All Chapters of Ex Luna's Revenge : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Giacomo’s POV Giacomo wished, more than anything, that things could be different. There was a reckless part of him that wanted to abandon every responsibility, every expectation placed on him, and follow Chiara across the continent to the Moonglow pack without a second thought. For any other woman, he would have done exactly that without hesitation. He had never been known for discipline or restraint, and he had always chosen desire over duty. He would have followed her for a few months, indulged himself in the thrill of it, and when the excitement faded, he would have returned home as though nothing had ever happened. But Chiara was not just any woman. From the very beginning, she had been different, and because of that, she made him different too. Around her, he could not be careless or selfish. He could not act on impulse alone. It frustrated him in ways he could not fully explain, yet at the same time, it grounded him. She made him want to become someone better, someone worth

Luciano De Luca’s POV Watching Doctor B’s plane disappear into the sky left behind a strange, hollow discomfort inside me, one I could neither name nor ignore. It pressed against my chest, subtle yet persistent, like something important had just slipped through my fingers. My wolf felt it too. He paced restlessly in my mind, low growls vibrating through my thoughts, agitated without reason. There was no logical explanation for it. The only thing I could grasp at was the resemblance between Doctor B and Chiara. They shared certain features, similar expressions, even the same quiet strength in their eyes. But I had already convinced myself countless times that they were not the same woman. And yet, standing there, watching that plane vanish into the distance, it felt as though Chiara herself had just been taken from me. Lost… perhaps forever. Even after the aircraft had disappeared completely, I remained where I was, unmoving beside the open door of my sedan. The crowd that had g

Luciano De Luca’s POV For the next few days, I forced myself into routine, burying every thought of Chiara and Doctor B beneath work and obligation, as though discipline alone could silence the storm inside my head. They were both gone, out of reach, leaving me with nothing but questions that had no answers yet. I had Benedetto and several others searching quietly, pulling at every thread they could find, but until something concrete returned to me, I remained trapped in uncertainty, suspended between denial and a truth I was not ready to face. After reading through Chiara’s diary, I had gathered the few belongings that remained intact, items I could recognize as hers, and brought them into my own room. The diary, especially, felt too important to leave behind, as though it carried the last fragile pieces of her that still belonged to me. Once everything of value was secured, I allowed the house staff to restore what was left of her room, though I already knew nothing they did coul

Chiara’s POVFive awesome years later Five years had changed everything in ways I once thought impossible, yet some parts of me still felt like they belonged to a version of myself I had buried deep beneath responsibility and distance. “Piera, do you have that chart?” I called out across the office without looking up from the file in my hands. “Already placed it on your desk, Dr. B,” she replied almost instantly, her voice carrying a familiar confidence that always made me trust her judgment without hesitation. So she had. I should have known better than to doubt her efficiency by now. For the past five years, we had moved through the Moonglow pack lands like a quiet force of restoration, building what was missing where others had given up. Together with Piera, who had grown from a hesitant junior healer into someone I could rely on completely, we had established four functioning clinics in some of the most neglected and war strained regions of the pack. This new site, still in

Chiara’s POV The moment I unfolded the letter, I recognized the handwriting immediately. That familiar, slightly slanted scrawl belonged to Giacomo, and just seeing it stirred something soft and complicated inside my chest. Over the past five years, Giacomo and I had grown close in a quiet, steady way. Our letters had become a constant in my life, arriving like clockwork, filled with updates, thoughts, and the kind of warmth that asked for nothing in return yet offered everything. Occasionally, we spoke over the phone, though those moments were rare, stretched thin by distance and cost. Still, even through ink and paper, his presence had remained unwavering. And so had his feelings. No matter how many times I tried to gently push him away from that path, he refused to turn. He held on with a patience that both comforted and unsettled me, as if he believed that one day my heart would finally open to him. I remembered one conversation clearly, from about three years ago. His voice