Arranged As the Lycans Bride Bonded to his Twin

Chapter 001

01.

***

To most, my boyfriend’s sister is a saintly woman, especially as she stands there, her honey-blonde hair catching the morning rays.

But to me, she’s an instrument of destruction. The only reason she visits my “filthy little hovel”—as she so lovingly calls it—is to revel in my pain and suffering.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you,” Morgan says, the bedframe groaning as she settles on the edge of my rigid mattress—a bed that once belonged to her, gifted to her years ago simply because she was my sister.

She stares at me, her smile sharp and expectant. I realize then—she’s waiting. Waiting for me to take the bait, to ask the question she so desperately wants to answer.

With a reluctant sigh, I mumble, “Tell me what?”

Her grin sharpens, eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey.

“Congratulations. You’re getting married!”

For a moment, I wonder, Does she not realize that I’m dating her brother?

I remember the promise she made the first day Matt introduced us—that she would treat me like her own little sister.

Or maybe, just maybe, the Moon Goddess has finally granted one of my many wishes and driven her insane.

But aside from that ridiculous statement, she looks just as she always does.

“What?”

“Yes, silly! I had Mom and Dad keep it a secret from you as a surprise. And well… aren’t you surprised?”

I nod, though mostly out of confusion, hoping she’ll keep talking.

“And to a very nice man too. Oh, you’ll like him,” she says with a chuckle—the same amused sound she makes whenever I trip and fall.

What in the Goddess’ name is she even talking about?

I nod again, but it seems she’s finished with me.

Humming to herself, she gets up and flounces away, leaving me more confused than before.

Morgan isn’t above spinning hurtful lies—in fact, it’s one of her favorite pastimes.

Yet, despite her history of fabricating cruel stories, a seed of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. A voice in the back of my mind urges me to investigate further.

I sigh, stand, and make my way to the house.

“Look out!”

I barely step aside in time to avoid being bowled over by a woman rushing through the door I was standing in front of, a large bundle of curtains in her arms.

I follow her inside, and immediately, unease coils in my stomach. The house is in absolute disarray, a flurry of activity everywhere.

Professional cleaners bustle about—a sight I’ve never witnessed before, as I’m usually the one who handles all the cleaning. In the kitchen, people prepare food, while others dust every nook and cranny, even those hidden spots I’ve often overlooked.

I ascend the stairs, and through the ajar door, I notice my step-parents, Drake and Jenny, seated and engrossed in a film.

Upon seeing me, Jenny remarks, “Oh good, Morgan has informed you then?”

My stepfather doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, but my mother rises, and a wave of queasiness washes over me.

This no longer feels like a joke.

“Here,” she says, grabbing a dress from the floor and tossing it at my face.

It’s one of hers—the same dress she always claims she’s going to throw out because its colors are fading.