Todos los capítulos de The Miracle Luna: Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

PRISCILLA Gabriel was finally asleep. I sat quietly on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with a pillow propped behind me, watching him. His arm was thrown carelessly across his chest, the blanket tangled low around his hips, but even in sleep, his body held a quiet tension. His brows were faintly creased like he was still on guard, still caught in some distant battle he couldn’t shake. He wasn’t truly resting—just existing in the quietest version of his exhaustion. My fingers trailed gently through his hair, sweeping the dark strands away from his forehead in a repetitive, soothing motion. He didn’t stir, just breathed in a slow, shallow rhythm. I had to push them to let him come to this room, had to look Aurora in the eye and tell her that Gabriel needed to rest and that this—here with me—was the only way that would happen. He wouldn’t admit he was tired. Of course, he wouldn’t. He never did. But I saw it in his gait, in the way his jaw had set too tightly after we got

GABRIEL I hadn’t moved. Not since she walked away with Davina. I didn’t even know how long I stood there, the dim light of the corridor spilling shadows across the foyer tiles, my hands still clenched like I was holding on to something I’d already lost. The door upstairs clicked shut, and only then did I breathe. “I’m not gonna lie,” Austin’s voice came from behind me, sharp but cautious, “You were kind of a dick to her.” I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. I could already smell the sex on him. “Do you ever wash off after banging?” I muttered. He scoffed. “Dude, I have a mate. Who the hell has time for soap when there’s round three waiting?” “That’s not what I meant.” I finally looked over my shoulder. “Mate or not, you smell like a damn heatwave.” Austin leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “Fair enough. Still, it’s not the stink of sex you’re mad at. You’re restless.” “Because of what happened to Priscilla.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. He kn

PRISCILLA I didn’t cry when he said it.I didn’t even flinch.Not at first.I just sat there.On the floor. In the corner. My back pressed to the cold wall like it might hold me together, like the plaster and paint might prop me up when my bones felt too soft, too loose to carry me.The carpet scratched faintly beneath my bare legs, and I curled my arms around my knees, holding myself because no one else could.Because he knew now.He knew.“Murdering your mother.”Those words hadn’t echoed—they had detonated.I wasn’t sure when he left the room. Maybe I blinked and missed it. Maybe I was too frozen to hear the door shut. All I know is one moment he was standing in front of me, his voice a knife, and the next—silence. Just me, my breath, and the way it hitched every time I remembered how he looked at me after he said it.Not disgusted. Not angry.But shaken.Like I’d become something else in his eyes. Something he didn’t know what to do with.A threat.A tragedy.Or worse—something i

GABRIEL The moment she stepped into the steam, I stopped breathing. There she was—bare, fierce, broken, and still… impossibly, achingly mine. My pulse slammed against my neck. My muscles tensed with restraint I barely possessed. Water sluiced down her skin like it had fallen in love, every drop chasing her curves as if begging to stay. I’d always known Priscilla was strong. But this? Walking into this shower after what she’d faced, after every raw nerve had been dragged to the surface—this was something else. Something holy. Something dangerous. My Luna. “Mind if I join?” she asked, eyes locked to mine, voice soft—but not uncertain. Fuck me. That voice… the courage in it, the tremble beneath it. She was offering herself. Not just her body—her pain, her past, her scars. I stepped back, just enough to give her room, but never breaking eye contact. And then I pulled her in. All the way in. Her body met mine, skin to skin, water burning between us—but it wasn’t the heat from

PRISCILLA The moment the door closed behind Gabriel and Davina, the silence in the room grew teeth. I didn’t move. Neither did she. My grandmother—Laura—watched me like I was a ghost she resented for showing up uninvited. I knew that look. It had lived in her face for years. The quiet contempt. The disapproval is so sharp it could skin you without a word. I walked forward slowly, each step across the rug echoing louder than it should have. The fire crackled behind her, casting shadows across the lines of her face, softening nothing. “You’ve grown,” she said finally, as if it were a complaint. “So have you,” I replied, voice low, even. “Into someone colder than I remember.” That earned a flicker of something in her eyes. Not guilt. Not regret. Just… recognition. Laura stood. She still carried herself like she was made of marble and expectation—stiff spine, chin up, eyes that dared you to disappoint her. “I called you because I was told you’d finally awakened,” she said, walki