The Luna Who Walked Away

Chapter 1 — The Night of Silence

The music is too loud.

People are laughing, talking, dancing, raising their glasses.

And yet, I feel like I am the only one standing still.

They call it my night. My twenty-eighth birthday. The Luna of Silvercrest Pack, glowing and graceful, surrounded by joy.

That’s what they see.

That’s what I’m supposed to be.

But I can’t find him.

Kael.

My husband. My Alpha. The man I’ve built my life around, the man whose love I’ve chased like a shadow that never turns back to meet me.

I look around the hall again. Chandeliers hang low, dripping gold light onto polished marble. People keep coming up to me — “Happy birthday, Luna!” “You look stunning!” “Where’s the Alpha?”

I smile, nod, say thank you, and pretend my heart isn’t sinking deeper with every passing minute.

Where is he?

He promised. He said he’d come early. He said tonight would be special. “A night just for you,” he’d whispered this morning, his hand brushing my cheek, his eyes soft — or maybe I only imagined the softness.

Now it’s been two hours.

The candles are melting.

The cake sits untouched.

And the music feels like noise pressed against my skull.

I step aside, moving toward the balcony for air. The city hums below — tall buildings, silver lights, and somewhere beyond, the forest. The moon is full tonight, huge and white against the clouds. I stare at it for too long.

A part of me used to believe it watched over me. That the Moon Goddess gave me Kael, that she’d write love into our story because I prayed enough, loved enough, waited enough.

Now the moon feels silent.

Empty.

My beta, Lira, comes to my side. “Luna, everyone’s asking about the Alpha. Should I—?”

“No,” I say too quickly. “He’ll come.”

But my voice doesn’t sound sure, not even to me.

Lira hesitates. Her eyes soften. “Maybe he got held up with pack business?”

Maybe.

Maybe he’s trying.

Maybe I’m just overthinking—

But I already know I’m not.

I’ve known this feeling before — the quiet before something breaks. The same way the air feels before a storm, when the world holds its breath.

I take one last look at the crowd.

Everyone’s smiling. Everyone’s pretending to care.

And I can’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll be back,” I tell Lira, and before she can answer, I slip through the side doors, my heels clicking softly on the marble.

The hallway is dim and cold compared to the bright hall. Paintings line the walls — ancestors, wolves, eyes that seem to follow me. My shadow stretches ahead of me like a stranger.

I take out my phone. No message. No missed call.

He should’ve texted.

He always texts.

Even when he’s angry, he says something.

I try calling. It rings once, twice— then straight to voicemail.

My chest tightens.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s— no, stop it. Just find him.

I walk faster, the soft blue of my dress trailing behind me like mist. My heels echo too loudly. I hate the sound.

Kael’s office is upstairs. That’s where he usually goes when he doesn’t want to be found. Or when he’s thinking. Or hiding.

I climb the stairs quietly. Each step feels heavier than the last. The air changes — cooler, quieter.

The corridor upstairs is almost dark, lit only by moonlight leaking through the tall windows. The curtains sway a little, moved by the night breeze.

I stop outside his office door. My hand hovers above the handle.

What if he’s just tired?

What if I open this door and he’s only reading, or planning, or doing something important?

Then why does my wolf feel uneasy?

The silence behind the door isn’t peaceful. It’s thick. Heavy. Like it’s trying to hide something.

I press my ear closer.

At first, nothing.

Then — a sound. Soft, breathy, a laugh that doesn’t belong to me.

My heart stops.

It’s not a loud laugh, but it’s enough. It’s a woman’s voice, gentle, low, the kind of laugh people make when they’re not pretending.

My fingers go numb on the handle.

No.

I tell myself I’m wrong. That maybe it’s the TV, or a call, or my imagination twisting sounds.

But then I hear his voice. Kael’s voice.

It’s quiet, but there’s warmth in it. Warmth that hasn’t touched me in a long time.

Something inside me folds in on itself.

I don’t push the door open.

I just stand there, breathing shallow, staring at the line of light under the door — faint and golden, like the edge of a lie.

My wolf growls low in my chest, not angry, but wounded.

Five years.

Five years of trying.

Of loving a man who never looked at me the way I looked at him.

Of believing that one day he would choose me, see me, want me.

The sound comes again. Softer this time. And then — silence.

I take a step back. My body feels numb. My hands shake, but I hide them in my dress.

I should leave. I should run down the hall, out of the mansion, anywhere but here. But my legs don’t move.

I think of my mother’s voice, her warnings, her sad eyes.

“You can’t make someone love you, Elara. Not even if you give them everything.”

I didn’t listen.

I thought I could.

I thought love meant fighting until he saw me.

Now I know love can also mean losing yourself until there’s nothing left to see.

A sound behind me — footsteps. I freeze.

It’s Lira again. “Luna?” she whispers, then stops when she sees my face. “What happened?”

I shake my head. I can’t speak.

If I try, I’ll shatter.

She looks at the door, then at me. Her eyes widen a little as she realizes. “Elara—”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please don’t.”

I turn away. My heart is breaking, and I don’t want witnesses.

The hallway feels endless as I walk. My dress whispers against the floor, the sound too soft for the storm in my chest. I don’t cry. Not yet. My tears are waiting — heavy, patient, cruel.

When I reach the end of the corridor, I glance back once. The door is still closed. The light still burns under it, warm and golden and wrong.

Somewhere inside that room, the man I loved is giving someone else what I spent years begging for.

My birthday candles must have melted by now.

The party downstairs is still going on — laughter, music, joy that doesn’t belong to me.

I step out into the night, barefoot now, heels in hand. The wind hits my face, cold and sharp. The moon stares down, pale and distant.

“Happy birthday, Elara,” I whisper to myself, and laugh — a small, broken laugh that dies before it reaches the trees.

The forest hums quietly in the distance, and for a moment, I want to run there. Shift. Disappear. Start again.

But not yet.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I walk back to the hall. I will smile. I will pretend. I will let them see the Luna they expect.

And when the candles go out, when everyone leaves —

I will pack my things.

Because sometimes, the only way to be free

is to walk away.