Morning light streamed into my room, a clean, sharp blade cutting through the lingering darkness.
It felt like an accusation.
There was no peace in the dawn, only the stark memory of what I had become the night before.
The aftermath of the Moonbath was a silent scream in my blood.
My bones ached with a strange, hollow echo, and when I closed my eyes, I saw it again: the silver light, the raw power tearing out of me, the look of utter shock on Trevor's face as he was thrown back.
I felt like a glass vase that had been struck—still whole on the outside, but webbed with fractures only I could see.
I never wanted to attend another one again.
The primal energy, the watching eyes, the way it had pulled the monster from deep within me... it wasn't a connection to the pack. It was an exposure. A violation.
A soft knock came at the door.
It was Clara, her expression a careful blend of deference and newfound solidarity.
"The Alpha is ready for you in his study, Luna."
I followed her, the memory of Billy's face constant in my head.
I found Falon standing before the fireplace, not as a husband, but as a sovereign.
"Your display has created a problem," he began, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"Public fear is a currency, and you have made a significant deposit. That fear can destabilize everything."
"My son is missing," I said, the words a low thrum of pain. "That is the only problem that matters to me."
He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, a gesture so cold it stole the air from my lungs.
"The search for your son is a resource allocation. My resources. Your new... capabilities... have made you a strategic variable. One I can no longer leave unmanaged." He fixed me with a piercing gaze.
"You will become my private intern. You will learn the source of my power so you do not accidentally break it. Your education begins now."
The car was a rolling tomb of silence.
Falon sat across from me, his attention buried in a tablet, the blue light etching sharp planes onto his face.
I stared out the window, watching the city blur past. Each towering building felt like a bar in a cage I was willingly walking into. For Billy.
It was always for Billy.
We didn't speak.
The hum of the engine was the only sound, a low drone that matched the restless energy still humming beneath my skin.
I could feel his gaze on me occasionally, a quick, assessing glance before he returned to his screen.
He was studying me, just as I was preparing to study his world.
---
The car slid to a smooth halt beneath a gleaming skyscraper that pierced the sky, its surface a mirror of cold, reflected light.
Gray Global. The heart of his empire.
He led the way through the spinning glass doors into a lobby that was a cathedral of wealth.
Marble floors, a vaulted ceiling, and an oppressive silence broken only by the soft, hurried clicks of expensive heels.
People stopped, bowed their heads, and murmured, "Alpha." Their eyes then flicked to me, wide with curiosity.
I was no longer a rumor; I was a confirmed, dangerous fact.
We moved to a private elevator that required his palm print to activate.
It ascended without a sound, a seamless rise that felt like being lifted into another stratosphere of power.
When the doors slid open, it was onto a different world.
The noise of the lobby vanished, replaced by a profound, carpeted hush. We were in his inner sanctum.
And standing there, as if he'd been expecting us, was a man who embodied the very essence of this sleek, efficient world.
He was young, probably in his late twenties, with sharp, intelligent features and dark hair styled with impeccable precision.
He wore a suit that probably cost more than my entire existence at the Onyx Club had been worth.
His posture was relaxed yet alert, and his eyes—a calm, perceptive hazel—took in everything in a single, sweeping glance.
"Alpha," he said, his voice as smooth and polished as the surroundings.
His gaze shifted to me, and he offered a respectful, flawless nod.
"Luna. It's a pleasure.
I'm Liam, Mr. Gray's executive assistant. Your schedule is clear until ten, sir. The documents for the Bartimore merger are on your desk."
His efficiency was breathtaking.
But what struck me most wasn't his professionalism.
It was the way his eyes, for the briefest of seconds, flickered past me to where Clara had just stepped out of the adjacent elevator.
It was a flash of warmth, so quick I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't an expert in hiding my own emotions.
Clara's cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink before her own professional mask slammed back into place.
Falon gave a curt nod. "Good. Hold my calls."
The air filled with unspoken secrets.
I had just met the first player in Falon's corporate court, and I had already discovered his first, carefully hidden vulnerability.
Falon didn't give me time to process the silent exchange between Liam and Clara.
He gestured for me to follow him into a boardroom that overlooked the entire city.
The table was a long, dark slab of polished wood, surrounded by a dozen of the pack's most powerful elites.
All conversation died the moment we entered.
Every head turned, not just to their Alpha, but to me.
I felt their gazes like physical touches—assessing, wary, calculating the new variable in their equation.
