LUNA CREST II

Aurelia's POV 

The entire ballroom went dead silent at the sight of her. The applause died instantly, replaced by a wave of collective gasps.

Lyra didn't look at the elders. She didn't look at the Headmistress. Her glittering, predatory eyes locked straight onto Zephyron, ignoring me entirely as if I were nothing more than a piece of cheap furniture standing on the stage.

She took one slow step forward. The distance was too great for human ears to catch her voice, but through our amplified werewolf senses, her whisper carried like a strike of lightning.

I watched her lips move perfectly in the dim light at the back of the room.

“I’m back for you, Zeph. I’m not playing games anymore. Plus...I'm not wearing undies."

The fuck?

Zephyron lost focus instantly.

His powerful alpha aura, which had been wrapped protectively around my weak wolf just seconds ago, suddenly snapped backward. It withdrew from me entirely, leaving me completely exposed to the freezing draft of the stage.

His grip on my fingers went entirely limp.

“Zeph?” I whispered, my voice cracked and pathetic, completely drowned out by the sudden, low murmurs rippling through the crowd. “Zeph, please. The elders are watching.”

He didn’t hear me. He couldn’t hear anything past the sound of Lyra’s name beating in his chest.

He took one step back. Then another.

“Zephyron!” Alpha Cassian’s voice boomed from the VIP table, his face twisting in pure rage as he slammed his fist onto the wood. “Don't be controlled by some woman. Get back to the microphone! Finalize the declaration!”

Zephyron didn’t even glance at his father.

With one final, desperate look toward the back of the room, he vaulted off the side of the stage as Lyra led him out back. 

He plowed through the sea of elite guests like a devastating storm, shoving pack sponsors and academy leaders out of his path without a single care for the prestige of the night. His broad shoulders were hunched, his hands twitching as he raced toward the girl in the red dress.

He left me.

He literally dropped my hand and ran off the stage to go after her.

The crowd erupted.

“Oh my god, did he actually just run off?” a loud, mocking laugh echoed from the front row of students.

“Look at her standing there,” Chloe sneered, pulling her phone out and aiming the lens directly at my face. “She really thought she was getting upgraded from the backup girl today. How pathetic.”

Flashbulbs started going off in real time. Dozens of glowing screens rose into the air, lenses focusing on my pale skin, my trembling lips, and the white satin gown that now felt like a joke.

A heavy, suffocating wave of public humiliation crashed over me.

Inside my mind, my weak wolf reacted violently to the shame. She let out a fractured, agonizing shriek, thrashing against my ribcage until a sharp, metallic taste rose in the back of my throat. My vision blurred heavily at the edges, my knees trembling so badly I had to grip the metal microphone stand just to stay upright.

Talia tried to push through the crowd toward the stage steps, her eyes swimming with protective fury. “Aurelia! Walk away! Get down from there!”

But Headmistress Selene was already standing up from the high table, her expression cold.

“Silence!” Selene’s voice boomed through the speakers, cutting through the mocking whispers of the students. “The Duskmere heir is handling a private pack matter. Everyone return to your seats immediately. The media will cease all recording.”

Nobody listened. The students kept whispering, laughing, and typing furiously on their screens. The damage was done. The prestige of the Lunar Crest Night was completely shattered, and I was left standing in the center of the ruins, completely alone in my formal dress before the entire academy.

Ten minutes passed. Ten minutes of standing under that burning, white spotlight while the world mocked my existence.

Then, the heavy thuds of boots returned.

Zephyron came walking back through the side doors of the stage. He was completely out of breath, his hair messy, he vkey on his neck and his formal jacket slightly wrinkled. His gray eyes were wide, shaken, and swimming with a deep, suffocating layer of shame as he looked at me.

He rushed forward, his large hands reaching out to grab my upper arms, trying to pull me toward the backstage curtains.

“Aurelia, come with me,” he urged, his voice a frantic, low whisper as he tried to hide his face from the crowd. “We need to talk in private. Let’s get out of the light.”

I looked at his hands on my dress. I looked out at the hundreds of students watching our every move, their phones still recording.

A sudden, freezing coldness took over my heart. The gentle, patient girl who had spent three years hiding in his shadow died right there on that floorboard.

I slapped his hands away from my arms, my dark eyes locking

onto his with rage he had never seen from me before.

“No, say it here.”