She grabbed her hand.
Her fingers wrapped around Lila's like it meant nothing. Like it didn't twist something inside me to see her reach for another person with such casual affection—an affection that should've been mine.
I watched from the shadows of the dining room's warm lighting, my jaw clenched so tightly I could hear my teeth grind. Luna, in her fragile beauty, smiling gently. Lila, clueless and basking in attention that was never meant for her.
I hadn't planned this far. I didn't anticipate her trying to match me with someone else, especially not her best friend. Did she think so little of herself? Did she think I wanted someone white, someone simple, someone not her?
My Luna—no, the Luna—was unlike any woman I had ever seen. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew. Years had passed, and still, she hadn't changed. Still oblivious to me, still dancing just out of reach.
But not anymore.
I had designed everything. The illness, the donor, the hospital visits. Every brick in this careful wall had been placed with precision. And now, she brought another woman to dinner.
To match me.
As if I could ever be meant for anyone but her.
My eyes didn't stray to Lila. Not even once. I barely even saw her—just a blonde blur next to the masterpiece. My focus was Luna. Always Luna. Her soft brown skin catching the candlelight, her lashes blinking slowly as she laughed—nervously, politely. Trying. But failing.
I saw the tremor in her hands.
The doubt in her eyes.
She knew I was watching. She always did.
And still she pulled Lila closer, encouraging her to smile at me, to speak, to impress.
It made me want to break something.
She didn't know yet. She didn't understand. But she would.
Soon.
For now, I played the part. Stoic. Distant. Cordial.
A man politely tolerating the woman he didn't ask for, while his entire being screamed for the one across the table.
Let her try to set me up. Let her believe I wanted someone else. Because when I finally take her… when the mask drops… when she realizes she's been mine since the beginning—
There won't be anyone left to pull her away.
Not even herself.
---