14. Rage, Wrath, and Fury

Mason and Nina arrived home just as dusk began to settle over Silver Moon Territory, casting long shadows through the expansive windows of their estate.

After a light meal and an hour of playing with his daughter, Mason tucked Nina into her plush bed, her tiny fingers still curled around his as she finally drifted off. He kissed her forehead gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Just as he stepped out into the hallway, Julian was waiting, silent, watchful as ever, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"How is she?" Julian asked, his voice low, filled with concern for the little girl.

Mason exhaled, gaze heavy. “Traumatized. But she’s strong,” he replied, his tone colder than most fathers, yet marked with quiet fire. “Like her mother. And I’ll help her heal. No matter what it takes.”

Julian gave a slow nod before pulling something from the inner pocket of his coat. A cream-colored envelope—elegant, embossed, and styled with too much pride.

“This arrived after you left the office,” he said. “Thought you’d want to see it.”

Mason took the envelope, his eyes scanning the front before breaking the seal. He unfolded the card and read the words silently. Then, with a dark, twisted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he arched a brow.

The wedding of Elliot Riggs and Stella Kursen.

“Day after tomorrow,” Julian added with an incredulous scoff. “The delivery guy made me swear to remind you. Apparently, you’re their VVIP guest. A bit rushed, don’t you think?”

Mason’s smirk deepened, the edges cruel. “No. Not rushed,” he said, sliding the invitation into his suit jacket with a glint of something wicked. “It feels precisely planned. Strategic. Detailed. Like it’s been in motion for years.”

Julian frowned. “So you think it’s a cover?”

“I think it’s an unveiling,” Mason replied cryptically.

Julian straightened. “There’s more. The targets under surveillance made their move. And we got chatter about the operations you wanted me to monitor. One of our inside sources wants to meet with you—face to face.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed; it obviously stirred his interest. “Hmm. Intriguing timing. Book me a suite at Noctis Palace. And let our friend know I’ll see him there.”

Julian gave a brief nod and turned to leave.

As his Beta’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Mason lingered in the hallway outside Nina’s room, the shadows folding around him like a second skin. His mind churned... Connecting the dots, pulling strings, sensing the tremors of a larger game just beginning to break the surface.

He gazed toward the window, the moonlight glinting off his cold eyes.

“Well then,” he muttered to himself, with venomous amusement. “Let’s see… what shall I wear to the celebration of the lovely new couple?”

He turned and walked down the corridor, already planning his attire, or rather his next move.

*********

Cecil booked Aria a room at the same hotel she had fled to the other night, after Elliot shattered her pride and loyalty with cold rejection. 

Now, bruised in more ways than one, she sat silently in the passenger seat, staring blankly through the windshield as the car pulled to a stop a few blocks away from the Riggs Mansion—the place where she’d just been thrown out like garbage.

“Are you sure you want to stay at a hotel instead of going home?” Cecil asked quietly, her hands still gripping the steering wheel, hesitant to break the silence.

Aria didn’t look at her. Her voice was low, steady, but lifeless. “I need time to breathe. I can’t go back yet. There are things I need to take care of here… Before Elliot and his filthy pack freeze all my accounts. I have to move before they bury me completely.”

Cecil exhaled hard, shaking her head. “Alright. We’ll stop by the hotel first—but we’re hitting a pharmacy on the way. Your wounds… they need attention.”

She clicked her tongue, her jaw tight with frustration as she glanced at the red marks and cuts still raw on Aria’s skin. “They’ll leave marks for a while,” she added under her breath, but Aria heard it.

A few minutes later, they pulled into a small pharmacy just a few blocks from the hotel. Before stepping out, Cecil reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a scarf and a pair of sunglasses. She handed them to Aria.

“Put these on. You don’t want people seeing you right now,” she said, nodding toward the growing crowd outside.

Aria obeyed without a word, wrapping the scarf around her head and slipping the glasses over her bruised face. Her gaze shifted to the commotion beyond the glass—people were gathering along the sidewalks, hanging something on lampposts and store walls. Banners. Streamers. Posters.

She squinted. Something about it all felt wrong. Too festive. Too familiar.

Then she saw it.

Her breath hitched.

Plastered across a dozen storefronts, wrapped around buildings, swaying in the breeze from streetlights—wedding posters.

And on them, in bold gold lettering:

Alpha Elliot Riggs & Luna Stella Kursen

Below the names was a glossy photograph of them—smiling, glowing, triumphant.

Congratulatory banners fluttered above the crowd like mockery, and the city buzzed with excitement.

Aria’s hands tightened into fists in her lap. Her pulse roared in her ears. She lowered her head further, pulling the scarf tighter, hiding her pain beneath layers of fabric and silence. 

It wasn’t just betrayal now—it was humiliation carved in billboard ink for the world to see.

Cecil returned moments later and sensed the shift immediately—the air was different. Thicker. Heavier.

She didn't ask. She didn’t have to.

As they drove toward the hotel, the street became a parade of Elliot’s triumph. Streamers danced above their car. Posters clung to windows. Giant screens lit up with “The Wedding of the Year.”

Cecil’s heart clenched. She could feel Aria shrinking beside her, retreating deeper into herself, her eyes locked on her phone in a desperate attempt to escape.

Cecil reached across the console and gently rubbed Aria’s arm.

“We’re almost there,” she said softly, trying to anchor her. “Hold on just a little longer.”

Aria didn’t answer. But the look in her eyes as she stared down at the phone was no longer blank.

It was fire, burning with rage, wrath, and fury.