I Married The Villain Alpha

Annalise's POV

"Your Grace…" Roselle's soft voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I sat before the mirror, my reflection a stranger. A blue gown, more luxurious than I'd dared to dream, adorned me, its fabric shimmering with the light.

Precious stones—some matching my eyes, others the deep hue of the dress—glinted in the intricate jewelry that weighed down my neck and ears. My hair was styled in an elaborate bun, with loose curls framing my face delicately.

"Hm?" I managed to respond, my voice distant.

"We're finished with your makeup," Selene chimed in, a proud smile curving her lips. She exchanged an excited glance with Roselle, who was practically beaming.

I forced my gaze back to the reflection. It stared back at me, a hauntingly beautiful façade that made my stomach churn. My heart felt heavy, my mind unable to escape the lingering shadows of the nightmare I'd had. No—nightmare wasn't the right word. It felt like a reminder, a cruel echo of the truth I tried so desperately to bury.

I didn't belong here.

The details of the dream blurred at the edges, but Iris's accusing eyes were vivid enough to make my chest ache. I tried to recall the specifics of her expression, but my memory, as always, failed me. It felt like the universe itself was reminding me: I wasn't Iris, I was a miserable, hollow thirty-year-old, clinging to a second chance I wasn't sure I deserved.

I clenched my hands together, my nails biting into my palms as I fought against the dread rising within me. And Vincent… His presence only made it worse. Always there, his touch heavy and suffocating, his dominance inescapable. He forced himself into every moment, every thought, and Iris's wolf—her traitorous wolf—always seemed ready to yield to him.

Frustration gnawed at the edges of my mind. I felt powerless, a leaf caught in a storm. I'd promised myself an adventurous life, a chance to make this existence worthwhile.

But now, every shred of hope, joy, or excitement had evaporated, leaving only the brittle shell of who I truly was. The real Annalise was clawing her way back—no, I was. The pathetic, empty version of me that I couldn't escape even after dying once.

In the midst of my swirling thoughts, a face surfaced in my mind, cutting through the storm like a lifeline. His words, his steady presence, the faint glow in his eyes every time they met mine—it all eased the suffocating weight in my chest.

The first time I saw those eyes, I thought they carried only cold detachment, a frozen abyss that mirrored my own emptiness. But I had been wrong. Somehow, they made me feel warm, like I wasn't entirely alone.

Atlas.

I couldn't decipher where he stood in the tangled web of this story I was trapped in, but I kept circling back to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. My attempts to fully understand him had led nowhere; he was a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Yet, despite the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of hope I clung to. A hope that he could see me, not as the hollow shell I am turning to be again, but as something worth saving.

Maybe it was okay to rely on him… to trust him. Maybe he could be the one to pull me from this personal hell I was drowning in.

"Your Grace…" Roselle's worried tone pierced the haze again. "Are you still feeling sick?" she asked. I blinked rapidly, startled to realize my cheeks were wet. Tears had fallen without me noticing.

"I… I'm fine," I lied, my voice trembling as I hurried to pat my face dry. But Roselle was already at my side, dabbing gently with a handkerchief.

"It's okay, Your Grace. I'll take care of it," she offered, her eyes soft with concern.

"If you're still feeling unwell, we can send word to the King that you won't be attending," Selene suggested, her voice gentle but firm.

"No!" I blurted out, shaking my head. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'll attend." My voice was firmer this time, leaving no room for argument. Vincent wouldn't listen to such excuses anyway.

Selene and Roselle exchanged glances, their unease evident, but they nodded in agreement. As they stepped back, giving me space, I stared once more at the reflection in the mirror. The dread still lingered, clawing at my insides, but I shoved it down.

If I couldn't find peace, I would settle for survival—for now and today would determine that.

I stumbled slightly as I rose, the weight of the dress dragging me down like a physical manifestation of the burdens I carried. Roselle and Selene quickly steadied me and lead me out.

The carriage ride to the main palace was a blur, my mind consumed by the growing dread that clawed at my insides.

The palace was alive with movement, laughter, and an air of sophistication that only deepened my unease. As I was ushered by Richard through a separate entrance, my heart clenched at the sight of Vincent standing at the center of the hallway, his golden attire accentuating his build and screaming royalty.

His commanding presence towered over a group of unfamiliar faces. Their conversation seemed serious until Vincent's gaze shifted.

He noticed me.

His expression stilled for a fraction of a second, his eyes raking over me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. Then, his lips curled into a smirk that I knew too well—a blend of satisfaction and something far darker.

The men around him dispersed with subtle bows, leaving us alone in a bubble of tension. Vincent's strides were deliberate as he approached, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I was wondering how long I'd have to wait before dragging you out myself," he said, his voice low and smooth, but his words carried an unmistakable edge.

"Would that have pleased you?" I shot back, my tone firmer than I felt.

His smirk deepened. "Immensely."

Before I could react, his hands found my waist, pulling me closer than was necessary. His grip was firm, possessive, as though reminding me who held the power here.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. The softness of the words clashed with the smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled back to study me.

I said nothing, my lips pressing into a thin line as I shot him a subtle glare. But as always, he found amusement in my resistance.

"Let's not keep our subjects waiting," he said, releasing my waist but taking my hand instead. His fingers curled around mine, firm and unyielding, as he began to lead me forward.

"You make it sound as if I had a choice," I muttered under my breath.

He paused, turning to look at me with a raised brow. "You always have a choice," he said, his tone deceptively light. "You just know better than to take the wrong one."

The warning was subtle but clear. I didn't respond, letting the silence hang heavy between us as he continued to guide me inside.