All Chapters of His Dearly Beloved Luna: Chapter 21 - Chapter 29

The corner exit gives me exactly what I need. Distance from everyone inside and a place where nobody is likely to bother me. I pull a cigarette from the pack, light it, and take a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs while I stare at nothing in particular. It does little to settle the anger twisting through me, but at least it gives my hands something to do. I finish the first cigarette and immediately light another, then another, crushing each one beneath my shoe when I am done. By the time the fourth cigarette burns between my fingers, the ground around me is already littered with the remains of the others, but I barely notice. My mind is still upstairs with Sylvia, replaying the way she stood there while Darla humiliated her, the way she simply walked away instead of fighting back. Then I catch her scent. And immediately my entire body goes rigid. The perfume she wears reaches me first, but underneath it is the scent I would recognise anywhere. Sylvia. She is getting cl

“You can’t force me to!” The words tear out of me before I can stop them, and I hate that my voice breaks in front of her. “They were the only people who ever made me feel like I belonged somewhere.” My mother moves toward me, forcing me to retreat until my back meets the wall. She looks at me as though I have deliberately insulted her, as though missing the people I lost is another offence she has been waiting for an opportunity to punish. “You have a family,” she says sharply. “Marcus gave you a home, and this is how you repay him? By behaving like a spoiled, ungrateful child?” “He isn’t my father.” I meet her stare, refusing to soften the words for her comfort. Her hand rises, but this time I don’t shrink away from it. I straighten against the wall, my cheek already bleeding, and look directly at the woman who has spent years making me feel as though my existence is something she needs to apologise for. “Go ahead,” I tell her. “Hit me again. You can do it until I can bare

Elias reaches for the remaining bandage, and I watch him in silence, still thinking about what he said about our parents. His reaction to the word siblings was different from what I expected, almost angry enough to make me forget the pain in my cheek. I turn my face away before he can catch me studying him, but he gently guides my chin back toward him. “Hold still,” he tells me, pressing the bandage into place. “I am holding still,” I mutter, though I resist the urge to pull away when his fingers brush my skin. He finishes securing the dressing and checks the edges, making sure they cover the scratches. His touch is careful, nothing like the roughness I have come to expect from him, and I hate how easily that small difference unsettles me. “Have you had something to eat?” he asks, putting the first aid supplies aside. “I’m not hungry.” His eyes return to mine. “When did you last eat?” “Why do you care?” “Don't test me, Sylvia.” “Then stop asking questions you have no

I intend to. I open the door and leave before he can find a reason to excuse himself. My footsteps carry me down the corridor, but the anger follows, refusing to ease. I want to go back and demand that he do something, anything, that proves Sylvia’s suffering matters to him. Instead, I keep walking because I know how that conversation will end. He will tell me to respect his authority, and I will remind him that authority without responsibility is worthless. Neither of us will change the other’s mind tonight, and I have no intention of wasting another hour trying to make him understand something he has already decided to ignore. So I abandon the idea and continue down the corridor. My feet carry me toward Sylvia’s wing before I consciously decide where I’m going. When I reach her room, I slow down, my gaze settling on the space beside her door where I left the food earlier. The container is gone. I stop, looking at the empty spot for a moment longer than necessary. The l

Sylvia, meanwhile, settles into our department as though she has been there for months rather than weeks. She works through complicated disputes without complaining, asks questions when she needs clarification, and catches details other members of staff overlook. Her competence speaks for itself, leaving very little room for anyone to dismiss her as the girl with the Alpha’s protection. She eats lunch at her desk, keeps her personal life to herself, and maintains the distance she has chosen between us. And if our eyes happen to meet across the office, she looks away first. It is exactly what I wanted when I decided to keep my distance. So why does every day feel worse than the one before? By Friday afternoon, I’ve almost convinced myself that I can get through another meeting without looking at Sylvia. I arrive early to prepare the conference room for the weekly alliance meeting, arranging the territorial maps and negotiation files while representatives from th