Chapter 12 Chapter 12
LUCA
It’d been a week since my father made us share that damn bed.
A week of pretending I didn’t wake up to her breathing. Pretending I didn’t notice how she slept curled on the edge, like the space between us was poison. A week of acting like I didn’t want to reach out — to touch her, to pull her closer, to remember what it felt like when we were kids and things weren’t so broken.
But Mira didn’t look at me anymore. Not like that.
So when I saw her in the hallway that afternoon, walking fast, head down, I fell into step beside her like it was muscle memory. Maybe I was hoping she’d at least look at me.
She didn’t.
“Mira,” I said, quiet but firm.
Nothing. Not even a glance.
Her bag slipped on her shoulder, and I reached to fix it before thinking and she snapped around like I’d just pulled a knife on her.
“Don’t touch me.”
The words were low, sharp, and cold enough to cut.
I froze. “I was just trying to help—”
She laughed. A hollow, broken sound that made something twist in my chest. “Of course you were. You’re all trying to help this week, aren’t you?”
My brows furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
She finally looked at me then, those green eyes I used to know, now filled with something that looked a lot like disgust. “Tomorrow’s the full moon. You’ll all be in rut, and your father wants results. Don’t act like you don’t know. You’re being nice because he told you to be.”
Her voice shook, but her glare didn’t.
My throat tightened. “You think that’s why I—”
“I know that’s why,” she snapped, stepping closer, her words trembling with anger. “You’re all just waiting to see who gets lucky first.”
That hit harder than it should have.
I felt something hot crawl up my spine — anger, shame, something I didn’t have a name for. “You really think that’s all I am?” I asked, voice low and rough.
Her jaw clenched. “Isn’t it?”
My body moved before my brain caught up. I grabbed her wrist and she gasped when I pulled her back, the air between us burning.
“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Mira” I bit out, my voice rough.
She tilted her chin, defiant even when her pulse was racing under my hand. “I grew up in this house, Luca. I do know you. I know your father trained you all to see power, not people. Don’t pretend you’re different.”
I let out a low, bitter laugh and slammed my palm against the wall beside her head. Not hard. Just enough for the sound to echo, for her to stop talking and to look at me.
Her breath caught.
So did mine.
“Stop,” I said, every word dragging out of me like it hurt. “Stop looking at me like I’m something you need to survive.”
She blinked, once. “Then stop acting like you actually care about me.”
That broke something in me. “You think I don’t?”
“You don’t,” she said, voice trembling a little. “You just want to win. You flirt with everyone. You don’t even try to hide it. You think being nice will make me forget what your family’s did to—what you all are doing to me.”
I stepped closer. Close enough to feel her breath. My voice came out low, almost a growl. “You really think this is a fucking game to me?”
Her lips parted, her heartbeat stuttering in her throat. “Isn’t it?”
And that was it. The last crack before I snapped.
“I’ve never slept with anyone,” I said, the words tearing out of me before I could stop them.
Silence.
Her eyes widened, green and sharp and confused. “What?”
“I’ve never touched anyone,” I repeated, louder this time, my voice shaking with something I couldn’t hide anymore. “Never wanted to. Never could. I—” I stopped, my pulse hammering, my face burning. “I wanted to wait for my mate.”
It came out like a confession and a curse all at once.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. The hallway felt smaller, quieter, too close. I could feel her breath on my face, the heat of it, the way her eyes flicked between mine like she was searching for a lie.
Her voice broke the silence, barely a whisper. “You’re lying.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I’m not.”
We just stared at each other, both breathing too fast, too hard. Her scent clung to the air — sharp and sweet — and it made my head spin. For one stupid second, I thought she might reach for me.
Then footsteps echoed down the hall.
I turned my head — and there they were. Zane and Jax.
Zane’s smirk came first. “Interrupting something, dear brother?”
Jax didn’t speak. He just looked between us — her flushed cheeks, my hand still half-raised, the space that used to separate us completely gone.
Mira blinked hard and stepped back, clutching her bag to her chest like it was armor. I took a step too, suddenly aware of my shaking hands, of what I’d just said.
For a second, no one moved.
Then she walked away.
And I just stood there, staring after her, wondering why the hell I told her that. Not even my brothers know that.