บททั้งหมดของ Pursuing My Rejected Luna: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

SkyeSeven months pregnant, and I've stopped counting the days until I "go back." Back to where, exactly? I’m not sure anymore. I vaguely recall I had a plan for my life once the threat was dealt with, but it all seems so hazy now. Because this is my life now. Living here at Nicolai’s estate. The work I somehow fell into naturally, without really making a conscious decision to get involved. And then there is Nicolai, the man I’ve come to want more than my next breath.I stopped fighting that truth somewhere between the first kiss and this morning, when I woke up thinking about him before I was fully conscious. Before I remembered where I was or what day it was. Before anything except the warmth of knowing he exists.That's when I knew for sure. The evidence that I belong here is everywhere, if I look. Pack members come to me now with administrative questions rather than waiting for Dimitri. Not because they've been told to, but because I've been here long enough to know the answers.

JaxonI'm reviewing boring border reports, trying not to think about Skye, our baby, or basically anything else about my messed up life, when my Beta knocks on the open office door."You have a visitor," Noah says. His expression tells me everything before the words do. Whoever it is, I don’t want to see them. And there’s only one person I can think of I don’t want to see. "No." I immediately refuse. "She's already inside. The guard let her through before I could intercept." He slumps like he;s admitting a personal failure. I reluctantly set down the reports, resigned to the fact my day is about to get even shittier. If that’s possible. Cassandra stands in my office doorway looking nothing like the last time I saw her—desperate, caught, stripped of every advantage I’d given her. She's composed now. Polished. The version of herself she presents to the world when she needs something.She always needs something."You have thirty seconds," I say, "before I have you escorted off pack te

SkyeI’m in the kitchen, stealthily digging through the pantry for my favorite pregnancy snack of peanut butter and chocolate chips, when Mikhail finds me. He doesn’t comment on my armful of goodies, though I’m sure I catch the corner of the stoic man’s mouth turn up in a knowing smirk at the sight. But he quickly hides it away again before I can be sure.Instead, he delivers a message in his precise, careful way. And it’s the last thing I expect him to say. My ex-husband, the man who professed his undying love for me after I left him, only to run back to my sister, is now bringing two council members here tomorrow for a formal inquiry. And there is only one thing left between us he has to question. The tub of peanut butter and back of chocolate chips slip through my hold, hitting the ground with a thud as I stare back at Mikhail. I’m not sure how long I stand there, mute, words completely failing me as I try to process what’s happening.Then I mutter with remarkable calm, "He's reall

Jaxon The drive back to Ironwood Pack takes three hours. I don't remember a single mile of it.Noah drives. I sit in the passenger seat and stare at the road disappearing behind us in the side mirror and think about the look on Skye's face. Not the anger. Not the exhaustion. The certainty.You will always choose to believe the worst of me first.She said it like she'd finally finished a math problem she'd been working on for years. Like the last variable had resolved and the answer was exactly what she'd suspected but kept hoping was wrong.I went to Woolf territory to find answers. And fuck if I didn’t find them. They just weren't the ones I was looking for.Cassandra is still in the guest house when we arrive. Brave of her to stick around considering the way she set me up. But there she is, waiting with that put-on anxiety she’s so good at—pacing in front of the huge bay window, looking toward the main house every few minutes. The performance of a woman who needs something and has s

NicolaiThe estate returns to silence the moment the council car clears the main gate. I stand in the doorway of the formal meeting room, looking at the table where everything happened—the documents, the photographs, the careful, devastating dismantling of an accusation that never should have been made—and then I go to find Skye.I know she’s crying before I reach her wing. Not because I hear the sound. It’s her scent. Sharp and salt-edged in the specific way that means she's been crying, but the texture underneath it isn't grief. It's rage. Cold and clean and righteous.That knowledge alone strikes me hard. I've learned the difference. Learned her. She's on the floor of her sitting room. Seven months pregnant and on the floor, which surprises me for exactly a second before I understand it—at this stage, sofas and chairs require negotiation. Sometimes the floor is simply more honest.Her back is against the sofa, knees drawn up as far as her belly allows. Her face in her hands. She’s