Chapter Three

The suitcase handle cut into my palm.

One bag. Thirteen years reduced to one fucking bag.

My heels hit the marble. Each step echoed. Sharp. Final.

No one moved to stop me.

My hand closed around the doorknob.

"Mummy?"

Every muscle in my body locked.

"Mummy, are you going away?"

His footsteps. Running. Getting closer.

Don't turn around. Don't look at him. Don't—

"Mummy, please don't go!"

His hands fisted in my dress.

I closed my eyes. Breathed through my nose. Then dropped to one knee.

Richie's face was red. Tears streaked down his cheeks. His bottom lip shook.

He looked exactly like Desmond.

"Baby." My throat burned. "Mummy has to go."

"Why?"

Because they broke me. Because I'm nothing here. Because your father fucks other women in our bed.

"Because Mummy isn't valued here. No one wants Mummy here."

His face twisted. Tears fell harder.

Then something shifted in his eyes. Something cold. Something Desmond.

"Fine then." His voice went flat. "Go."

The air left my lungs.

"I don't even want you as my Mummy."

He ripped his hands from my dress. Ran straight to Liora. She caught him, lifted him, and he buried his face in her neck.

The same way he used to bury his face in mine.

I stood. My legs didn't feel real.

"Really, Luna?" Desmond's voice cut through the silence. "You're just going to leave your son here?"

I looked at Richie. At his little back. At Liora's hand rubbing circles on his spine.

"He's better off without me." My voice sounded far away. "He doesn't need a weak Mummy. He already said he wants Liora as his mother. Not me."

"Let her go, son." Ophelia didn't even look up from her tea. "She'll come begging in two days."

I opened the door.

"Think about it, Luna." Liora's voice dripped honey. "You could stay here. Be the cleaner. Better than sleeping under a bridge."

I paused. Hand on the doorframe.

Then looked back at her over my shoulder.

"Sleeping under a bridge is better than sleeping in a room filled with snakes."

I stepped outside.

Closed the door.

And drove.

First hotel I found. Didn't matter which one.

I walked straight to the bathroom and looked at myself.

Mousy brown hair in a tight bun. Thick glasses. Buttoned-up cardigan. Long skirt. Flat shoes.

This woman looked like she'd apologize for breathing.

I grabbed scissors from my bag.

The first cut felt like snapping chains.

I hacked at the bun. Hair fell into the sink in uneven chunks. It looked like shit. I didn't care.

When I finished, my hair hung loose and wild past my shoulders.

I took off the glasses. Bent them until they snapped.

Stripped off the cardigan. The long skirt. Every piece of clothing that made me invisible.

I stood in my underwear and stared.

Curves I'd hidden. Skin I'd covered. A body I'd been ashamed of because it couldn't shift.

Fuck them.

Fuck all of them.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I answered.

"Luna Cross?"

"Not anymore." My voice was steady. Cold. "Luna Albert."

Silence on the other end. Then—

"Ms. Albert. Jennifer Chen. HexaTech Industries. We got your acceptance. Let's talk terms."

I sat on the bed. "Go ahead."

"Position's in New York. Penthouse in Manhattan. Company car. Two million starting salary plus stock options. Work for you?"

Two million.

I'd been living on two hundred a month. Desmond's "personal expense" allowance.

"When do I start?"

"How soon can you get here?"

I looked at my suitcase. At the broken glasses in the sink. At the woman in the mirror who was already someone else.

"Two days."

"Perfect. Everything will be ready. Welcome back, Phantom."

She hung up.

I sat there.

Then I laughed.

Because five years ago, I'd been changing the world. Writing security systems governments wanted to buy. Youngest director at HexaTech. Corner office. Billionaires got nervous when I walked into rooms.

I gave it all up.

For what?

For a man who threw me into walls. For a family who called me pathetic. For a son who didn't want me.

I threw away my dream for a fantasy.

Never again.

I booked a flight to New York.

Made an appointment at the most expensive salon in the city.

Then I booked another appointment. For permanent wine-red hair dye.

Luna Cross was dead.

Luna Albert was just getting started.

Five Years Later

My office took up the entire top floor.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan sprawled below—glittering, alive, small.

Controllable.

I liked things I could control.

"Ms. Albert?"

Jenna stood in the doorway. Thirty seconds early. She was always thirty seconds early. Never made eye contact unless I spoke first. Never asked questions.

Perfect.

"What?"

"Gala invitation." She held out a tablet. Her hands shook slightly. They always did. "Tech & Innovation Summit. Two weeks."

I took it. Scrolled.

The venue address made my stomach clench.

I knew that ballroom. Desmond took me there once. I wore blue. He held my hand. I thought I was lucky.

"Guest list."

Jenna pulled up the file. Started reading names. Her voice got quieter with each one. Like she was afraid the names themselves might anger me.

CEOs. Venture capitalists. Politicians. Usual parasites.

Then—

"Desmond Cross. Alpha of the Silverfang Pack."

My fingers tightened on the tablet. Screen cracked under my thumb.

Five years.

Five years since I walked out. Five years since I saw his face. Five years since Richie called someone else Mummy.