Falon took his seat at the head of the table.
He didn't offer me one. This was part of the lesson. I was to stand, a silent shadow at his right shoulder.
"Gentlemen," Falon began, his voice cool and authoritative.
"You all know my wife, Luna Riley. She will be observing our operations to better understand the pillars that support our pack. You will afford her every courtesy."
It was a statement, not a request.
A king introducing a new, sharp-edged queen to his court.
I met their stares one by one, my face a placid mask, the same one I'd worn a thousand times on stage.
But inside, I was mapping their faces, their micro-expressions of resentment, curiosity, and fear.
And there, seated midway down the table, was Selene.
Her expression was perfectly composed, a masterpiece of polite neutrality. But her eyes were frozen lakes.
The meeting proceeded.
Talk of mergers, acquisitions, quarterly reports.
It was a foreign language of power, and I was a desperate student, absorbing every word, every subtle shift in allegiance.
Falon was a master, dissecting arguments and steering the room with a few clipped sentences.
I saw the respect he commanded, the sheer, unchallenged authority.
This was the real source of his power, not the primal display of the Moonbath.
When the meeting adjourned, the members filed out with respectful nods.
Selene, however, glided towards me, a practiced, conciliatory smile on her lips.
"Luna Riley," she said, her voice a silken purr.
"A surprisingly productive meeting. So you're going to be working as his intern? Well, I understand his reasons why?"
The barb was perfectly aimed, reminding everyone of the "scene" I'd caused.
I met her gaze, my own smile a small, cold thing.
"Where's Trevor? I haven't seen him yet—Or could he simply not make it after I shoved him for being inappropriate?"
I let the words hang, watching her smile strain.
Selene's mask tightened. "He's not feeling well today."
"Good," I said, my voice dropping to a intimate, cutting whisper meant only for her.
"You should learn from him, Selene. You don't want to end up like him and ruin your perfect attendance."
I didn't wait for a reply.
I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, her composure shattered into a million silent, furious pieces.
The shadow had just bared its teeth.
The silence in the boardroom was suffocating.
Falon's lesson echoed in my mind, a chilling testament to the man I was bound to.
Needing a moment, I slipped out and walked toward the executive lounge.
As I turned the corner, I saw them.
Clara was leaning against a cubicle divider, a real, unguarded smile on her face.
Liam stood close, his hand briefly brushing against hers as he handed her a tablet, their heads bent together in a shared, intimate joke.
Then Liam spotted me.
In a flash, he straightened up, his professional mask slamming back into place.
"Luna," he nodded, his voice perfectly even before he walked away.
Clara's smile vanished, replaced by wary anxiety.
I walked over to her.
"He makes you smile," I said softly.
"That's a rare thing to find in a place like this. Don't let this world take that from you."
The relief in her eyes was immediate. "Thank you, Luna."
"Riley," I corrected her.
Her smile returned, smaller, but genuine. "Riley."
The moment of peace was shattered by a sharp buzz from her phone.
Then another. And another.
Her brow furrowed as she looked at the screen, her face rapidly draining of all color.
"Riley..." she whispered, her voice trembling. She turned the phone toward me.
It was a video.
The footage was from the Moonbath.
It began with my silver-eyed surge of power, the wave of force that threw Trevor back.
But then, the edit came.
It cut to a different angle, zoomed in on my face, contorting my expression of shock into one of pure, vicious rage.
The audio was crudely dubbed with a guttural, fabricated snarl: "You areNOTHING!"
The video ended there.
The damage was subtler, more corrosive.
The headline was the real knife: UNSTABLE LUNA? SHOCKING FOOTAGE SHOWS RILEY GRAY'S PRIMAL RAGE, VIOLENT OUTBURST AGAINST PACK HEIR.
The caption below spun a tale of a dangerous, unpredictable woman who couldn't control her base instincts, a liability to the pack's stability and its corporate image.
The comments were a torrent of horror and doubt.
My blood ran cold.
This wasn't an accusation of murder.
It was an accusation of instability.
It was designed to make me unelectable as Luna, to make Falon doubt his asset, to make the board fear my presence.
And in that instant, I knew. I knew with absolute, chilling certainty.
This wasn't Trevor's desperate ploy.
This was too sophisticated, too perfectly aimed at my credibility and the pack's corporate facade.
This was the work of a master of perception. A master of branding.
This was Selene's revenge.