CHAPTER 10

Chapter 10

Violet's POV

The ceremony preparations were everywhere I looked. Damian had spared no expense, and everyone kept telling me how lucky I was.

But all I could think about was the last ceremony. Standing at that altar. Waiting. Being abandoned.

"You're doing it again," Damian said softly beside me. We were standing on the balcony overlooking the ceremony grounds.

"Doing what?"

"Holding your breath. You always do that when you're anxious." He turned to face me. "Talk to me."

I looked away. "What if it happens again?"

"It won't."

"You don't know that." My voice cracked. "What if I'm standing there and everyone's watching and…"

"Violet." He took my hand gently. "I'm not him. I'll be there. I promise."

I wanted to believe him. But promises had been broken before.

"My mother wants to meet you today," Damian said, changing the subject. "She's been asking about you since you arrived."

My stomach dropped. "Your mother?"

"Don't look so terrified." He smiled. "She's going to love you."

Damian's mother was nothing like I expected. She was elegant but warm, with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes that reminded me of Damian's.

"Come here, child," she said the moment she saw me, pulling me into a hug. "Let me look at you."

I stood awkwardly as she examined my face, then my prosthetic arm. I waited for the pity. The discomfort. The questions.

Instead, she smiled. "My son has excellent taste."

"Mother," Damian groaned.

"What? It's true." She guided me to sit beside her. "Tell me about yourself, Violet. Damian says you wanted to be a healer?"

We talked for over an hour. She asked about my interests, my dreams, my favorite books. She didn't ask about Kian. Didn't ask about my injuries. Didn't treat me like I was broken.

"You're worried about the ceremony," she said suddenly, her eyes knowing.

I froze. "I…"

"It's written all over your face." She took my hand. "Fear of being abandoned again. Fear of not being enough. Fear of history repeating itself."

Tears stung my eyes. "How did you know?"

"Because I see the way you look at my son. Like you're waiting for him to disappoint you." She squeezed my hand. "But Violet, Damian isn't like his brother. When he commits to something, he doesn't break his word. Ever."

"But what if I'm not strong enough for this? What if I can't be the Luna everyone needs me to be?" I looked down at my prosthetic. "I'm not whole anymore."

"Whole?" She lifted my chin. "Child, you survived betrayal, lost an arm, and still had the strength to walk away from someone who didn't deserve you. You're more whole than most people I know."

Something inside me cracked open. I couldn't stop the tears.

She held me while I cried, stroking my hair like my own mother used to do before she passed.

Later that evening, Elena found me in my room sorting through ceremony preparations.

"Knock knock," she sang, walking in with her usual brightness. "I brought wine. Thought you might need it with all this stress."

She poured two glasses and handed me one. "So, how are you feeling about everything?"

"Nervous," I admitted.

"Of course you are. It's a huge step." Elena sat on my bed, crossing her legs. "Especially with, you know, everything you've been through."

I nodded, sipping my wine.

"Can I ask you something?" Elena's voice was gentle. "And please don't take this the wrong way. I'm asking because I care."

"What is it?"

"Do you ever worry that your... arm... might make things difficult? Like, I know Damian says it doesn't matter, but being Luna requires a lot of physical demands. Ceremonies, pack duties, potential conflicts." She touched my shoulder. "I just want to make sure you're prepared for the challenges."

My chest tightened. "I can handle it."

"I know you can! You're so strong." Elena smiled warmly. "I'm just saying, it's okay to acknowledge that some things might be harder for you than for other Lunas. There's no shame in that."

I set down my wine glass, suddenly uncomfortable.

"And the whole thing with Kian," Elena continued, her voice sympathetic. "Everyone knows what happened. The abandoned ceremony, the injuries. Do you think the pack truly respects you? Or do they pity you?"

"Elena…"

"I'm sorry, I know that sounds harsh." She grabbed my hand. "But I love Damian, and I want to make sure he's with someone who can handle the pressure. The whispers. The comparisons to his brother's failed relationship. You're strong, Violet, but are you strong enough for all of this?"

She said it with such concern, such apparent care, that I didn't know how to respond.

"I should go," Elena said, standing up. "But think about what I said, okay? I only want what's best for both of you."

She left, and I sat there in silence, her words echoing in my mind.

Was I strong enough? Did the pack really respect me or just pity me? Was my disability going to be a constant obstacle?

I looked at my prosthetic arm, and for the first time in weeks, I felt ashamed of it.

The next morning, I found an envelope slipped under my door.

No name. No return address.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Inside was a single piece of paper with words cut from magazines, like something from a crime show:

"You stole what's mine. You'll pay in blood."

I dropped the letter, my heart racing.

Someone knew where I was. Someone was threatening me.

Vivian.

It had to be Vivian. Who else would send something like this?

I picked up the letter with trembling hands, reading it again. The words seemed to blur together as panic set in.

Should I tell Damian? Would he think I was being paranoid? Would this confirm Elena's concerns that I wasn't strong enough to handle being Luna?

I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room and quickly shoved the letter into my drawer.

"Violet?" Damian's voice called. "Are you awake? I wanted to show you the final ceremony arrangements."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "Just a minute!"

I looked at myself in the mirror. Pale. Frightened. Exactly what Elena had implied I was—weak.

No. I couldn't tell Damian. Not yet. Not until I knew more.

I plastered on a smile and opened the door.

"Ready?" Damian asked, his eyes warm.

"Ready," I lied.

But as we walked down the corridor together, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. Waiting.

And that my happiness here was about to be destroyed just like before.

In the shadows of the servant's quarters, a figure pulled out their phone and typed a quick message:

"Letter delivered. Target is scared. What's next?"

The response came seconds later:

"Perfect. Now we wait. And watch her fall apart."