Semua Bab Alpha’s Regret: His Luna, His Heirs, His Redemption: Bab 41 - Bab 50

POV: OliviaThe storm had wrung the night dry by the time we reached his safe house.It wasn’t a house—more a glass-and-steel fortress thirty floors above a city that never slept. A private elevator opened into silence: blackout shades, a long couch, a gleaming kitchen. The air smelled faintly of cedar cleaner, layered with something I knew too well: pine, sandalwood, and the quiet burn of myrrh.Luther.My palm stayed on Daisy’s back as we stepped out. Harvey and Hyden went first, small shoulders squared like soldiers, their bodies placed between me and the unknown. Lily’s grip was tight in mine but her chin was high. Daisy pressed into my leg, eyes wide, curls damp against my coat.“Shoes off,” I said. Rules were anchors.Four pairs thumped onto the mat. Four chests rose too fast. My knife hung heavy at my hip.Luther didn’t crowd us. He keyed in codes, threw deadbolts, then stepped back, giving us space. Locks clicked into place.“Water’s filtered. Kitchen’s stocked. First aid in t

POV: Olivia The safehouse was too neat. Too clean. Too still. Not mine. His. Every surface whispered Luther’s presence—polished steel fixtures, stacked supplies, a couch that looked more like a military cot in disguise. Nothing out of place. Nothing soft enough to belong to me or the children. Even the air smelled of him: cedar, gun oil, a hint of smoke. The children felt it. I could see it in every twitch and fidget. Hyden drummed his fingers on the coffee table until the beat rattled my skull. Lily paced the rug in circles, twisting her sleeve until the seam gave way. Daisy abandoned her crayons after the fifth sheet filled with black scribbles. They weren’t supposed to live like this—caged animals pacing, waiting for the next strike. I tried to bury myself in work. My laptop glowed too bright against the dim safehouse lighting, screen filled with emails piling faster than I could skim. “Board seeks clarification on your absence.” “Client reassurance needed.” “Press r

POV: ElaraThe Red Moon compound did not rest easily that night.I felt it in the stone floors beneath my slippers, in the way the banners along the corridor shifted though no wind passed. Servants whispered in corners, balancing trays as if their silence could hide the tremor in their hands. Guards changed posts with clipped steps, eyes fixed ahead so no one mistook them for listeners. Even the wolves in the yard were restless, ears twitching at shadows.The house itself had absorbed the clash between father and son. A storm had broken in Marcus’s study, and the air still tasted of ash and fury. Men said little, but the walls carried their voices. I had lived with these walls long enough to hear them.I sat in my Luna’s chambers, ledger open but unread. On the desk lay a knife, honed sharp, not for display but because words are not always enough. Beside it, a small carved wolf, once kept in the nursery before my sons grew into men and their father turned their games into drills. I ha

POV: Olivia The safehouse smelled like Luther—cedar, gun oil, the faint iron edge of a world I’d kept at arm’s length. I’d told myself a dozen times I could live in two worlds: the glass towers of my company and the wolf-ruled shadows where men settled fights with teeth. Standing in his kitchen, steam fogging the windows, he lay pressed like a bruise. “The kids are asleep,” he said. His voice tried for casual but landed like a stone in water. I gripped the counter. If I let go, I’d close the distance and pull him in. Instead, I anchored myself. “You can’t keep playing both sides. This is my company. My life. You don’t get to—” My throat closed. “You don’t get to claim both worlds.” He held my gaze without apology, carrying battles like scars inside his chest. “Your company is already a target,” he said. “You are already mine.” The word struck like a stone. I could have laughed at the possessiveness, but the sound turned brittle. “Don’t. Don’t make me a prize.” “You pretended you

POV: AriaThe laundromat door chimed behind Olivia, and I sat for a moment longer, staring at the dead tracker in my palm. Small, ordinary—black plastic, a magnet no bigger than a coin. But I knew better. Wolves didn’t always need claws. Sometimes they used tools, human hands, and laws sharp as teeth.I slipped it into my pocket and stepped into the rain. Needles of water stung the pavement, headlights dragging white scars across the wet street.By the time I reached the safehouse, the children were stirring. Daisy met me at the door in socks, curls wild as if she’d been wrestling with dreams.“Is Mama back?” she whispered.I bent, brushed hair from her eyes. “Not yet. She’s making the world look steady.”That seemed enough. Daisy trusted steadiness more than promises.Inside, Lily had stacked books against the den door. Hyden paced, fists tight, Rowan steadying him with a hand to the arm. Their fear wasn’t loud—it was disciplined. That frightened me more than screams ever would. Chil