Chapter 5: Shadows of Envy

Isabelle, blissfully unaware, had committed a grievous faux pas in the gilded arena of high society.

As her former friend, I could read every flicker of her expression. She was basking in smug pride, opening her gift box with a flourish, eager to dazzle Clara with her offering.

“Luna, this is from me and my husband, Damian—a painting by L. Quill, the latest sensation. Collectors are already offering fifty million for it.”

L. Quill, a prodigy who’d burst onto the scene in recent years, painted landscapes that captivated the art world. His works weren’t just visually stunning; they enveloped viewers in the scenes—breezes rustling, rain pattering, cicadas humming—as if stepping into the canvas itself. His paintings were near impossible to acquire, each one a treasure.

“Thank you,” Clara said, her smile polite as she studied the artwork before gesturing to her butler to stow it away.

But Isabelle wasn’t content with a mere acknowledgment. She pressed on, her voice brimming with self-importance. “We’re thrilled you like it. The price is secondary, but as everyone knows, even if L. Quill offered this for sale, securing a bidding slot is a battle. Damian and I went to great lengths to claim one, because only a masterpiece this rare is worthy of a Luna like you.”

Her relentless chatter drew a subtle frown from Clara. The butler, catching the cue, signaled the attendants, who swiftly ushered Isabelle and Damian away from the Luna’s circle.

Isabelle, mid-sentence, was herded farther from Clara, her protests swallowed by the crowd. She turned to Damian, venting her frustration, utterly baffled. Why hadn’t Clara, who clearly admired the painting, showered her with praise? Why didn’t the guests gasp in awe at her extravagant gift? And why were their glances tinged with amusement, as if she were a spectacle?

What Isabelle missed—the whispered mockery—Damian caught with painful clarity, standing closer to the crowd.

“Look at her, stealing her friend’s husband and now flaunting a gift’s price to the Luna. No class at all.”

“Didn’t you see her dress? If I’m not mistaken, that’s Lila’s from the last gala.”

“Unbelievable. Stealing a man *and* raiding her friend’s wardrobe? Damian’s been slumming it for a year and forgot the rules. Only a weak Alpha lets his woman wear a recycled gown to a royal event.”

Damian’s face darkened, his grip on Isabelle’s arm tightening until her pained yelp snapped him out of the humiliating whispers.

He’d been gone a year—How did he know that this dress had been worn by Lila?

He’d begged his parents for their invitation to this gala, desperate to bring Isabelle and defiant of their insistence that Lila join them. With no spare cash to buy Isabelle a new gown, he’d rifled through Lila’s closet in a panic, grabbing one that looked pristine.

Isabelle, wincing as she rubbed her arm, met his scowl. Unlike his usual doting, Damian’s gaze was cold, fixated on her dress—a glaring mistake. “Change out of that *now*,” he snapped.

“Why are you yelling at *me*?” Tears welled in Isabelle’s eyes. In all their time together, Damian had never raised his voice. Her hurt was palpable.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammered, instantly disarmed by her tears. Ignoring the onlookers’ stares, he ached to pull her close and explain. “It’s just… people are gossiping that your dress is Lila’s, and we got hustled away from Clara before I could even talk to her. I’m on edge.”

“What does it matter if it’s Lila’s?” Isabelle’s voice rose, sharp and indignant.

His explanation, starting with my name, did nothing to soothe her wounded pride—it only deepened her resentment.

Lila. Always Lila.

Even as friends, Isabelle had lingered in my shadow, her envious gaze tracking my every move. No matter how beautiful or capable she was, my presence eclipsed her. The only difference was my family’s wealth, a flimsy excuse for her bitterness.

Stealing Damian had been her greatest triumph, a moment of ecstasy. What did it matter if I was Luna? She’d claimed my husband.

But now, back among the pack, my name haunted their every step. Damian’s constant mentions of me were a fresh wound.

The crowd, already eyeing them, abandoned decorum as Isabelle’s outburst echoed through the hall. Guests turned openly, gawking at their spectacle.

Damian was at a loss, a flicker of irritation sparking toward Isabelle. For the first time, he questioned his choice. He loved her, but bringing her to this elite affair was a mistake. Her behavior was an embarrassment, dragging his name through the mud. He should’ve heeded his parents and brought Lila.

Lila would’ve known how to navigate this. She’d have understood his cues…

“Next to present a gift is Lila, of the Thorne family.”

Lila…

Lila was here?

The butler’s announcement rang out, my name slicing through the chatter and piercing Damian and Isabelle’s ears.

Damian spun, disbelief etched on his face, as my silhouette emerged in his line of sight.

Even he, steadfast in his love for Isabelle and his disdain for me, couldn’t deny it—I was breathtaking.

My bespoke gown clung to my curves with every step, the luxurious fabric accentuating the lush swell of my thighs. Exposed skin gleamed, adorned with perfectly chosen jewels that caught the ballroom’s light. Was it my flesh or the gems that dazzled? The distinction blurred as I moved, a vision under the chandeliers.

Damian’s throat bobbed, his gaze trailing from my body to my face. I conversed with Clara, my poise impeccable, coaxing delighted smiles from the Luna. A sour pang twisted in his chest, doubt gnawing deeper. Had he miscalculated?

The Moon Trial would settle our rivalry, but aligning with me now, charming Clara together, could yield critical insights for both of us. We had to outmaneuver the other packs first.

What had been mere doubt now coiled into regret, tightening around his heart.