Chapter 3

The next few days were normal, if one could call her life that. Then one day...

Liniluna knew before she reached the dining room.

Cedar. Iron. Command.

Her steps slowed, spine straightening on instinct—not shrinking, never shrinking.

The table was set as if for a celebration. Extra plates. Her mother stood too close to the hearth, hands clasped tight. Her father sat at the head, rigid with expectation.

And beside him....

Huda Rael.

He stood the moment he saw her, tall and unmistakably alpha, presence filling the room like pressure.

“Luna,” he said.

The name slid over her skin like grit.

Her jaw tightened. Just once. Enough.

“Do not call me that,” she said calmly.

A flicker crossed his face—annoyance, not apology. “You always hated it.”

“Yes.”

“And yet,” he replied coolly, “it was mine to use.”

Not anymore.

She moved to her chair and sat without being invited. The scrape of wood against stone was loud in the quiet room.

Her father nodded once. “We thought it best you speak face to face.”

Huda’s eyes never left her. “You should not have been alone.”

Liniluna lifted her gaze slowly. “I don't care.”

“You locked yourself away,” he said, voice sharpening. “During heat.”

“Yes.”

“That is reckless.”

“It was my choice.”

“That is not how this works,” he snapped. “An omega does not choose isolation.”

She tilted her head slightly. Not submissive. Assessing.

“I did.”

The word landed harder than a shout.

Huda stepped closer to the table, hands braced against its edge. “You are behaving like this is a victory.”

She did not answer.

Silence stretched. Heavy. Intentional.

Her father struck the table. “Answer him.”

Liniluna looked at her father once. Then back to Huda.

“I survived,” she said. “That is enough.”

“You survived because you were trained to,” Huda shot back. “Because you were bonded. Because I made sure—”

“Stop.”

The word was soft.

It stopped him anyway.

Her mother inhaled sharply.

“You do not get to claim my endurance,” Liniluna continued, voice even. “It was never yours.”

Huda straightened fully now, anger no longer contained. “You speak as if I failed you.”

“You did not fail,” she said. “You fulfilled exactly what you believed your role to be.”

“And that was not enough?” His voice rose. “I gave you structure. Safety. A place.”

“You gave me walls,” Liniluna replied. “And called them shelter.”

The room vibrated with tension.

“You are breaking clan order,” Huda said. “Working. Living alone. Defying reconciliation.”

“I am happy,” she corrected.

“You are embarrassing your family.”

She smiled faintly. “They invited you.”

That struck.

Huda’s mouth tightened. “This can still be corrected.”

“No.”

The single word was unyielding.

“You will regret this,” he said, stepping closer, dominance rolling off him now, deliberate. “You are an omega without a bond. You will be pressured. Watched. Cornered.”

She rose to her feet.

Slowly.

Fully.

She was shorter than him. Always had been. Still, she looked down at nothing.

“I always was,” she said. 

She stepped closer—into his space, not shrinking from his scent, her own earthy calm steady and grounded.

“I am still standing.”

Huda’s voice dropped, dangerous. “You were calmer with me.”

“I was quieter,” she replied. “There is a difference.”

“You belong in a bond,” he said harshly. “With me. Or someone like me.”

She met his gaze without blinking. “I will not let myself be managed.”

“You are letting pride destroy you.”

She shook her head once. “Pride saved me.”

“You think silence makes you strong,” he said. “It makes you difficult.”

She smiled—small, sharp. “I have been called worse.”

Her father stood. “Enough. This ends now.”

Liniluna turned, eyes bright, posture unbroken. “It already has.”

She looked back at Huda.

“We were never a match,” she said. “We were an arrangement.”

“You are throwing away stability,” he said. “For ego.”

“For dignity,” she corrected.

His jaw flexed. “You will come back.”

She picked up her plate, calm hands, steady breath. “No.”

She inclined her head—polite, final.

“I wish you well, Huda.”

The words were clean. Detached. Absolute.

She turned and walked away, every step measured, her back straight, her silence louder than any argument.

The door closed behind her.