Chapter 35 The Luna He Refused to See
Grayson:
The Silverbourne Grand Hall glowed with blue-white moonfire, the lanterns swaying in a soft, enchanted rhythm above the crowd. A sea of wolves filled the room, nobles, warriors, merchants, elders, every sector represented, every influence watching.
Unity.
Tradition.
Politics wrapped in glitter. But none of it touched me. Because all I could see was her.
Evangeline.
She stood at my side, one hand resting lightly on my arm, her gown shimmering like liquid starlight. Silver embroidery glowed against her skin, the Luna Crest catching the torchlight like a quiet warning.
And gods help me…I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
Every time she turned, the moonlight slid down her bare back, and I had to curl my hand into a fist to keep from touching her again.
Every time she breathed, I felt the bond tug, not gently, but like a fist tightening around my ribs.
Mate. Close. Touch. Protect.
My wolf whined, pacing just beneath my skin.
I told myself the tension was expected; the Ball amplified every mate bond. But that wasn’t it.
It was her.
She wasn’t the girl I had pushed away. Wasn’t the Luna I had treated like a stain.
She was Evie.
The Evie I grew up with. The Evie Richard raised.
Richard.
My throat tightened sharply.
Of all the memories I tried to bury… he was the one that clawed its way back tonight.
Richard Hart, the Beta of Silverbourne.
The man who built half the city grid with his own hands. The man who once told me honor wasn’t inherited, it was earned. The man I had admired long before I understood why.
I had believed the accusations. Believed the whispers. Believed he betrayed the city he loved.
And looking at his daughter now, poised, fragile, dignified…
Shame rippled through me like acid. Gods, what had I done?
We made our way through the hall, greeting sector leaders and advisors. But it wasn’t the nobility who shocked me. It was the Luna Wing mothers.
Last month, they avoided her like she carried poison; they whispered behind her back. One of them had hidden her own daughter behind her skirt. But tonight,
“Luna Evangeline!”
“So glad you’re here...”
“Your help with the schedules has been incredible....”
“Isla hasn’t stopped talking about you....”
Their smiles were real, their bows respectful, their eyes warm.
Evie returned every greeting with soft kindness: a nod, a gentle smile, a quiet thank you. Nothing forced. Nothing fake.
She moved like someone born for this. For people. For peace.
My wolf nudged against my ribs, smug.
Told you. Mate is good.
Mate is Luna.
Mate is ours.
I swallowed hard. Because it hit me again, harder this time. The Evie before me wasn’t the cruel girl I had convinced myself she was. She was… her. The real her.
The girl Richard raised with love, honor, and impossible expectations. The girl who had helped rebuild the community today, not because she wanted acceptance, but because she wanted to make things easier for them.
The kind of Luna this city deserved. And I… I had destroyed her first month in this house.
I told myself I was guiding her. Helping her through the crowd. Maintaining protocol.
But every time her skin brushed my hand, warm, soft, familiar, something inside me stuttered.
She shivered once, and I felt it like a shock along the bond. My hand lingered a second too long at her waist. She didn’t pull away.
But she went still, the kind of stillness that comes from careful fear. And that hurt more than anything. And I had no one to blame but myself.
I lost sight of Evie for a moment when a group of councilmen pulled her into a conversation. She handled them effortlessly, gentle where Helena was authoritative, patient where I was demanding.
My chest tightened with something I couldn’t name. Then I felt cold fingers curl around my elbow.
Isabelle Vance.
Of course.
“Grayson,” she purred, lips painted the color of wine. “What a beautiful evening.”
I said nothing. Her eyes flicked to where Evie stood, surrounded by women who smiled at her with genuine affection.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Isabelle murmured. “How quickly people forget accusations when a pretty face is involved?”
Once, her poison would have sunk into me easily. Tonight, it slid off like water.
“She’s playing them, darling,” Isabelle continued. “That’s what Harts do. You know this.”
I turned my head slightly. “And you know nothing about her.”
She blinked, startled. Oh, that felt good.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do not tell me you’re falling for the act. She fooled Chloe for years, too.”
Something flared inside me. The old bitterness, yes. But under it… doubt.
Doubt that had been growing since Isla wrapped her arms around Evie like she was safety incarnate.
“You should be careful,” Isabelle said, voice dripping with sugar. “The Harts have always been ambitious. Her father nearly tore ...”
“Enough,” I cut sharply.
Her lips parted. She wasn’t used to being silenced. I stepped away before she could speak again, and for the first time in years, her words failed to poison me.
Because the girl she spoke of… wasn’t the one standing across the room. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
I slipped behind a column of moonstone, watching Evie laugh softly at something Isla’s mother said. I watched the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she kept glancing toward the door as if waiting for freedom to come collect her.
My chest ached. My wolf whimpered.
Mate is hurting.
Mate pretends to smile.
Do something.
I didn’t. Because I didn’t know how or what to do. Because every apology I could offer felt too small. Too late.
Because touching her terrified me more than any war ever could. But gods… looking at her hurt worse.
She was moonlight wrapped in bruises I put on her soul. And I hated myself. More than I had ever hated anything.
Evie glanced up mid-conversation, eyes scanning until they found me across the hall.
For one second, barely a blink, the bond pulsed between us, warm and aching and familiar. My chest tightened. Her gaze slipped away first. I felt the loss like a wound.
And for the first time…I wondered if Richard Hart had died with this same heaviness in his chest.
The weight of seeing truth too late.
The agony of failing the people you loved most.