered purely out of morbid curiosity. Looking at their wide-eyed expressions, they were utterly shocked—and not even remotely disappointed—by the spectacle unfolding before them.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I’d follow you through hell and turn back time,

No soul alive can claim what’s rightfully mine.

The heavy courtroom doors groaned open. Dozens of hostile, icy gazes raked across my exposed throat like serrated blades, but amid the sea of dull, faceless shadows, only a single point of light truly existed.

I’ll shatter every lock, rip down each wall that binds,

For life without your touch is grief of darkest kinds.

It was the reinforced steel cage holding my Alpha. He wore a simple black t-shirt and dark trousers, his thick wrists bound in the heavy iron of a corrupted law... yet boiling, incandescent mercury burned deep within his grey eyes.

Your every scar, your every breath, forever locked in mine,

Two souls collided, forged as one, entwined by fate’s design.

The words of the wedding vow I had composed during last night’s sleepless hours left a bitter ash on my tongue.

Stepping into the courtroom felt like the official declaration of war. But we had known precisely what we were walking into—no one had invited us to sign a peaceful treaty.

They had openly declared war on us, assuming that without the pack’s Alpha present, no one would be left to mount a fierce, sharp-toothed defense.

"Ahem. Miss Pharean, your choice of attire is exceedingly unorthodox for a court hearing," the rasping, displeased voice of the elderly judge snapped me out of the storm raging in my mate’s eyes, directing my focus up toward the bench.

"I didn’t expect to have much free time to get ready after the verdict," I replied, giving an innocent shrug as I took my seat in the front row.

Crossing my legs, I completely ignored the hungry, scandalized stares of the jury fixated on my bare skin and the provocative crimson garter encircling my thigh. Let them gawk; let them know exactly who would be taking it off tonight.

"Ready for what?" Raymond Leone asked in a low, gravelly voice from across the room, his eyes glued to my legs.

"For our wedding, of course. Shall we begin? The priest is expecting Magnus Rainn and me at the altar in two hours, and I have absolutely no intention of being late to my own wedding."

In the dead silence that followed, a loud, distinct snap echoed through the courtroom as the plastic pen in the governor’s long fingers shattered. A cold shudder ran down my spine at the sheer density of malice swirling inside the man’s pitch-black eyes.