Chapter Five

“What… what did you say?” I managed to choke out, my throat tight. My mind rebelled, refusing to process the sound, the meaning. This couldn’t be real. This was the pinnacle of my dream, the moment I had yearned for, despite every doubt, every cruel word.

He turned his head slowly, his gaze finally settling on me, devoid of warmth. 

“I said,” he repeated, his voice cold, methodical, “I cannot accept you as my Luna.”

My vision blurred, the faces in the crowd swirling into indistinct blurs. The quiet murmurs started then, a low, buzzing sound like a swarm of angry bees. It grew, from a ripple to a wave, washing over me, each whisper a stinging barb.

“She’s too… fat to be Luna,” someone hissed, the word cutting through the buzzing like a knife.

“Look at her! A Luna should be graceful, not… that.”

“The Alpha King’s mate? She’d shame the pack!”

Laughter. Not subtle, polite laughter, but sharp, derisive snorts that echoed through the square. My cheeks burned, a fire spreading beneath my skin, scalding me from the inside out. Humiliation, a familiar, unwelcome friend, seeped into every pore, chilling me even as I burned. The happiness, the intoxicating sense of belonging I had clung to just moments before, dissolved into ash.

I stared at Nathan, desperate for it to be a misunderstanding, a cruel joke. His jaw was set, his expression unyielding. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. My gaze searched his face, begging for a flicker of recognition, a sign that this was a mistake, a terrible, elaborate prank he would soon undo. But there was nothing. Only cold refusal.

“Nathan, no…” My voice was a fragile thread, barely holding together. “Please. Tell me this isn’t real.”

He finally met my gaze, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—not regret, but annoyance. Impatience.

“Elara,” he said, his voice flat, “look around you. Do you honestly believe you are suitable to stand beside me as Luna? To represent this pack? The Alpha King needs a mate who inspires strength, who embodies beauty, who commands respect.” He paused, and his eyes swept over me as if seeing me for the first time, or perhaps for the last time. “Not someone… who will be a constant reminder of… imperfection.”

The air left me in a rush, a gasp, a sob caught in my throat. Imperfection. The word echoed Isabella's, Mother’s, everyone’s. The same insecurity I had fought for years, the constant struggle against their cruel words, now became the reason for my public rejection. In front of the entire pack. By the man I loved, the mate I had hoped would see beyond the surface, beyond their judgments.

My legs felt like water; I swayed again, clutching at the fabric of my dress, as if it could anchor me to this cruel reality. The whispers intensified, the laughter growing bolder. Each cruel word chipped away at what little remained of my spirit. I was a puppet, and my strings had just been cut.

Before I could recover, before I could even formulate a single coherent thought, a rustle of movement drew my eyes. A hush fell, even amongst the mocking crowd.

Isabella.

She moved with an almost ethereal grace, her own dress, a shimmering blue, catching the sunlight. Her eyes, usually filled with disdain for me, now shone with a triumphant, predatory gleam. She walked slowly, deliberately, straight for Nathan.

My breath caught. No. This couldn’t be happening.

Nathan watched her approach, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile I had never seen directed at me. My heart gave a painful lurch. He held out his hand.

Isabella reached for it, her fingers intertwining with his as if they were always meant to be there. A collective gasp rippled through the pack, followed by a surge of excited whispers.

Then Nathan, his voice booming with a confidence that had been absent when he spoke to me, announced, “This is my true mate. Isabella Morgan. She is the Luna of Goldstone.”

My world imploded.

A gold crown with gems engraved with the royal crest, hung from Nathan’s other hand. It was the token meant for me, the symbol of my new life, my new purpose. He lifted it now, not toward me, but toward Isabella. Gently, reverently, he placed it on her head.

A roar erupted from the crowd. Cheers, applause, shouts of jubilation.

“Long live Luna Isabella!” they cried, their voices ringing with genuine joy. My mother, my father, even some of the relatives who had sneered at Isabella just days ago, now cheered loudest of all.

I stood there, abandoned, discarded, a withered flower in a field of vibrant blossoms. Isabella smiled, a radiant, triumphant smile, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second, brimming with malicious satisfaction.

He didn’t even glance back at me. He just held Isabella’s hand, his head high, basking in the adoration of the pack, the cheers for his Luna. The one person I had believed would never be the architect of my pain, the one whose quiet kindness had given me hope, had just shattered every dream I had ever dared to dream.

The cheers, the laughter, the triumphant glow on Isabella’s face. It all blurred into an overwhelming cacophony of sound and light, a grotesque carnival of my own destruction. I was nothing. Worthless.