Alpha's Regret: Marked By The Lycan King

Estelle’s POV

“You can’t be serious,” Vivian sputtered, her face growing redder by the second. “She can’t just—”

“Vivian.”

The sharp voice cut through the crowd like a blade. Three young women approached us, their expressions carefully neutral but their body language screaming discomfort. They wore the colors of various packs.

I acknowledged them with a slight nod, though I had no idea who they were.

The tallest of the three, a brunette, stepped forward. “Vivian, perhaps we should move away from here.”

“I’m not done—” Vivian started.

“Yes, you are,” the brunette interrupted firmly. “Luna Estelle, please accept our apologies for this... misunderstanding.”

I studied the three women more carefully. They didn’t seem to be acting out of politeness, but rather fear. They were terrified of offending me, or more accurately, terrified of offending the Blackmoon Pack.

They knew exactly what sort of power I represented.

“There’s no need to apologize for someone else’s actions,” I replied evenly.

The second woman, a blonde who seemed the most nervous out of all four women, tugged at Vivian’s arm. “Your parents are watching.”

All of us turned simultaneously toward the far side of the ballroom. Even through the crowd and the dim lighting, it was impossible to miss the two figures standing rigidly near the refreshment tables.

Alpha Matthew Hart of the Scarletfang Pack stood with his arms crossed, his expression thunderous even from this distance. Beside him, his mate looked equally displeased, her posture radiating disappointment and barely contained fury.

Vivian’s face went from red to pale in seconds. “Oh no.”

“They’ve been watching for several minutes,” the third woman added quietly. “Since before you... fell.”

The implications hit Vivian like a physical blow. Her parents had witnessed the entire spectacle—her stepping on my dress, her refusal to move, and ultimately her tumbling to the floor after I pushed her.

“This is all your fault,” Vivian whispered, but the venom had drained from her voice. Now she just sounded miserable.

“My fault that you decided to start a public confrontation?” I adjusted Caleb’s jacket around my waist, grateful for his quick thinking. “My fault that you chose to damage my dress rather than have a civilized conversation?”

“Vivian,” the brunette said urgently, “we need to go. Now. Before this gets any worse.”

“But I haven’t—” Vivian’s protest died as she looked around at the crowd still watching us. Some people had started to disperse, but plenty of curious eyes remained fixed on our little drama.

“Remember,” the blonde added in a whisper that wasn’t quite quiet enough, “Zayne Silvius might still be here somewhere. You don’t want him to hear about this.”

The transformation in Vivian was instantaneous. The name seemed to snap something awake in her.

“Zayne,” she breathed, scanning the crowd desperately. “Is he here? Did he see?”

I felt something twist in my stomach at the naked hope in her voice. The way she said his name was like a prayer or a wish she’d been hoarding for years.

“We haven’t seen him yet,” the third woman replied. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t watching from somewhere we couldn’t see.”

Vivian’s face cycled through several emotions—hope, fear, calculation, and finally something that looked almost like heartbreak.

Just then, a ripple of excitement swept across the dance floor. The energy in the room shifted dramatically, conversations pausing mid-sentence as heads turned toward the center of the ballroom.

The lights dimmed around the edges of the room, leaving the dance floor bathed in golden illumination.

And there, as if summoned by our conversation, stood Zayne.

My breath caught in my throat. He looked magnificent in his formal attire, the dark navy fabric of his suit making his silver hair seem to glow under the lights. Even with his mask, there was no mistaking the commanding presence that seemed to draw every eye in the room.

But he wasn’t alone.

Rosalind Vurbont stood beside him, a radiant smile on her face.

The crowd seemed to hold its breath as Zayne extended his hand to Rosalind. She accepted it with a smile that was visible even from our distance, and they moved into the center of the dance floor.

“Oh my god,” someone near us whispered. “It’s really him.”

“And Miss Rosalind,” another voice added. “Look how perfect they look together.”

The whispers started up all around us as Zayne and Rosalind began to dance. Their movements were flawless, synchronized in a way that spoke of either extensive practice or natural compatibility.

“I heard the rumors, but seeing it...”

“She must be the one. Why else would he choose her for the first dance?”

“The Lycan Queen. Can you imagine?”

“I guess that means the rest of us are out of luck.”

Each whispered comment felt like a small cut. I watched Zayne guide Rosalind through the steps, his hand at her waist, his attention seemingly focused entirely on her.

This was what everyone expected and wanted to see. The powerful Lycan King with his perfect noble bride, dancing their way toward a political alliance that would benefit everyone.

Everyone except me.

I forced myself to keep my expression neutral, even though something inside me felt like it was cracking. This was ridiculous. I had no claim on Zayne. Our engagement was a business proposal.

“Well,” Vivian said suddenly, her voice sharp with bitter satisfaction. “I suppose that settles that.”

I turned to look at her, noting the complicated expression on her face. She looked like someone who had just watched her dreams crumble, but was determined to take someone else down with her.

“Settles what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Vivian’s smile was cruel and self-deprecating at the same time. “I was wrong about you this whole time, wasn’t I? Zayne really isn’t interested in you after all.”