Chapter 35 Chapter 35

Chapter 35 Chapter 35
Luke stood stiffly beside the limo, dressed in a deep midnight-blue tuxedo that made him look like a secret agent preparing for a mission—not a glorified escort. His posture was immaculate, shoulders square, chin raised… until the door opened and Zarlia stepped out.
His eyes widened.
It wasn’t just a double-take. It was a holy-shit-what-happenedkind of stare.
Black silk poured over her body like liquid shadows, hugging every curve, the fabric shimmering under the outdoor lights. Her makeup was dark, fierce—smoky black around her eyes, deep red splashed on her lips like forbidden fruit. Even the air around her felt charged, like lightning right before it strikes.
Mimi trailed behind her, head high with a bubble gum in her mouth ignoring Luke’s piercing gaze. She looked like a child caught sneaking cookies from a jar.
“Miss Shaw, I’m afraid you can’t wear—” Luke started, voice cracking with professional panic.
Zarlia didn’t even blink in his direction.
She walked past him with the lazy arrogance of a queen who didn’t answer to mortals. The silk of her gown whispered as she moved. She slid into the car without a word, jaw tight, eyes blazing—still furious from the suggestion her said to Stetson, even though Luke had absolutely no idea.
Mimi hurried in after her.
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear… I do not get paid enough for this.”
He exhaled, composed himself, and climbed into the front seat.He dares not maltreat her because she was Stetson’s Luna and no longer the incompetent secretary. “Drive. Now. Before anyone sees her.”
The car peeled away.
The gala was a cathedral of wealth—towering chandeliers dripping with gold light, a marble floor polished to a mirror shine, the hum of expensive conversations filling the air. Stetson stood near the center, perfect posture, perfectly controlled expression, dressed in a black tux that fit his broad shoulders like it was tailored by fate.
He was speaking to Mr. Easton and his wife, exchanging polite niceties.
“Glad you could make it Mr. West. Please meet my wife, Diane”, Stetson nodded before kissing the old woman hand. “The pleasure is mine”, with his charming smile, the old woman couldn’t help but blush.
“I must say when my dear Sammie said he was going to do business with you I was quite scared because of the rumours I’ve heard about you Mr. West” the woman’s hand returned to her husband’s chest.
“Rumours you say?”
Then— the crowd rippled. Gasps. Whispers. Heads turning. A sudden hush swept through the room.
“Wow… who on earth is she?” Mrs. Easton breathed, pressing a hand to her chest.
Stetson frowned and followed everyone’s gaze.
And his heart stopped.
Zarlia entered the ballroom like a storm disguised as a woman.Her hair was tied in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands framing her face—softening her wild beauty in a way that made her look devastatingly effortless. The black gown slid over her hips like midnight ink, the neckline sinful, the slit teasing the promise of danger with every step of her heels clicking against marble.
Her lips—God—red as blood, red as temptation.
She wasn’t dressed for attention. She was dressed to ruin him.
Stetson’s breath caught. Asher, his wolf, pushed against his ribcage like an animal trying to escape.
Her eyes met his across the room. Bold. Unapologetic. Challenging. She walked toward him, every step controlled and sensual, as if daring him to stop her. When she reached him, she slid a hand around his arm like she had every right to touch him.
“Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” she said sweetly.
Mr. Easton beamed. “Stetson, you didn’t tell me your wife was this beautiful!” Stetson forced a polite smile, but his jaw flexed like he was choking on his own fury.
Zarlia gave a soft laugh. “Oh, I’m not his wife. Just the ex he can’t get over.”
Both Eastons looked like they’d been slapped with scandal.
“Excuse us,” Stetson growled under his breath, dragging her away by the wrist. Behind them, Mrs. Easton giggled.
“Love is such a beautiful thing.”
The moment they were alone, Stetson spun her toward him. His eyes were blazing, pupils dilated, wolf shimmering beneath the surface. “What the hell are you wearing?” he hissed, voice low enough to hide his fury from the crowd but sharp enough to cut glass.
Zarlia tilted her head, amused. “Stetson… I don’t even think you know how to curse properly.”
A deep growl rolled up his throat, barely controlled. “Why the fuck,” he whispered harshly, “are you wearing that bloody dress?”
