Chapter 2

Chapter 2 — The Shattered Luna

When I walk back into the hall, the music still plays.

Same song, same laughter.

Only now, I can hear the whispers hiding under it.

Every eye turns toward me.

The cameras flash too bright.

My smile stretches, smooth and practiced, the kind of smile I learned to wear when my heart hurts.

People move aside, pretending they aren’t staring.

But I hear them.

Low voices. Half-words. *Upstairs.* *The Alpha.* *Another woman.*

Their pity burns more than their curiosity.

I stand straighter.

I fix the strap of my dress and lift my chin.

They will not see me break. Not here. Not tonight.

The doors open behind me, and the air in the room shifts.

A hush moves through the crowd like a wave.

Kael walks in.

Tall, proud, head high as if nothing has happened.

And beside him — Lyra.

Her hair is loose, her lipstick smudged just a little.

She hasn’t even tried to hide what she’s done.

When her eyes find mine, she smiles — slow, mocking, sweet with poison.

I look away.

I look anywhere but at her.

Kael walks toward me. His steps are calm, measured, the way he always moves when he wants to control a storm.

“Elara,” he says softly, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Don’t listen to them.”

I keep my eyes on the crowd. “Them?”

“The guests,” he says. “You know how people love to talk. Someone must have seen something and twisted it.”

I let out a short breath that isn’t quite a laugh.

I’ve heard this line before. Too many times.

Always the same story: *They’re lying. You misunderstood. You’re overreacting.*

But tonight, I heard everything with my own ears.

I finally meet his eyes. “Is that what this is again? Gossip?”

He blinks, surprised by my tone. Maybe by the calm in it.

“Elara—”

“I’m tired, Kael.”

I step past him before he can finish. “I need air.”

I don’t look back.

For once, I don’t chase his explanation, his approval, his love.

Behind me, the music starts again, softer now, as if even the instruments are careful.

---

Upstairs, the corridors are quieter. The party noise fades into a distant hum.

I walk slowly, each step heavier than the last.

When I reach the landing, I hear quick footsteps behind me.

“Elara!”

I close my eyes. Lyra.

I don’t turn. “Go back downstairs.”

She stops beside me instead, her perfume thick and sweet. “You shouldn’t leave your own party,” she says lightly. “People will talk.”

“They already are.”

She laughs softly. “True.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. Then she tilts her head, voice dropping to a whisper meant to wound.

“He was never really yours, you know.”

My hands tighten at my sides. “Stop.”

“You tried so hard,” she continues. “All that effort just to make him look at you. You should’ve known — wolves can’t be forced to love.”

I turn to face her. My voice shakes, but not from fear. “Leave before you say something you’ll regret.”

Lyra’s eyes flash with amusement. “Oh, Luna, I regret nothing.”

She steps closer, too close, smiling. I take a step back, warning her again to go. She leans forward — and suddenly stumbles.

A small cry escapes her lips as she drops to the floor, clutching her arm.

Perfect timing.

Voices echo down the hallway.

The door at the end slams open — Kael. His eyes go straight to Lyra on the ground, then to me.

“What happened?”

“She pushed me,” Lyra says quickly, tears filling her eyes. “I was only trying to talk.”

My mouth falls open. “That’s not—”

“Enough!” Kael’s voice cuts through the air. His gaze hardens. “Elara, apologize.”

The words hit like a slap before the real one comes.

“Apologize?” I repeat, almost laughing. “To her?”

“She’s bleeding,” he says, pointing at a small scratch on Lyra’s wrist. “You’re Luna. You should know better.”

Luna.

The title feels heavy, useless.

“I didn’t touch her,” I say quietly.

“Then say you’re sorry anyway,” Kael insists, his tone now sharp, commanding. “End this here.”

A few pack members have gathered at the corridor entrance. I see their faces — shock, discomfort, curiosity.

A Luna scolded in public.

“No,” I whisper. “I won’t.”

“Elara,” he growls. “Don’t make this worse.”

“Worse?” My laugh is hollow. “You made it worse the moment you brought her here.”

He steps closer. His scent — cedar and smoke — used to calm me. Now it makes my stomach turn.

“I said apologize,” he repeats.

Before I can answer, a small voice echoes from behind the crowd.

“Dad?”

I turn. My heart twists.

Ethan.

My son runs forward, eyes wide with confusion. He’s grown since I last saw him — a month away at camp has made him taller, older somehow.

He sees Lyra first. “Auntie Lyra, are you okay?”

She sniffles, lowering her eyes. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Your mom didn’t mean to push me. I forgive her.”

The crowd murmurs.

I freeze.

“Ethan,” I say softly. “It’s not—”

But he pulls his hand from mine, face scrunching with anger. “Mom! Say sorry to Auntie Lyra!”

I stare at him, words caught in my throat. “You believe her?”

He crosses his arms. “You hurt her!”

“Do you even know what happened?” I ask. “Or are you just like your father — believing whatever she tells you?”

His eyes widen, and for a heartbeat, silence fills the hall.

Kael’s voice booms. “Enough! Don’t talk to our son like that!”

“He needs to know the truth,” I say, trembling.

“What kind of mother yells at her child?” he snaps.

The word *mother* hits hard.

“Maybe the kind who’s tired of lies,” I whisper.

Kael’s jaw tightens. The next moment happens too fast to stop — his hand lifts, then strikes.

The sound echoes down the hall.

I don’t move. I don’t cry.

My cheek burns, but the pain feels distant, unreal.

The crowd gasps.

Lyra hides a smile behind her hand.

Ethan stands frozen, tears filling his eyes — not for me, but for the chaos he doesn’t understand.

For a long moment, no one breathes.

I look at Kael — really look at him.

The man I once called my mate.

The man I loved so much I forgot myself.

And I feel nothing.

No anger. No love. Just the quiet space where both used to live.

He lowers his hand slowly, regret flickering in his eyes, but it’s too late. Something between us has snapped clean.

When I finally speak, my voice is calm, almost gentle.

“Do you feel proud now, Alpha?”

He flinches at the word.

Not *Kael.* *Alpha.*

I turn to the people watching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say simply.

Then I walk past them, my steps steady, even though my knees tremble.

No one stops me.

Not even him.

---

Outside, the night is cold again. The moon hangs low, white and watchful.

I press a hand to my cheek. It stings, but it’s not what hurts most.

What hurts is realizing how long I allowed this — how many times I forgave, believed, hoped.

I laugh once, quietly, because it’s almost funny.

I used to think strength meant staying, fighting for love.

Now I know it can also mean walking away with nothing left to prove.

Behind me, the party has gone silent.

The Luna has fallen.

But the woman inside her — she’s finally waking up.