As he steps closer, I instinctively move away from the door and slip past him, the space between us charged enough to make my pulse race. My heart drums hard in my chest—half from the sudden scare of finding him there, half from the awareness of his presence lingering too close. I force myself to steady my breathing as I settle behind my desk.
He turns as well, mirroring me, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He just stands there, watching me with that unreadable expression, as if weighing every word before he even speaks.
"Was there something you wanted from me?" I ask, my tone clipped, professional. If he notices the slight shake in my voice, he doesn't show it.
He clears his throat, gaze fixed on me. "About Jessica—" His voice is low, almost careful. "There's nothing going on between us. I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea… that I'm sleeping around with anyone."
I blink at him, trying not to let the swirl of emotions show on my face. The hurt from earlier still sits heavy in my chest, but his explanation only leaves me more unsettled. Why does he care what I think? Why bother clarifying at all if I supposedly don't matter to him?
"Whatever you do with your personal life is none of my business," I say, my voice steady, though it costs me every ounce of control to keep it that way.
I watch him as he takes a step forward and pulls out the chair in front of my desk, lowering himself into it. His eyes don't leave me for a second.
"That doesn't seem like so," he says calmly, though there's a weight behind his words that makes my chest tighten. "You looked as if you were about to cry when you left my office."
My stomach twists. It's the truth, and we both know it, but it's a truth I refuse to acknowledge—not to him, not even to myself. I lower my gaze and busy my fingers with the edge of my purse, as if that will erase the sting of his observation.
I flick my eyes toward the small clock on the corner of my desk. Seven minutes into my lunch break. Seven minutes too long of sitting here with him watching me like I'm some puzzle he's determined to solve.
"If that was all, then I think I should go get some lunch," I say briskly, standing and reaching for my wallet. My voice carries a finality that dares him to stop me.
But he doesn't move. He just leans back in the chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, his gaze locked on me with a kind of quiet authority that makes it hard to breathe.
"Ella…" His voice stops me just as I'm about to leave, and I turn, finding him still seated in the guest chair across from my desk.
"There's something coming up," he says after a pause. "Every full moon, the pack gathers. It's… tradition. A celebration of sorts. And with you being Luna now, you'll have to attend it with me."
My fingers tighten around the strap of my purse. My stomach twists instantly, the thought hitting me like a cold stone dropped into water.
I'm not ready for any of that.
I might have built up a certain strength over the years, learned how to live with the fact that I'm wolfless, but walking into a room full of werewolves who'll be reminded of it? Who'll wonder why their Luna isn't like them? That's different. That's pain I've tasted before, and I don't know if I can swallow it again.
The words I'd overheard on our wedding day still haunt me—mockery whispered just loud enough for me to hear. Useless. Unworthy. A Luna in name only. I can still feel the weight of them pressing into my chest, sharp and suffocating.
And now, he's telling me I'll have to stand before them again, bare to their judgment.
I look at him, at the man who dragged me into this marriage, who never asked if I was ready, and now tells me it's not a choice.
stuck on his words. A pack celebration. Even the sound of it weighs heavy on me. I can already picture the glances, the whispered judgments, the unspoken reminders that I am the Luna without a wolf. The thought alone is enough to make my stomach twist.
Despite knowing that I don't really want to attend any sort of celebration involving his pack, I still nod my head. "Alright," I say, and in response, he nods, spinning the pen in his hand, his gaze steady on me. With nothing else to say, I step out of the office.
I was heading to the cafeteria, but halfway through, I change my mind. There's this small seafood restaurant around the corner from the company that I had tried once before. It's cozy and quiet, with just the right kind of silence that lets me breathe. My lunch break is long enough, so I decide to walk there.
I can't help but feel the slight unease creeping up my spine, like someone's eyes are on me. I pause for a moment and glance around, but everything looks normal. I shake it off and keep walking, telling myself that maybe it's just my nerves acting up again.
As I near the restaurant, my phone vibrates in my pocket. When I take it out, I see two missed calls from Mum. Guilt pricks at me—I hadn't even noticed. I push open the glass door of the restaurant and call her back while finding a seat near the window. The familiar sound of her voice fills the line.
"Hello," she says, her tone calm and composed, just like always.
"Hey, Mum," I say, setting my purse on the table and glancing at the menu. "Sorry, my phone was on silent."
"That's alright, you might have been busy," she replies. Her voice carries a trace of amusement, though it's faint. "How have you been?"
"I've been okay," I answer, keeping it simple. I don't want to get into details she wouldn't understand—or care to. "Work's been busy, as usual."
"And how is your husband?" she asks, and I can picture her eyebrow raising the way it always does when she's curious.
I pause for a moment, my gaze falling to my hands. "He's also doing fine," I say finally.
"That's good," she says after a short silence. "I hope you're taking care of yourself. You sound tired."
"I'm fine, Mum. Just been busy," I say, forcing a small smile even though she can't see it. "Nothing to worry about."
"How's Dad?" I ask, trying to sound casual as I glance up from the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man walking in my direction. He's probably planning to take a seat behind me.
"He's been… well," Mum starts, but there's a small pause before she adds, "actually, not so great. He's been in an awful mood the last few weeks. Keeps complaining about the—"
Before she can finish, the man stops right at my table. His shadow falls across my phone, and I look up, slightly confused.
"Hey," he says, his tone polite, almost too calm. "Are you Mrs. Ella Russel?"
I blink, taken off guard. He doesn't look dangerous... if anything, he looks like an ordinary guy who might've mistaken me for someone else. "Yes…" I say slowly, my voice uncertain.
Everything that happens next is a blur.
His hand moves to his waist, and before I can even breathe, the metallic glint of a gun flashes before my eyes. Two sharp cracks echo through the restaurant—loud, final. Pain bursts through my chest like fire, and my hand instinctively presses against the warmth of my own blood spreading beneath my fingers. My phone slips from my grasp, my mother's panicked voice calling my name from the other side of the line.
The world tilts. The restaurant fades into a haze of sound and color, and then—nothing but darkness.