LunaIt’s been two days.Two days since I walked out of Hardin’s house, anger burning in my chest like wildfire. But now… I don’t even know what I feel anymore.The anger has cooled. Not gone, just… dull. Like embers still glowing under the surface, waiting for something to stir them back to life.I won’t lie.I miss him.So badly it hurts.There are moments—late at night, or when a song comes on the radio, or when I catch myself staring at my phone—where I just want to call. Hear his voice. Just once.But he hasn’t called either. Not a text. Not a damn word. So maybe that’s my answer.He doesn’t care. If he did, he would’ve reached out. He would’ve come after me. He would’ve shown up, apologized, explained—something. Anything. But no. Silence.Maybe I was just convenient. Maybe that’s all I ever was. A bowl clattered on the table in front of me, breaking my thoughts.Rachel flopped down beside me with a grin. “Extra spicy,” she said, nudging the noodles toward me. “Eat. You look like
LunaI stood under the warm spray of the shower, letting the water wash over my skin and the mess of emotions I’d been carrying. I didn’t know how long I stood there, but when I finally stepped out, I felt a little lighter. No longer weighed down by anger.I dried off and reached for the first thing I saw: one of Hardin’s shirts hanging on the bathroom hook. It smelled like him—spice and wood and something entirely addictive. I slipped it on, the hem brushing against my thighs, and padded barefoot through the quiet hallway.The scent of something cooking pulled me toward the kitchen. I froze for a moment in the doorway.Hardin stood with his back to me, shirtless, stirring something in a pot like he had all the time in the world. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes over his toned back and the tattoo that curled down one shoulder. His hair was slightly messy—probably from running his hand through it a hundred times—and his sweatpants hung low on hi
Luna"Mr. Jenkins breathing has worsened," I told Dr. Morris as we hurried down the dimly lit hospice hallway. "He's struggling to catch his breath, and his oxygen saturation is dropping."Dr. Morris gave a short nod. "Was there any sign of distress earlier?""He mentioned mild discomfort, but it escalated fast. His daughter is with him—she's panicking."We reached Room 214, and the moment I pushed the door open, the sound of ragged, labored breathing filled the space.Mr. Jenkins lay against his pillows, his chest rising and falling erratically, his face pale and clammy. His daughter sat at his bedside, her fingers clutching his frail hand. Tears streaked her cheeks."Dad, hold on," she pleaded. "Please, just hold on."I moved swiftly to his side. "Mr. Jenkins, it's Luna. We're going to help you, okay?"His weak gaze met mine, his lips parted as he tried to speak—but only a wheeze came out."Let's get him more comfortable," Dr. Morris said. "Luna, increase his oxygen and check his m
HardinI woke up in her damn house. A place I never should've let myself be dragged to, but here I am. The scent of antiseptic still lingered in the air, mixing with something faintly sweet. Luna.I've never heard of someone named Luna before. Her name sounds unique. I blinked against the fog in my head, my body heavy and aching. I can barely move my arm without it feeling like it's on fire. The wound—shit, I can still feel it. The pain is nothing new. I've seen worse. Been through worse. But it's different when you're not the one in control.The memory of how I ended up here hits me in fragments. A bullet in the shoulder—clean shot. At least that's what I thought. But it wasn't the bullet that did the real damage. No, it was the fucking knife that came after. A reminder from someone I used to trust. Someone I thought I could count on.The bastard betrayed me.I ran. I knew I couldn't stay in the warehouse. My men were compromised. The bastard men were closing in. I barely made it ou
Luna The morning light streams through the windows as I made my way down the hallway of the hospice. I stopped at the first patient's room, checking the chart on the door. Mrs. Alvarez—eighty-two, terminal, but still fighting. Her chart looks stable today, so I mark it down with a quiet nod and move to the next room.One by one, I visited the patients under my care, checking their vitals and reviewing their charts. It's a routine I've become accustomed to, the same one I follow every morning. There's something calming about the predictability of it all. The names, the numbers, the data—it's all I've ever known in this job. And it keeps me grounded.I gave a smile to Mr. Thompson, who's always asking if I brought him coffee. I didn't, but I promise him I'll bring some tomorrow. It's a small thing, but it keeps him going. Small moments like these remind me why I chose this career, why I keep doing it.Once the rounds were finished, I made my way to my office, my feet dragging a little.