Something stirred in my chest.

My wolf.

Dead for so long I'd forgotten her voice. But now she was there—faint, damaged, furious.

Make. Him. Pay.

"Ms. Albert?" Jenna's voice was barely a whisper. "Are you—should I—"

I set the tablet down. Carefully. "I'm attending."

She nodded fast. Turned to leave.

"Jenna."

She stopped. Didn't turn around.

"Call Marcel. Tell him I need a dress that would cause traffic."

She blinked. "I—"

"He'll know what I mean."

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang.

"Luna!" Marcel's voice sang through the speaker. "Jenna said you need a dress that causes traffic?"

"Correct."

"Darling, every dress you wear doesn't just cause traffic. It causes earthquakes."

My mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow—that's impos—"

"You've done impossible before."

Silence.

Then he laughed. "What's the occasion?"

"Revenge."

Longer silence.

"Say no more. I'll have something ready."

Next evening. My penthouse.

The dress hung on the rack.

Wine-red. Deep. Dark. Like blood that's been sitting.

It clung everywhere. Dipped low in front. Slit up the thigh—almost to my hip.

The fabric caught light when it moved. Liquid. Predatory.

I put it on.

Looked at myself.

My hair fell in waves past my shoulders. Same wine-red as the dress. My body filled out the fabric like it was made for me—because it was.

I looked like sin.

I looked like power.

I looked like a woman who'd burn your world down and not lose sleep.

The woman in the mirror smiled.

There you are.

Marcel sent a car. Black. Sleek. One of two in the world, he'd said. Custom. Bulletproof glass. Engine that sounded like a threat.

Paparazzi swarmed when we pulled up.

Camera flashes exploded.

My driver opened the door.

I stepped out.

Silence.

Half a second of absolute silence.

Then chaos—shouting, cameras clicking, bodies pushing forward.

I kept my face dead. Cold. Empty.

Let them look.

People scattered as I walked. Security guards straightened like I'd slapped them. A woman in a cocktail dress backed into a pillar trying to get out of my way.

My presence pushed ahead of me. Heavy. Suffocating.

I reached the entrance.

The doorman's hands shook opening the door. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"M-Ms. Albert. W-Welcome."

I didn't look at him. Just walked inside.

The ballroom was exactly the same. Crystal chandeliers. Gold trim. Orchestra playing something boring in the corner.

Rich people pretending to care about innovation.

I took three steps.

Then it hit.

A scent.

Pine. Smoke. Something wild that made my head spin and my knees weak.

The bond.

No.

Not now. Not here. Not—

My wolf surged.

MATE.

Her voice was loud. Desperate. Starving.

MATE. MATE. MATE.

I pressed my palm to my temple. The room tilted.

No. I didn't want this. Mates were weaknesses. Distractions. Setbacks.

I just got my life back. I didn't need—

My eyes found him.

Alexander Quinn.

I'd heard the stories. Everyone had.

Half werewolf. Half vampire. Most dangerous thing alive. King of the underworld. Killed without thinking twice. People whispered his name like a curse.

He stood near the bar. Black suit. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes that—

Our eyes locked.

His flashed red.

Then he moved.

Not walked. Moved.

One second across the room. Next second in front of me.

The crowd gasped. Backed away. A man stumbled and fell. No one helped him up.

Alexander towered over me. Six-four. Maybe taller. His presence suffocated the air.

His eyes burned.

"Mate."

His voice was gravel. It vibrated in my chest.

My wolf screamed. YES. YES. CLAIM. MATE.

I kept my face frozen.

"I'm sorry. Mr...?"

"Quinn."

"Mr. Quinn. I don't know what you're talking about."

I moved to step around him.

His hand shot out. Didn't touch me. Just blocked my path. His fingers hovered inches from my arm.

"You can run." His voice dropped lower. "Won't change anything."

I looked him in the eyes. "Move."

The entire ballroom held its breath. Someone's glass shattered on the floor. No one moved to clean it.

Then Alexander smiled.

Predatory. Dangerous. Thrilled.

"Feisty." He said it quiet. Just for me. "That's how I like it."

He stepped aside.

I walked past without another word.

But I felt his eyes. Following. Burning into my spine.

Finally. His voice carried across the silent room. After years of searching, I got a goddess for a mate.

I grabbed champagne from a passing waiter. His hand trembled so badly half of it spilled.

My hands shook.

My wolf clawed at my skull, howling, begging me to go back.

No. I told her. We don't need a mate. We don't need anyone.

My heart pounded so hard I tasted it.

I drank the champagne in one swallow.

Then I felt it.

Another stare. Heavy. Familiar.

I turned.

Desmond.

He stood near the entrance. Liora's hand tucked in his arm. Ophelia and Marcus flanked them. Selene on the other side.

All five staring at me.

Shock. Anger. Confusion.

And something else on Desmond's face.

Hunger.

A smirk pulled at my mouth.

Perfect.

Let the show begin.

Desmond's eyes dragged over me. Stopped. Dragged again. Like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He dropped Liora's hand.

Walked toward me.

