Semua Bab The False Luna: Bab 51 - Bab 60

POV: CamilaThe guard could barely look me in the eye. His hands trembled as sweat dripped down his temple, his gaze avoiding mine.“Mrs. Luna, I swear... I didn't see little Tiago leave.”The words echoed, and for a moment, the ground seemed to disappear beneath me. I felt my heart racing, a rapid rhythm that hurt my chest. It didn't make sense. Tiago would never leave alone, especially with so many guards scattered around the gates. What if someone had taken advantage of a moment of carelessness?“Are you sure about that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my throat was dry.“Yes, ma'am... no children passed through the gates today.”He lowered his head as if the air inside had become too heavy. His breathing was short, the smell of fear permeating the room. I approached slowly, and he took a step back—perhaps it was instinct. Luna's mark still weighed heavily, even if the pack no longer recognized her.I stepped back before anger took hold. I felt Nyssara stir in

POV: CarlosI couldn't remember the last time my head had been so confused. Anger, surprise, curiosity, desire—all mixed up in a knot that tightened my chest and made me breathe as if I had just come out of a fight. Camila had always been predictable, meek, the kind of female who lowers her head when the Alpha speaks. I always knew her role: wife, mother, companion for appearances. But the woman who stood before me in that room was not the same.That Camila looked me in the eye without fear. Her voice didn't tremble, her face didn't beg for forgiveness. She challenged me. She stood up to Maura, spoke like a real wolf — and when I saw the blood running down Maura's forehead, I couldn't decide if I should be furious with her or fascinated by Camila.The slap to Tiago was the final blow. The old Camila would never have done that. The old one would have knelt, cried, tried to explain. Not this one. This one looked at her own son and the Alpha of the house and said she had nothing to do wi

POV: CarlosAfter leaving Maura and Tiago in the TV room of the pack's house—she with her impeccable bandage and measured smile, he mesmerized by the glow of the screen—I went up to the main hall where the meeting would take place. The Moon Festival was just a few days away, and the supreme king had demanded that every Alpha from the neighboring packs gather to organize security. A political gesture, they said. I called it a parade of submissive egos.I entered the room with the weight of my authority and sat at the head of the long dark wood table. I liked that position. I liked the way everyone had to look at me to speak, how my every movement seemed like an unspoken command. The others arrived little by little, each with their posture of trying to look stronger than they were. Alphas from smaller territories, some in debt, others still trying to prove they deserved the title they carried.The conversation began with formalities—reports, numbers, proposals. One of them, the Alpha of

POV: CamilaValentina practically dragged me to the salon, saying that no woman can truly be reborn if she doesn't start with her own mirror. I went in still laughing, thinking she was exaggerating, but as soon as I smelled the place—that mixture of expensive shampoo, hot dryers, and sweet perfume—I understood what she meant. It had been years since I'd set foot in a place like this. The last time was probably before I married Carlos. Since then, the mirror had become an enemy.I sat in the chair and let the hairdresser — an omega with a soft voice and curious eyes — run her fingers through my hair. “How much do you want to cut?” she asked, holding my hair as if evaluating an antique fabric.“Just enough to take the weight of the past off.”She smiled, and I saw Valentina settling into the chair next to me, watching like a child with a new gift. The sound of the scissors began, that almost hypnotic rhythm, and with each strand that fell, it seemed that a part of the old Camila was say

POV. CarlosI opened the door to the pack's house and the scent hit me first, thick and inviting: garlic browning, thyme warming in olive oil, wine breathing in glasses, a perfume that was not Camila's discreet one — something more assertive, more alive, the kind that announces that someone has entered to be noticed. The omegas greeted me with their usual formality, eyes downcast, steps too hurried for those who don't want to be called out. I crossed the hall with the meeting folder still in my hand and, before appearing in the kitchen doorway, I let my ears confirm what my nose already knew: the laughter was there. Valentina spoke with the insolent joy of someone who doesn't ask permission to exist; Camila responded without hesitation, her voice clear, no request for approval beneath her words.I entered as if unaware of my own effect. Her hair was loose, her skin discreetly glowing, her new dress precisely outlining her body; her waist was marked with a confidence I hadn't seen in h