Chapter 1 The First Glance
Zachary Artesian walked into Luna Café, and the air seemed to hold its breath. Everyone watched him as he moved, sharp and deliberate, his dark eyes scanning the room. This wasn't just a casual visit—he was here for one reason: to see who ran the café.
He sat in the corner on the right, his gaze fixed on Amber. Every step she took, every gesture, every smile she gave her customers, he noticed.
"She's not bad... looks a lot like her mom, but even more..." he whispered.
He remembered Luna Seraphine once mentioning her daughter, but he hadn't expected this. Amber wasn't just beautiful—she was striking, the kind of woman who could command attention without even trying.
Zachary slipped his phone from his pocket and placed a call, his voice steady and deliberate.
"This might be the right time," he said, each word carrying weight.
When the call ended, his eyes returned to Amber. The fatigue on her face was clear, yet she pushed through it as if it didn't exist. He leaned back in his seat, studying her with quiet intensity.
"She doesn't bend easily... that's rare. Maybe she's even tougher than her mother ever was."
___
Meanwhile.
"Table two, order is out!" Amber called, her voice crisp and melodic, a practiced blend of professionalism and warmth. Jam, a whirlwind of energy, grabbed the tray, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Coming! Table two, serving!" Jamaica responded.
Amber smiled, grateful for Jam's unwavering enthusiasm. She's with Jam since they were a little, a lost she-wolf from a struggling tribal line, just like so many others who now called Luna Café home. Each of them carried their own scars, their own stories of hardship and hope, and Amber felt a fierce protectiveness towards them all.
At first glance, Luna Café looked rustic and quaint—twenty tables neatly arranged beneath the glow of warm, flickering lanterns, a double-tiered bar near the entrance crafted from reclaimed wood, and ivy vines climbing along its arched windows. The air carried the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee and cinnamon, a comforting blend that masked its deeper purpose.
Among werewolves, it was revered. More than a business, the café was neutral ground—a haven bound by a silent pact. It was her mother's legacy. Luna, the first female Alpha of the Southern region, had turned away from bloodshed and built peace instead, armed with nothing more than a coffee pot and a quiet smile. She had vanished when Amber was only a child, leaving behind questions without answers. Yet her presence remained in every brick, every corner, a living testament to the ideals she had fought for.
And Amber would do anything to protect it.
"Amber," Jam murmured, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Look at table four... that guy's staring again."
Amber raised her eyes discreetly—and her breath hitched.
At table four, seated as though he owned the air around him, was Zachary Artesian. Yes she knows him, everyone does. He is the most powerful Alpha in Northern region. He wasn't just any Alpha. A warrior raised on discipline and silence, forged in the fires of constant conflict. Tales of his merciless ways echoed from forest to city—his swift punishments, his unmatched strength. Many feared him, whispered his name with a mixture of dread and awe. Some admired him, drawn to his power and unwavering resolve. All respected him, knowing the consequences of crossing him.
"Why he's staring at me?"
Zachary quietly sat with perfect posture, his broad shoulders squared, his hands resting on the table, still and controlled. He didn't move. He simply watched. There was no warmth in his expression, no invitation—only cold intensity, as though he were studying her soul, memorizing the pattern of her breath, dissecting her very essence. It was unnerving, invasive, and yet, she couldn't look away.
And now, he was here.
In her café.
Then, without a word, Zach rose from his seat, his movements fluid and deliberate. He nodded once to no one in particular, a curt gesture that somehow felt more like a command than a polite farewell, and left. The air seemed to thin as he exited, the tension dissipating like smoke.
"Weirdo," Jam muttered again, breaking the silence.
Amber blinked, her pulse still racing, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and apprehension.
"Shh... just clean table seven," she murmured, trying to steady her voice, to regain control of the café, of herself.
Jam saluted with a grin, "Yes, boss!"
_____
Midnight came with the soft chime of Big Ben across the plaza, its familiar melody clashing with the storm inside Amber.
"Time to go home!" Jam sang as she untied her apron and grabbed her tote. The other employees followed, gathering their things, their voices low as they prepared to leave the safety of the café.
"Are you not coming with us?" Margaux asked.
"You go ahead," Amber replied with a forced smile. She motioned to the stack of papers on the small desk tucked behind the kitchen. "I need to catch up on some paperwork."
Luna Café didn't run on magic—it ran on numbers, budgets, and sheer stubbornness. And tonight, none of it was working out.
"My head hurts from this loan," she muttered, pressing her palms against her temples.
She stared down at the messy calculations, frustration stinging her eyes. "How am I supposed to fix this? How can I protect my mother's legacy when I'm barely keeping it alive?"
The supply budget had disappeared—stolen, if she was honest. And the thief was the one person she couldn't stop: her stepmother. Liza was chaos wrapped in expensive perfume, a woman who lived on extravagance and left Amber to deal with the wreckage.
With a sigh, Amber stuffed the receipts into her leather bag, locked the register, and stepped into the cool night. Her breath misted in the glow of the streetlights, her fingers trembling—not just from the cold, but from the weight pressing down on her. The café. Her staff. Her father's failures. All of it felt like too much.
"I won't let it fall," she whispered into the darkness, her voice firm despite the ache in her chest. "I'll find a way."
____
At home, the silence was louder, more oppressive than ever before. The house felt empty without her mother's warmth, haunted by the ghosts of happier times.
Amber had barely stepped inside when voices drew her to the study. Low, sharp, tense, they cut through the silence like shards of glass.
"I told you—just a few more days and this will all be over," Liza said, her tone falsely sweet, laced with a desperation that sent a fresh wave of unease through Amber.
Amber paused in the hallway, her hand resting on the cool wall. Her senses sharpened, every nerve on high alert. Her wolf stirred uneasily beneath her skin, sensing the danger in the air.
She peered through the door. Liza and Philip were seated inside, bathed in the harsh light of the desk lamp. They were both upright, expectant, their faces etched with a mixture of anxiety and guilt.
"I think it's time to tell her," Liza said, looking straight at her, her eyes glinting with a strange, predatory gleam.
Amber stepped in, her heart pounding in her chest. "Tell me what?"
Her father took a shaky sip of whiskey, his hand trembling so violently that some of the liquid spilled down his chin. His eyes didn't meet hers, his gaze fixed on the worn carpet beneath his feet. He looked defeated, broken, a shadow of the man she once knew.
"You're going to work for Alpha Zachary Artesian," Liza announced, her voice devoid of emotion.
Amber stared at her, her blood turning to ice, her mind struggling to comprehend the words. "You... sold me?"
Liza's laugh was ice, a brittle, mocking sound that sent a shiver down Amber's spine. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a job. A well-paid one, I might add. Enough to save this café, to clear my debts." Liza's eyes glittered with triumph. "He needs someone he can trust. And you, dear, are the chosen one."
Amber turned to Philip, her voice pleading, desperate. "Dad... please... tell me this isn't true."
But he just looked away, his silence a deafening confirmation.
Liza stood, smoothing her silk dress, her movements precise and calculated. "If you love this café, you'll go. You'll smile. You'll survive. And when it's done, you'll be free."
Amber clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
It was a trap, masked by generosity, a gilded cage designed to imprison her.
She turned toward the door, fury bubbling in her throat, threatening to erupt.
"Amber—" her father called out, his voice barely a whisper.
She stopped, her back to them, her body trembling with rage and despair.
He looked up at her finally, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own. They were damp with unshed tears. "I'm sorry."
She nodded once, a small, almost imperceptible movement.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
And as she stepped out into the night, tears fell freely down her cheeks—silent, burning, resolute. She would go. She would survive. But she would never forgive them for this.