Gemini of the Shifter Realm

Chapter 39 The Wedding Dinner

Zoe Lawson P.O.V

I remember the annual ball we attended like it was yesterday. I had chosen a stunning purple gown, embracing every bit of glamour and elegance it offered. It was my way of basking in the spotlight, reveling in the joy of the event. But as I floated into the room, hoping for admiration, Theodore's criticism cut through my excitement. Our styles clashed spectacularly—his preference for subtlety against my love for the extravagant.

The ball wasn't just a fashion showdown; it was a moment that crystallized our differences. The highlight of the evening, a photobooth beckoning with its promise of captured memories, seemed like a chance to bridge the gap between us. I eagerly suggested, "Let's take a picture together," envisioning a joyous snapshot of our shared experience.

But his refusal was a blow. "I'm just not comfortable with taking photos," he said, his voice carrying an odd mix of discomfort and detachment. His reason didn't make much sense to me—"You're too pretty for me to stand next to; it makes me feel self-conscious," he added, his words failing to align with the reality I saw.

I stood there, grappling with a blend of hurt and confusion. His explanation seemed feeble, especially since he had no qualms about posing with friends for countless photos. I tried to understand, pleading, "I just wanted a picture with the person I love." My words felt like they hung in the air, unanswered and unacknowledged.

As the night wore on, the photobooth's allure faded into the background, and with it, my hopes for a shared memory. His refusal to take that simple photo felt like a metaphor for the barriers growing between us. Despite my best efforts to empathize, I couldn't shake the feeling of being left out, left with only the ghost of what could have been—a tangible reminder of our fractured connection and the missed opportunities to capture our love.

In the end, it wasn't just about a photograph; it was about the shared moments and the desire to hold onto them. The camera lens never captured the picture we could have had, leaving behind only a poignant reminder of a night where our differences were laid bare and the echoes of what we could have shared.

Lorraine Tepes P.O.V

Seated at the long table, each person was a character in a complex drama: my mother, Lucinda with her red wedding gown, Cassius, myself, and the ever-enigmatic Adrian. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken secrets and a palpable tension that seemed to wrap around us like a shroud.

My father's blood-red eyes, sharp and penetrating, met mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "So, since no one is acknowledging the elephant in the room," he began, his voice carrying a spectral weight, "why did your younger sister get married before you?"

I met his gaze, striving to maintain my composure. "The person I was betrothed to canceled our engagement." My voice was steady, but I could feel the weight of his scrutiny.

"He canceled the engagement?" The dangerous flicker of fury in his eyes was unmistakable.

"He canceled my daughter's engagement?" A mirthless chuckle escaped him, and before I could react, he grabbed a chalice from the table. His hands trembled with a barely contained rage as he studied the delicate design before hurling it against the wall. The crash of shattering glass echoed through the room, jolting us all. "I will have their whole family drained," he vowed, his voice a chilling promise of vengeance.

"No," my mother's voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering. She stood, her chair scraping against the floor as she faced him. The defiance in her stance was a stark contrast to the fear that gripped the rest of us.

"You," he snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "have no power over me." His sneer was a jagged reminder of their fraught past, filled with the bitterness of old betrayals. He remained blissfully unaware of the dormant force—Lucifer—that now lingered in our midst.

Adrian, ever the stalwart protector, rose from his seat with a clatter, his voice firm and unyielding. "You do not disrespect her like that!" His outburst was a shield against the storm brewing in my father's eyes.

My father's scornful laugh was dismissive. "With her betrayal," he sneered, "she doesn't deserve respect."

His gaze swept across the room, a predatory glint in his eyes. "However, something has been brewing here while I was away. Care to share the recipe?" The silence that followed was heavy, each of us grappling with our own guarded secrets.

"Before I uncover the ingredients myself?" His threat was a dark promise, cloaked in casual menace.

"It's under control," I said, trying to inject confidence into my words. But the skepticism in his raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

"Under control?" His tone dripped with disbelief. The sudden shift in focus toward a wolf's presence intensified the tension.

"We made peace with them," my mother said, her voice calm but firm.

"That's not what I've heard," he countered, his skepticism slicing through her attempt at reassurance.

"Trust me," he said ominously, "there won't be peace during the Red Moon." His words hung in the air like a foreboding shadow, casting an unsettling premonition over the room.

Zoe Lawson P.O.V

I saw him again, of course. It was outside the classroom, the place where I least expected to cross paths with him. When our eyes met, a jolt of surprise shot through me. I was rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. He looked just as stunned, and for a brief, maddening second, it felt like time had frozen around us.

But then, instinct took over. I quickly averted my gaze, focusing on the distant corridor, while he, looking equally disoriented, turned and walked away briskly. The space between us seemed to stretch infinitely, but my heart pounded with a fierce rhythm, as if it were trying to break free.

Did I handle it right? Was it the correct response to look away and avoid acknowledging him? I wondered if a simple smile and a wave might have been better—something to ease the awkwardness and show that I was okay, even if I wasn't. Instead, I chose silence, letting him slip away into the distance.

My mind raced with questions. Had he already moved on? Was he seeing someone else now? I had deleted my Bumble account in a fit of panic, terrified of stumbling upon his profile and seeing him with someone new. The thought of it was unbearable, like a knife twisting in my chest. I couldn't afford to be consumed by thoughts of his personal life; not if I wanted to focus on surviving medical school.

I needed to keep my distance, not just from him physically but emotionally. It was the only way I could maintain my sanity and continue with my studies. Knowing that I had to shut off those intrusive thoughts, I pushed the memory of our brief encounter to the back of my mind, resolved to focus on the tasks ahead.