LunaHardin didn't look like a joker. In fact, he looked like someone who was in for a very serious business. But as his words processed in my head, I labeled it as a scene from a comedy movie. Because where in hell did that come from? Who says that to a stranger out of the blue?A hearty laugh erupted from me. "Your wife? Are you rehearsing for a character in a movie?" I asked, still laughing.Hardin didn't join in my laughter. He kept a serious expression on his face, which only confused me more."Do I look like a joker to you?" he questioned."I think you do," I answered immediately. My eyes briefly glanced at his arm, now covered with a long-sleeve shirt, hiding away his injury. "And if not for the image of you that's installed so deeply in my head, I would have thought you weren't the same person I saved last night.""Well, too bad I am. The wedding is taking place in two days. There won't be any ceremony or guests. Just paperwork.""You're crazy if you think I'll fall for this b
HardinI have mastered an ability—the ability to study people. Before I interact with you, I first analyze your façade, observing and understanding the kind of person you are. A lot of times, people get surprised when I tell them what's on their minds. It's not because I have supernatural powers. No. It's simply something I grew up with. Being raised in the hands of a powerful gang taught me what it meant to be strong.I wasn't entirely proud of the person I became—fearless, ruthless, and powerful. But life has a way of throwing you into its own brand of unexpected cruelty. I have no memories of a bright childhood because I wasn't born into one. I do not have a mother or a father to call family.The only thing I was ever taught—reminded of every single day while growing up under my grandfather's rule—was never to be brought down by the cruelty of life. My grandfather, once the leader of the biggest mafia gang, was the only figure I looked up to throughout my childhood, my youth, and e
LunaIf someone had told me I would find myself in Hardin's house again, I would have laughed it off. I was certain the last time that I wouldn't step foot inside his house or, much less, encounter him again.However, here I am, standing in his big living room with a tall man behind me who exudes danger—just like the men in black suits I met on my way in. Saving the hospice wasn't my responsibility. The worst thing that could happen to me was resigning from work when the hospice shut down.But I have seen the way the nurses and doctors give their all to the hospice. The shared laughter between patients, and between patients and nurses, had turned the hospice into a community—one that had become like family to me. Most workers depended on it to provide for their families, and some found solace in reliving the memories of their loved ones who had passed away there.The sad look on the hospice director's face when he called us in for a meeting, and the heartbreak on the workers' faces wh
LunaI stood under the warm spray of the shower, letting the water wash over my skin and the mess of emotions I’d been carrying. I didn’t know how long I stood there, but when I finally stepped out, I felt a little lighter. No longer weighed down by anger.I dried off and reached for the first thing I saw: one of Hardin’s shirts hanging on the bathroom hook. It smelled like him—spice and wood and something entirely addictive. I slipped it on, the hem brushing against my thighs, and padded barefoot through the quiet hallway.The scent of something cooking pulled me toward the kitchen. I froze for a moment in the doorway.Hardin stood with his back to me, shirtless, stirring something in a pot like he had all the time in the world. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes over his toned back and the tattoo that curled down one shoulder. His hair was slightly messy—probably from running his hand through it a hundred times—and his sweatpants hung low on hi
LunaIt’s been two days.Two days since I walked out of Hardin’s house, anger burning in my chest like wildfire. But now… I don’t even know what I feel anymore.The anger has cooled. Not gone, just… dull. Like embers still glowing under the surface, waiting for something to stir them back to life.I won’t lie.I miss him.So badly it hurts.There are moments—late at night, or when a song comes on the radio, or when I catch myself staring at my phone—where I just want to call. Hear his voice. Just once.But he hasn’t called either. Not a text. Not a damn word. So maybe that’s my answer.He doesn’t care. If he did, he would’ve reached out. He would’ve come after me. He would’ve shown up, apologized, explained—something. Anything. But no. Silence.Maybe I was just convenient. Maybe that’s all I ever was. A bowl clattered on the table in front of me, breaking my thoughts.Rachel flopped down beside me with a grin. “Extra spicy,” she said, nudging the noodles toward me. “Eat. You look like
HardinThe silence in the house was maddening.For the first time in a long while, I hated coming home. I hated walking through the front door and not being greeted by her scent. No humming from the kitchen, no warm voice calling out my name, no Luna.Just quiet.It’s been a day since she left. Twenty-four hours of replaying our fight over and over again in my head, wishing I could go back and say something different—anything that would’ve stopped her from packing her bags and walking out the door.I ran a hand down my face, still in the same clothes from yesterday. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Every corner of this damn house reminded me of her. Her laughter, her glares, her warmth. I had it all... and I blew it.Alice had been tiptoeing around me. She knew—probably heard every word of our argument. But she hadn’t asked. She just gave me that look yesterday, the one that said she knew I was a mess and she didn’t want to make it worse.This morning, she left a cup of coffee on the table