The crowd parted for him. But they'd scattered for me.

"Luna."

I raised an eyebrow. "Add some respect to that name. Mr. Whoever You Are."

His mouth fell open.

The crowd around us went dead silent. Watching. Listening. Phones coming out.

He recovered. Face hardening. "Acting big now?" He looked me up and down. Slow. Deliberate. "You've done some touch-up. But you're still pathetic. Following me around like old times."

I took another glass of champagne from a waiter. The man nearly dropped the entire tray trying to hand it to me.

Said nothing.

Liora slid up next to Desmond. Her arm threaded through his possessively.

"I'm really not surprised." Her voice carried. Loud. Meant for the crowd. "I knew she'd come back. But I didn't know she'd take such low tactics."

Ophelia pushed through. Marcus and Selene behind her.

"Well, well, well." Ophelia's voice dripped venom. "If it isn't our pathetic ex-daughter-in-law."

She looked at me like I was dog shit on her Prada.

"Finally come to your senses? Here to beg?"

She stepped closer. Lip curling.

"And what sugar daddy bought you that dress?"

My smirk didn't move.

"How pathetic." My voice was silk. Calm. "How delusional. For you to think I'd come back to beg."

Ophelia's face flushed.

"Your whole family isn't worth the filth on my shoe."

Selene gasped. Marcus's jaw locked. Veins bulged in his neck.

"Oh, Luna." Liora's voice got louder. Shriller. Playing to the crowd. "We know you love Desmond. You can't live without him. Your pride was so high—you left years ago—and now you've stooped to this." She gestured at me like I was evidence. "Coming back. Begging."

She looked around. Making sure everyone watched.

"Only God knows what wealthy sugar daddy gave you this glow-up." Her eyes went wide. Pitying. Fake. "If you wanted shelter, we would've helped. But selling your body? That's really cheap."

The crowd murmured. Whispers spreading. A reporter in the corner was recording everything.

I set my champagne down.

Walked up to Liora.

And slapped her across the face.

CRACK.

The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Complete. Absolute. Silence.

Liora's head snapped sideways. A perfect red handprint bloomed on her white cheek.

I pulled a napkin from my clutch. Wiped my hand. Slow. Thorough.

Then dropped the napkin on her head.

"Really?" My voice was conversational. Light. "See who's calling who cheap."

Liora stood frozen. Hand pressed to her burning face. Mouth open.

"A mistress who fucked her married Alpha." I tilted my head. "You're so cheap he couldn't even rent a hotel room. Had to use the bed I slept in."

I smiled. No warmth. Just teeth.

"Disgusting. That's why I left him for you. A loser should be with a loser."

"LUNA!" Desmond's voice boomed. "Watch your fucking mouth!"

Ophelia stepped forward. "She's lost all her manners. Being a whore does that."

Desmond's eyes crawled over me again. Slower this time. Lingering on the dress. The curves. The slit. My hair.

"Look, Luna." His voice dropped. Got smooth. "You've done a good job on yourself."

From the corner near the bar—a growl.

Low. Dangerous. Inhuman.

Alexander sat perfectly still in a chair. But his hands gripped the armrests. Wood splintered under his fingers. Cracking. Breaking.

His eyes locked on Desmond.

Glowing red.

Desmond didn't notice. Too busy eye-fucking me.

"If you kneel down right now. Say you're sorry." He smiled. Confident. Smug. "I'll take you back."

I let my face soften. Made my eyes wide. Innocent.

"Really, Desmond?" My voice went sweet. Hopeful. "If I kneel... you'll take me back?"

Selene stepped forward fast. Eager. "Yes, Luna. Kneel. Apologize. We'll take you back."

I nodded slowly. "Okay then." I paused. "If you say so."

The crowd leaned in. Phones raised. Cameras focused.

Alexander was halfway out of his chair. Every muscle coiled. Ready to strike.

Smirks spread across their faces. Ophelia. Marcus. Selene. Liora. Desmond.

All waiting to watch me humiliate myself.

I reached for my champagne glass.

Then threw it in Desmond's face.

Champagne exploded across his hair. His face. His thousand-dollar suit.

He stood there. Dripping. Eyes wide.

Shock.

Then humiliation.

Then rage.

"You fucking BIT—"

His hand flew up. Drew back with full Alpha strength.

Aimed for my face.

His fist came down—

Stopped.

Caught mid-air.

Alexander's hand wrapped around Desmond's wrist.

He'd crossed the room in less than a second. Now he stood between us. Eyes blazing. Canines fully extended. Six inches long.

The air pressure dropped.

People stumbled back. Women gasped. Men went pale. Someone screamed.

Alexander's grip tightened. Desmond's bones creaked. Audible. Like wood under too much weight.

"Don't." Alexander's voice was death. Quiet. Absolute. "Fucking. Touch. Her."

Desmond tried to pull away. Couldn't. His face twisted in pain.

Alexander's eyes burned into his—and Desmond's face drained of color.

Because he was staring at something far above an Alpha.

He was staring at the apex predator.

The devil.

The thing nightmares warned you about.

And it was pissed.