Chapter 26

Elora’s POV

Mira’s door always hung half-open these days, a passive-aggressive little gesture, like she wanted people to see her defanged and innocent. Invitation or challenge, take your pick. I hovered there a sec, sucking in my nerves, then shoved it open wider. Sunlight slipped all over the bed, making her look even paler, practically glowing against the sheets. A breakfast tray sat untouched, perfectly tragic. The Mira Suffering Show, now playing daily.

She glanced up at me, all soft-lidded and blank, that fake spotlessness she wore like jewelry. Didn’t last, though. One brittle little smile and it cracked.

“Elora,” she purred, sugar so thick it made my teeth itch. “What a surprise.”

My boots hit the stone...click, click. Way too loud. On purpose? Maybe. Might as well announce to the palace that the Luna was not hiding today.

“How are you feeling?” I tried to be casual, but my words came out flat. Crossed my arms at the bed’s foot, hands shooting to my hips, my cheap trick for feeling bigger than I really was.

She gave me her profile, coughed delicately. Not even a real cough, just... the performance of frailty. I actually shivered a little. “Weak,” she croaked. “Exhausted.” Those trembling lips, right on cue. “So thankful Dominic fussed over me.”

There it was. Mira-flavored martyrdom, shiny and perfect. I could pretty much hear the servants whispering outside, perfume and false pity filling the air. My throat squeezed tight.

“Drop the act,” I snapped. Sharp as glass. “Everyone’s talking. You want the pack thinking the Alpha ditches his Luna because you, because you hijacked her room?”

Her lashes ticked up slowly, annoyance flashing, just for a heartbeat, and then the mask slid back into place. “Always a poet, Elora,” she threw back, all soft venom. “The pack adores you. It breaks my heart to see you like this...” The pity in my name made me want to slap her.

“I’m done with the whispers.” No more smoothing things out. “Done being locked out of my own damn space while everyone acts like that’s the way things are. For all our sakes, for Dominic, just get better and leave.” My voice went hard, not cruel. Tired. I tried too long to play nice and now I was out of patience.

Color rose in her face, a bloom of hot, real anger. Finally, “You think you can order me out?” she spat. “You, his throwaway little trinket?”

The word trinket stung. My jaw clenched.

“He’s my husband,” I said, soft this time, moving closer, making it impossible for her to pretend I was distant. “Not a trophy. He deserves better than this. I’m not putting up with it.”

She morphed, quick as snapping a stick. Smile twisting up, teeth bared underneath. Defiance radiated off her in pulses.

“You won’t put up with it?” she sneered. “But you’ll put up with the rest of it, huh? The stupid looks, the snickers, Dante?” That false hurt turned ugly, envy seeping out.

My skin crawled. “I know what you did. I found the...” and then Mira, a sly thing, lashed out. Not at me. At herself.

CRACK.

Her palm smacked her face, a sharp shock that echoed in the room. Cheeks went red. She hauled in a breath and wailed, high, raw, Oscar-worthy pain. “She hit me! Elora...she struck me!” The way she broke my name almost had me convinced.

The air buckled. For a second, everything twisted sideways.

Dramatically, Mira flung away the sheets, sitting up slowly like her bones might snap. “How could you?” she gasped, putting her hand over that blooming red mark. She shot me the look of a queen scorned, then let her voice fly loud enough to summon the dead. “Dominic! Help! She attacked me!”

I jerked, instinct, pure reflex. “Mira...” I started, hands up, like I could calm a hurricane.

Too late.

Footsteps thudded in the hall. Dominic’s heavy walk, guards at his side. Servant faces bobbed in, mouths open, eyes wide. The whole palace was already collecting outside, drawn by the scent of scandal like wolves to blood.

Dominic crashed through the door, hair a mess, eyes wild enough to fry a lesser man. He was the living definition of panic, all tense limbs and barely contained fury. The kind of guy you want on your side right up until you realize he’s aiming that energy at you.

“Mira!” he bellowed, voice barreling ahead of his body. Then he saw me, really saw me, and relief flared for, what, a single heartbeat? But that warmth whipped into something meaner, suspicion lit on fire.

“Mira says you hit her,” he spat out, and there was nothing gentle about his tone now. I could practically feel the words bite through my forearm. Cold. Sharp. No room to duck.

I tried, God, I tried. “No...” But his glare just pinned me there.

“She struck me!” Mira piped up, volume cranked, she was near operatic. Classic Mira. A maid was looking on, all deer-in-headlights, hand frozen at her lips.

Suddenly, it felt like the walls had sprouted eyes. This was not some messy lovers’ tiff, it was a full-blown public spectacle, and I was the puppet on trial. Image here? Deadly currency. One slap staged just right could wreck you.

My hands went up. Palms out. I barked, “Dominic, it was she who...” but that stony look from him, man, just shut my mouth dead.

And that’s when he changed. Whatever quiet, controlled thing had lived in Dominic before, poof, gone. His whole body just snapped tight. You could almost watch the Alpha take over. He wasn’t a lover anymore; he was a judge, jury, and probably executioner if you asked the room. The way he sized up the space, you’d think he was considering who to punish first.

Maids edged in, eyes darting. Guards shuffled, uncomfortable as cats in water. Nobody was breathing too loudly; the tension was practically thick enough to chew.

He closed the door so softly it was almost gentle, and for a split second, I thought maybe there was hope. He didn’t look at me right away. His hand hovered near Mira’s cheek, but he didn’t quite touch her, like his fingers might catch on a lie if he tried.

He looked back at me, drained and heartsore. “Elora,” he said quietly, angry. Not the big Alpha voice. Something smaller. “I saw you with Dante in the shop. People talk. And now Mira...she’s hurt.” Bitter, that last word. Then, flatly, “You’re leaving. Now. In front of the maids.”

It's physically hard to hear that. Like someone had yanked the floor out from under me. I reached out, tried for steady: “Dominic, come on. You saw what you wanted. Dante and I were just restocking. Literally, we were hauling boxes...”

But he was already gone in the head. Locked out. Maybe he honestly didn’t want to hear the truth or maybe the rumors just felt easier to believe. His jaw set, teeth grinding. “Leave,” he said again. Low and final. No arguing with it.

Have you ever realized your entire life hinges on whether the man in charge believes you? That was it. That icy panic slicing through, every pair of eyes in the hallway weighing my future against his command. If Dominic failed me here, all the light he gave could disappear in an instant.

I made one more try. “Dominic. She’s setting this up. She hit herself. I found the vial, for god’s sake...”

He just shot back, “Yes, yes, I’ve heard enough about your damn vial.” Voice wired, rusted shut. He stalked closer. Suddenly he seemed smaller, close up, not the untouchable Alpha, just a guy split open by doubt and guilt.

Mira, meanwhile, was clutching her face with all the drama of a Broadway lead, leaking fat tears that would win her an Oscar. Maids started muttering, exchanging knowing looks. One crossed herself, like the exorcism was scheduled for five o’clock. A guard edged up, ready to hustle me out, make sure the little show hit all its beats.

Dominic’s voice, flat as a door slamming: “You’ll leave. Now. In front of everyone.”