Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride

Emilia’s POV

"Where’s your mother?"

I slid into the seat across from Scott. This was supposed to be Claudine’s dinner, not his.

Scott gave me an apologetic smile. "She had a last-minute appointment she couldn’t miss. She asked me to come in her place."

I raised an eyebrow. "She could’ve just called to reschedule. This dinner wasn’t mandatory."

"Why? Is it because of me?" His tone was light, but his eyes stayed careful.

I paused. "No. I just thought you’d be too busy."

"I’m not busy at all." He leaned back, relaxed. "Actually, I haven’t had a meal with you in a while. I’ve been looking forward to this."

I sighed. There was no winning with him. "Fine. Let’s order. My treat this time."

Scott grinned. "You’re treating? Look at you, the Luna Emilia now, not the broke college grad I used to know. I won’t hold back, then."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you have to be so obnoxious?"

"Just stating facts." His smile turned rueful. "And if I’m being obnoxious, it’s at my own expense. I’m the one who failed to make you Mrs. Hanson, after all."

He gave me a pointed look, then dropped his gaze to the menu.

The silence stretched, awkward. I shifted in my seat, hunting for a way to steer this somewhere safer.

"What do you think of Lily?" I asked, testing the water.

"She’s good at her job," Scott said without looking up.

"Do you know if she’s interested in anyone?"

"No idea. She’s never mentioned it."

"Aren’t you even a little curious who it might be?"

He shrugged and flipped a page. "Not really. People’s love lives are their own business. And it’s not me, so why would I care?"

"How can you be so sure it’s not you?"

For a reckless second I wanted to just tell him Lily had feelings for him, but I bit it back. It wasn’t my place. Best friend or not, confessing on her behalf was a line I wouldn’t cross.

Scott looked up, serious now. "Would you want a man who was in love with someone else? One who kept asking you about the woman he couldn’t have?"

"Why not?" I shot back. "You can’t control how you feel."

His eyes narrowed. "Wait. Don’t tell me she actually likes me."

"Oh, no." I waved a hand, backpedaling fast. "That was hypothetical."

So much for matchmaking. I’d just have to convince Lily to be brave and tell him herself.

Scott studied me a moment, then went back to the menu. "How have you been lately?"

The question was casual, but the weight under it wasn’t. He actually cared about the answer.

"Me? I’ve been fine."

But Abigail’s face surfaced the second I said it. That woman sat lodged in my chest like a splinter, impossible to ignore, impossible to dig out. Just thinking about her made my chest ache.

"Really?" Scott set the menu aside. "Because I heard you haven’t been fine at all."

I stiffened. "Who told you that? Lily?"

"Yes."

"Don’t listen to her. She’s being dramatic."

"I can see it myself, Emilia." His voice softened. "I’ve watched you for three years. I can tell whether you’re happy just by your eyes."

"We’re here to eat, Scott. Can we not dissect my personal life?"

I didn’t want to talk about my marriage with a man still in love with me. It felt wrong on every level.

"Some things can’t be avoided." His jaw tightened. "I’m not saying this out of jealousy, but Sebastian doesn’t match you. Before you, he loved another woman deeply. How can you be sure he’s over her? That he never thinks about her?"

My face went cold. "How do you know about that?"

"When you really care about someone, you notice everything." His gaze held steady. "I don’t talk about it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know. And I’m not bringing it up to take advantage of you. I just want you to understand I genuinely care. I’m better for you than he is, because there’s no other woman in my heart. Just you."

"Stop." The word came out sharper than I meant. "Love isn’t about being a match, Scott. It’s about how you feel. My heart doesn’t race when I’m with you. So no matter how perfect you think we’d be, it’s never going to happen."

Scott exhaled, his smile wry. "I’m used to it by now. Your rejections don’t even sting anymore." He gestured at the table. "Let’s eat."

I picked up my spoon and focused on the soup, grateful for the excuse not to talk. We ate in silence, the tension thick between us.

When we finished, Scott stood. "Come on. I’ll drive you home."

We walked out one after the other. But the second the night air hit me, something felt wrong. My chest tightened. My throat began to close.

I stopped and pressed a hand to my chest, gasping.

Scott turned, his eyes widening at the sight of me crouched on the ground. "Emilia, what’s wrong?"

"Allergy," I wheezed. "I think there was mustard in the food."

"Mustard?" Scott paled. He spun around and shouted for the manager.

The manager hurried over, alarmed. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Was there mustard in any of the dishes we just ate?" Scott demanded.

The manager went to check with the kitchen and came back apologetic. "Yes. The soup had mustard in it. I’m terribly sorry—"

"Last time I ate here," I cut in, my voice strained, "the mustard was on the side. Customers added it themselves. Why was it already in the soup this time?"

"You’re right, ma’am. That’s our usual policy. There must have been a mistake in the kitchen tonight. We take full responsibility and will cover all medical expenses—"

"Forget it." My skin was burning, my vision blurring. "Just get me to a hospital."

Scott pulled me up, and I leaned heavily on him as we stumbled toward the door. My legs had gone heavy, and the floor seemed to tilt.

And then, just as we stepped outside, I saw him.

Sebastian.

He stood by the curb, arms crossed, his face cold and unreadable. For a moment the three of us just stared at each other.

"She’s having an allergic reaction," Scott said. "She needs a hospital. Now."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t ask why I was with Scott. He didn’t ask anything at all. He stepped forward, took me from Scott’s arms, and lifted me easily.

"I’ll take her," he said flatly.

He carried me to his car, set me in the passenger seat, and got in beside me. The engine roared, and we sped off into the night.

"Why are you here?" I asked weakly, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Someone called me," Sebastian said, eyes on the road. "Said you weren’t feeling well."

I wanted to ask who, but the words wouldn’t come. The edges of my vision were going dark, my body going limp.

The last thing I heard before everything went black was Sebastian’s voice, sharp and urgent.

"Emilia. Stay with me."

But I couldn’t.