She stepped close—close enough he could smell her perfume, warm vanilla mixed with something dark and dangerous. Close enough he felt the heat of her skin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.She lifted her hand and ran her thumb across his lips—slow, teasing, intimate.
“To anger you,” she whispered. “Let’s see how well you resist me now.”
Then she turned, hips swaying, silk gliding, and walked straight into a cluster of admiring guests without looking back.
Stetson clenched the table so hard the utensils rattled. His wolf snarled inside him, furious and hungry.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Asher growled. “She wants us and so many people are looking at what’s ours.”
And Stetson knew— she wasn’t just provoking him. She was challenging him. Testing him. And enjoying every second of watching him lose control.
Zarlia had barely taken three steps away from Stetson before a tall, well-dressed man approached her with a confident smile.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, offering his hand. He was dressed in an emerald green suit with accessories that could buy a yacht.   
And without hesitating—not even glancing toward Stetson—she agreed. “Of course.”
Stetson’s jaw locked so tightly he thought his teeth would crack. His hand twitched, ready to grab her back, ready to rip the stranger away from her. But before he could take a single step, Luke appeared at his side.
“Alpha—Mr. Graves wants a moment of your time. It’s urgent. About the land agreement.”
Stetson nearly snarled. “Not now.”
“Sir, he asked for you personally.”
Behind him the man placed his hand at the small of Zarlia’s back. Stetson’s breath left his lungs in a low growl.
Asher roared inside him. “Go get her. She’s ours.”
“Handle it,” Stetson forced out.
“Sir—”
“I said handle it.”
Luke stared, confused. “You told me to—”
“Handle. It.” The words came out dangerously low.
Stetson didn’t wait. He was already moving toward the dance floor. His eyes were locked on Zarlia—her body pressed too close to the stranger’s, her smile too soft, her hand resting on his shoulder like it belonged there.
She threw her head back laughing at something the man said. A knife twisted in Stetson’s chest.
She was doing this on purpose. She wanted him to burn. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, heat rolling off him.
“Get your hands off her.” The man blinked, startled. “Uh—excuse me?”
Stetson stepped forward; expression carved from stone. “I said. Get. Your hands. Off her.” The man attempted a shaky smile. “We’re just danc—”
“Now.” The single word cracked like a whip.
The man flinched, released Zarlia immediately, and practically jogged away without looking back.
Zarlia raised a brow. “Well. That was rude.”
Stetson ignored the jab and took her hand firmly, pulling her into him as the next slow song began. His palm settled on her lower back, warm and possessive. Their bodies pressed together, swaying in rhythm, though his breath was anything but calm.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked quietly, almost painfully. “You know I hate seeing you with other men.”
Zarlia rolled her eyes. “Cry about it.”
His nostrils flared. Asher growled but Stetson kept his voice low.
“Why did you suddenly become so defiant?” His fingers tightened slightly on her waist. “If this is about that heart nonsense—Zarlia, I’m not going to eat your heart. I would never hurt you. If I wanted your heart, I would have taken it a long time ago.”
“That’s not the reason,” she said, staring over his shoulder.
“Then what is it?” He spun her, bringing her back against his chest. She snapped, obviously she’d have to spell it out for him.
“Everything, Stetson!” Her voice trembled with anger, with hurt. “You never tell me anything. You keep me in the dark. You control every step I take. You never—” her breath shook, “—never loved me. Never wanted me. Never tried to understand me. You didn’t trust me. Meanwhile I gave you everything I had.”
His chest tightened, but she wasn’t done.
“You didn’t tell me about Mimi. Or your clan. Or Viktor. Or anything. You just expect me to follow you blindly like some obedient little Luna.”
As she spoke, something shifted—a soft whisper brushed her ear.
“I could tell you.” Asher’s voice.
“Not now, Asher,” she snapped aloud.
Stetson froze mid-step. “You can hear him?” he whispered. “Since when?”
Zarlia pressed her back against his chest, his arms automatically circling her. Her voice was low, careful, strained.
“That’s not important right now.”
But the terror, the fury, and the confusion in Stetson’s eyes said otherwise.