Alexa Gibson POV:
I moved into the guest room.
I packed a small bag with my essentials and walked into the elegantly appointed room at the end of the hall. The first thing I did was find the instruction manual for the electronic keypad on the door and set a new, four-digit code. A code only I knew.
The next morning, I was woken not by the sun, but by the sound of furious pounding on my door.
"Alexa! Open this door!" Kaleb's voice was a low growl, laced with disbelief and fury. The handle rattled violently.
A wave of pressure slammed against my mind. Open the door. Now. It was his Alpha command, sent through our fractured mind-link.
The pounding stopped. I heard him let out a frustrated hiss of breath, then the sound of his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall. He believed that a day or two of his cold shoulder would have me begging for forgiveness at his feet.
I spent the day working. I pulled out the encrypted laptop I kept hidden in my luggage, a sleek, matte black device that held my real life. Not the life of Alexa Slater, the wolfless Luna, but Dr. Alexa Gibson, lead architect of Project Prometheus. The screen filled with complex algorithms and lines of code, a language I understood far better than the passive-aggressive signals of pack life. Here, in this world of logic and data, I was powerful.
The shrill ring of my phone shattered the quiet concentration. The caller ID read 'Elza Slater'. Kaleb's mother. I let it ring twice before answering.
"Alexa." Her voice was as brittle and cold as a sheet of ice. "There is a family dinner tonight at the manor. Be ready at seven."
"I'm not feeling well, Elza," I said, my own voice calm and even.
"Cynthia will be joining us," she continued, as if I hadn't spoken. Her tone was deliberately pointed. "We are welcoming her as the new consulting expert for the pack's investment portfolio. It is an important occasion. Your presence as Luna is required."
Cynthia. Of course. A welcome dinner for the other woman, and I was expected to attend and play the gracious hostess. The audacity was breathtaking.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Elza, but as I said, I'm not well. I won't be coming tonight."
The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, vibrating with indignation. "Not feeling well? Alexa, this isn't a request. It's your duty! You will be there!"
"No," I said simply. And I hung up.
My finger hovered over the screen, then I blocked her number.
Hours later, the guest room door didn't just open, it exploded inward. The wood around the lock splintered as Kaleb kicked it clean off its hinges. He stood there, chest heaving, his amber eyes blazing with fury.
I was sitting on the bed, headphones on, still deep in my work. I calmly closed the laptop, slid my headphones down around my neck, and looked at him.
He stormed into the room. He ripped the headphones from my neck, his face inches from mine.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Disrespecting my mother and boycotting the pack dinner?"
I met his furious gaze without flinching. "I told your mother I wasn't feeling well."
He let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "You think I can't tell when you're lying? What is this, Alexa? What is this childish tantrum all about?"
I rose slowly from the bed, forcing him to take a step back. I looked him straight in the eye. "Kaleb, you should ask yourself. Is this dinner really about welcoming a 'consulting expert'?"
A flicker of something—guilt? annoyance?—crossed his face. He wasn't used to being challenged. He was used to my quiet compliance.
His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a manacle. His grip was bruising. "I don't care what it's about. You are my Luna. You will go."
I didn't struggle. I just looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at his face. "Do you really want to drag a hostile Luna to a party for your mistress?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Are you sure that's the impression you want to make, Alpha?"
The word 'mistress' hung in the air between us, ugly and undeniable. His grip loosened fractionally. He stared at me, truly seeing me for the first time in days. And he didn't recognize the woman looking back at him. The fear and adoration were gone, replaced by something cold and hard he couldn't name.
He let go of my wrist as if it had burned him.
"Fine," he snarled, his pride forcing him to regain control. "Stay here and be pathetic. But you will apologize to my mother tomorrow."
He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the broken door against its shattered frame.
I stood there, rubbing the red marks on my wrist. I didn't feel pathetic. I felt a sliver of freedom.
In that very interval，through the broken remnants of our bond, Scenes from the dinner party intruded into my thoughts. I felt a surge of triumph , a sense of someone being paraded around—Cynthia. I caught the ghostly echo of a question about the Luna. And then I felt the smooth, practiced texture of Kaleb's lie: "Alexa is a bit under the weather. She sends her apologies." It was followed by a wave of saccharine, false concern from Cynthia. "Oh, I hope she's alright. Maybe I should visit her tomorrow." The final impression was a venomous whisper, a feeling of pure contempt I could feel even from miles away: "A wolfless creature who can't even perform her duties. She's not fit to be Luna."
I closed my eyes. I had my work.
