A Name That Shouldn’t Be Said

Chapter Seven – A Name That Shouldn’t Be Said

Aria’s Point of View

The room was cold.

I sat alone by the window, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. The moonlight fell across the floor like broken glass—sharp, scattered, beautiful in a way that hurt.

My chest was still tight from earlier. Their words still echoed in my mind like thunder that wouldn’t fade.

“She’s used goods.”

“She doesn’t look like Luna stuff at all.”

“What if she can’t produce an heir?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it stayed. Heavy and thick.

Why? Why did they look at me like that?

Was it because I wasn’t born of power? Because I had already been someone’s Luna once before? Because I had been thrown away like something unwanted?

I stared at my reflection in the glass—red eyes, pale skin, lips that trembled.

I’m not enough for them.

I’ll never be.

The door creaked open behind me.

I stiffened, my heart skipping.

Lucien.

He walked in slowly, his boots echoing against the wooden floor. His presence filled the room instantly. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The cold in his eyes said enough.

I turned around quickly. “Lucien…”

He didn’t answer.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” I whispered.

He paused, the light falling across his face. His eyes were unreadable. Cold as frost. “Speak.”

I hesitated. My lips trembled before I finally asked it.

“Who… is Elara?”

His eyes darkened instantly.

The air in the room changed.

The stillness turned dangerous.

He moved so fast I barely saw it. In one second, he was in front of me. The next, his hand was around my throat.

I gasped, my hands flying to his wrist, but he didn’t let go.

His grip wasn’t choking me. But it was firm. Commanding. Terrifying.

His voice was low, sharp, and cutting.

“Never,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “speak that name again.”

I stared into his eyes, shocked, afraid. “I… I just wanted to know—”

“You don’t get to know anything about her,” he said through clenched teeth. “Her name is not for you. You don’t say it. You don’t think it. You don’t ask about it.”

I tried to pull away, but he held me still.

“She was Elara,” he said, as if the name meant everything. “A woman of grace. Of power. Of dignity. Her name carries respect. You, Aria, are not even close to being worthy of whispering it.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Please…”

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that name again,” he warned, voice ice. “Not unless you want to be reminded of your place.”

He finally let go, and I stumbled back, coughing, breathing hard.

I was shaking.

His words—sharp as knives—cut deeper than I thought words could.

I wasn’t expecting what came next.

“Take off your dress,” he said suddenly, his tone calm but full of command.

I froze. “W-What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. He just looked at me, his eyes hard. “Now.”

Tears slid down my cheeks as my fingers reached for the ties of my dress.

I didn’t want this. Not now. Not like this.

But his voice gave no room for questions. No kindness.

Slowly, I slipped the dress from my shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my thin undergarments. I stood there, exposed. Cold. Humiliated.

“Lie down,” he ordered.

I obeyed like a puppet, my body trembling as I climbed onto the bed. My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might burst. My hands trembled as I lay back.

He stood at the foot of the bed, eyes on me. But I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the ceiling. I felt sick.

The shame.

The weight of it crushed my chest.

My stomach twisted inside out.

And then I felt it.

I wanted to throw up.

I sat up quickly and turned my head away, covering my mouth. I tensed my whole body and breathed raggedly.

Lucien's voice snapped. "Are you sick?"

I shook my head rapidly. "No… I just—"

"Don't lie to me," he warned.

"I'm not," I whispered. "I just. I'm not sick."

He walked over and stood by the bed, looming over me.

"I'll call the pack doctor.

"No—please," I said quickly, "I'm okay. I swear."

He didn't look convinced.

But he didn't push it either.

He turned and walked towards the door, stopping just before exiting.

"You shouldn't have asked about her," he said coldly. "Don't make the mistake of comparing yourself to her again."

Then he was gone.

And I was by myself in the silence, sitting on the edge of the bed, my body trembling with shame, confusion, and tears that would not stop falling.

I dug beneath the blankets, not because I was cold, but because I did not know how else to hide.

I had never felt smaller.

Never felt more unwanted.

Never felt more alone.