Luna“What did I ever do to you?” My voice trembled. “Was all of it just a show? The kindness? The sweet words? Was I just some... tool you used to get what you wanted?”Hardin’s smile had long since vanished, his brows now drawn low in confusion. “Luna,” he said, stepping forward carefully, “You need to calm down and tell me what this is about.”“No, you don’t get to tell me to calm down!” I snapped. “You knew how much the hospice meant to me. You knew how hard I fought to keep it breathing, and you stood there—beside me—pretending to fight too, all while trying to sell the land behind my back?”He stiffened. I could see the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened, but he didn’t speak.“I believed you,” I whispered. “I believed in us. What did I do, Hardin? Why did you choose me to play your little game?”Still, silence.Tears burned in my eyes as I took another shaky breath. “Answer me, Hardin. If any of this was real—if I meant anything to you—tell me now.”He let out a slow bre
Luna"Good morning, Mrs. Hardin."Hardin's voice was a delicious rumble against my neck, warm and teasing. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet, but the feel of his arm tightening around my waist made my lips curl into a sleepy smile.“Good morning,” I murmured, my voice still laced with sleep.I turned in his arms, eyes fluttering open to meet his. He looked entirely too good for someone who just woke up—messy hair, scruffy jaw, and that annoyingly attractive smirk playing on his lips.“You slept well?” he asked, brushing a knuckle gently down my cheek.I nodded, letting my fingers drift lazily across his bare chest. “Like a baby. Maybe because someone tired me out last night.”He chuckled. “Someone had to make up for the stress yesterday.”I leaned in and kissed his jaw softly. “You’re impossible.”“And yet…” he rolled over, pinning me playfully beneath him, “You still married me.”I laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder, heart already full just from waking up beside him.“I t
LunaI stepped into the house, shutting the door gently behind me. The lights in the living room were on, Alice was curled up on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, writing something on a notebook.She looked up as I entered. “Hey,” she greeted."Hey," I forced out a smile. "Is Hardin back?" I asked my eyes scanning the room as if he could appear out of nowhere. Alice looked up, her pen pausing mid-stroke. “Not yet,” she said. “He’s probably caught up with whatever’s going on at the office.”I nodded slowly, walking a little closer. Alice set the pen down and tilted her head. “How did your talk with the director go?"I sank onto the armrest near her and exhaled. “It seems like they’re not backing down. The board still wants to turn the hospice into a private hospital.”Alice blinked. “What? No, that’s… they can’t."“I know but apparently, they’ve already brought in designers. The director said the people involved have stronger connections than we imagined.”“That’s not fair.
Luna“I think that’s everything,” I said, dragging a line through the last item on the crumpled list. “Flour, spices, vegetables, meat, and all the extras for dessert.”“Don’t forget the juice boxes,” Alice chimed in, lifting a pack with a smirk. “They may be adults, but they love these things like kids.”Rachel let out a soft laugh from across the counter. “Okay, so who’s doing what? I can start with the marinade.”“I’ll handle dessert,” Alice offered quickly. “Just don’t judge me if I sneak a few cookies.”I smiled at them both, warmth pooling in my chest. The kitchen was full of movement and low chatter—exactly the kind of energy I’d hoped for. Cooking something special for the hospice had been my idea. End-of-the-month gatherings always meant something, but this one… this one felt heavier. Some of our patients were nearing their final days. I could feel it in the way they spoke, in the tired looks exchanged in the halls.I wanted them to feel loved. Remembered. Celebrated.Rachel
LunaThe door to the director’s office closed behind Hardin with a dull thud, and I found myself standing there, staring at the polished wood like I could somehow hear what was going on inside.My pulse hadn’t settled since he walked in. No one said a word to me, but I could feel their eyes on my back. The whispers, the curious glances—none of it mattered. Not right now.What mattered was why Hardin showed up looking that intense. What had brought him here so suddenly?I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to steady the storm swirling inside me. I should’ve been used to it by now—Hardin’s unpredictability, the way he moved through the world like a force of nature—but I wasn’t. Every time he stepped into a room, he pulled my focus, my breath, my entire sense of calm.“Still think those black cars were just here for a patient?” Rachel asked as she walked.up to me her tone quiet but pointed.I glanced at her. “I don’t know. Maybe something came up with the investment deal. Or m
LunaHardin wouldn’t let me breathe. Not for a second.First, he had the audacity to turn me on in the kitchen—with that smug grin and cocky words—only for Alice to walk in a moment later with a knowing smile on her face like she’d walked into something she’d already predicted. I could barely meet her eyes, and Hardin? That bastard just smirked like he’d won a damn trophy.But it didn’t end there.We ended up showering together… which, let’s be honest, wasn’t about getting clean. It was steam, hands, lips, and the kind of moaning that echoed off the walls. I told myself it was a bad idea. I really did. But the second his mouth met my skin, all rationality drowned under the weight of need.Now here I am, sitting in his car, trying to act like I wasn’t just completely wrecked and put back together by this man. Again.Hardin leaned over, that familiar scent of his crawling into my lungs like poison—dangerous and addictive. “You sure you want to go in like that?” he asked, his voice low a