Chapter 48 Bumping into a familiar stranger
I needed air.
That was the lie I told myself as I slipped away from the bonfire, from the music, from the children’s laughter still echoing too loudly in my ears. In truth, I needed distance, from the word father, from the image of Darius with those pups, from the terrifying realization of what could grow inside me if I let myself stay unguarded.
The house loomed ahead, warm lights glowing through tall windows. Compared to the chaos outside, the interior felt almost too quiet, the sounds of celebration muted behind thick walls. I stepped inside and let the door close softly behind me, resting my palm against it for a brief second as I breathed in slowly.
Just a bathroom break, I told myself. Just a moment.
The marble floors were cool beneath my feet as I walked down the hallway, past framed portraits of past Alphas and Lunas whose eyes seemed to follow me wherever I went. I avoided looking at them too closely. Tonight, I didn’t want to see faces that looked settled, complete, fulfilled.
The bathroom was empty, pristine, smelling faintly of lavender and something sharper underneath, cleanliness. I washed my hands longer than necessary, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I barely recognized myself.
I looked like a Luna.
The thought made my jaw clench.
I splashed water on my face and straightened, schooling my features back into something neutral. Then I turned and walked out.
And walked straight into someone else.
“Oof—”
We both stopped abruptly. My shoulder brushed against a firm arm, and I stepped back instinctively, already forming an apology on my lips.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
The words died in my throat.
The woman standing in front of me was tall, poised, her posture immaculate in a way that spoke of decades spent commanding rooms without ever raising her voice. She wore an elegant cream-colored dress tailored perfectly to her body, the fabric expensive enough that I could feel its worth without touching it. Her blonde hair was swept back neatly, though silver-white streaks threaded through it like frost, catching the light. Her eyes—
Her eyes were what froze me in place.
Almost turquoise. Bright. Sharp. Assessing.
I knew those eyes.
A chill crept up my spine as recognition clicked into place.
I had seen her before.
Not here. Not tonight.
That day.
The lab. The glass cell. The council chamber smelled of antiseptic and power. She had been there, standing slightly apart from the others, silent, watching me like I was an equation she hadn’t solved yet.
She was the only one who hadn’t spoken.
The woman smiled.
It was polite. Controlled. Not unkind, but not warm either.
“Forgive me,” she said smoothly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Her voice was cultured, calm, the kind that commanded attention without effort.
I forced myself to breathe. “It’s fine,” I replied, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me more openly now. Not rudely. Clinically. As if I were… interesting.
“Lyra,” she said, not asking. “We finally meet properly.”
My fingers curled at my sides. “You know my name.”
A faint curve touched her lips. “Of course I do.”
She extended her hand. “Celeste Armand. Councilwoman.”
There it was.
The name that made my chest tighten.
I hesitated only a second before taking her hand. Her grip was firm, confident. Cold.
“I remember you,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her eyes gleamed. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”
She released my hand and stepped back half a pace, giving me space while somehow still dominating it. Her gaze traveled over me slowly, from my face to my posture, my stance, the way I carried myself.
It wasn’t admiration.
It was an appraisal.
Like someone examining the quality of rare merchandise.
I felt my shoulders stiffen.
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
Then she spoke again, casually, as if commenting on the weather.
“You look so much like your father.”
The words landed like a slap.
My stomach dropped.
“What did you say?” I asked quietly.
Her eyes didn’t leave my face. If anything, they sharpened. “Jack Soren,” she continued, unhurried. “You have his sturdiness. That same… determination. He had a way of standing, you know. Like the world would have to break before he did.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
Jack Soren.
My father’s name didn’t belong in this house. It didn’t belong on her tongue.
“How do you know my father?” I demanded, the sourness flooding my mouth, my chest tightening painfully.
Celeste regarded me with something close to curiosity. “Everyone knows the madman, who tried to be Victor Frankenstein” she chuckled.
My hands shook. I clenched them into fists, nails biting into my palms.
She studied me for a long moment, then shrugged lightly. “To be honest I thought his hybrid creation would be something out of a nightmare.”
Anger flared hot and fast.
Before I could respond, before I could demand what she meant, a familiar voice cut through the hallway.
“Councilwoman Armand.”
Darius.
His tone was polite but edged, the way it always was when politics entered the room.
Celeste turned her head toward him, her smile smoothing itself back into place. “Alpha King.”
He approached us, his presence immediately altering the space, like gravity increasing. He came to my side instinctively, his body angled subtly between her.
The mention of my father’s name still echoed in my head, sour and bitter and unresolved. My chest burned with questions I didn’t want to ask her, and truths I wasn’t ready to hear.