Violet’s delighted orders were met with unwavering compliance from Ronan. Not once did he object as she dictated my every move, her tone oozing mockery. My mind wandered to the countless times I had timidly asked Ronan if I could move into the Alpha’s quarters, hoping to solidify our bond. He had always refused, claiming it was “necessary for the Alpha to maintain his space and discipline.”
Instead, he would summon me when it suited him. If I dared to leave anything personal behind in his quarters, he would scold me, reminding me that boundaries were crucial. At the time, I thought it was just Ronan’s stoic nature as an Alpha—firm, disciplined, and reserved. Now, I understood the cruel truth: in his heart, I was never meant to be his Luna.
As Violet sauntered off to explore, Ronan sat down, his wolf-like eyes watching me intently. He held up his phone, flashing a message he had sent just moments earlier:
[Ayla, my union with Violet is purely political. You know you’re the one who has my heart. Don’t overthink this.]
I couldn’t suppress a bitter laugh. Ronan still thought I was a naïve omega, desperate enough to believe his lies. If he wanted to convince me that his union was fake, I decided I would play along. After all, a facade would crumble eventually. I had my own plans now.
I turned to leave and finish packing, but Violet had already made her way to the guest room. She smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that could flay you alive while keeping her hands clean.
“Miss Ayla,” she said, feigning concern. “It’s going to be so awkward for you to stay here now that Ronan and I are preparing for our ceremony. You should hurry up and find somewhere else to stay.” Her voice dripped with venom hidden beneath syrupy politeness.
Her eyes scanned the half-packed bags on my bed. She gasped in mock surprise. “Oh! You’ve already started? My, my, your taste in clothes is so similar to mine! It’s almost like Ronan picked them out himself. Isn’t that funny? I suppose we’re destined to be close.”
The realization struck like a blow to my chest. Every piece of jewelry, every article of clothing Ronan had ever given me… they had all been her style. Not mine. All along, I’d been a mirror for someone else’s reflection. A placeholder. An echo of the true Luna he’d always dreamed of. My hands trembled, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I turned to leave, but Ronan appeared in the doorway, his gaze darkening when he saw my packed bags. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his tone tinged with urgency. “Why are you packing your things? Answer me!”
I kept my face impassive, refusing to meet his eyes. Before I could respond, Violet’s fingers brushed against the music box on my nightstand. My heart stopped.
“Don’t touch that!” I snapped, but it was too late.
The music box slipped from her hands, shattering on the hardwood floor. Its delicate lid splintered, the tiny figurines lying in pieces among the shards. I dropped to my knees, trying to salvage it, but Violet’s sharp cry cut through the air. “Ronan, my hand! I didn’t mean to—it just slipped!”
Ronan rushed to her side, inspecting the faint scratches on her palm as if she’d been mortally wounded. His expression turned cold as he looked at me. “Ayla, it’s just a broken trinket. There’s no need to overreact.”
Before I could protest, he lifted his boot and crushed the remnants of the music box beneath his heel, grinding the pieces into dust. “Throw this junk out,” he ordered, his voice laced with disgust. “I don’t want to see it in my house again.”
He scooped Violet into his arms and left without a backward glance.
I stayed on the floor, staring at the shattered remnants of the only gift that had ever felt real. The music box wasn’t just a trinket—it was the one thing that connected me to the Ronan I had once known. The boy who had shielded me during a storm, who had gone out of his way to make me smile when I thought the world was crumbling.
When I was sixteen, my parents’ divorce had left me adrift. Desperate for comfort, I had gone to my best friend Lizzie’s house. Instead of finding her, I ran into her older brother, Ronan, sweaty from a game of basketball. He had frowned when he saw my tear-streaked face and sent his friends away, dragging me inside despite my protests.
That night, he braved the storm to buy me cakes and sweets, piling them on the table with a grin. When I still wouldn’t smile, he pulled out a music box he had won at a festival. “Here,” he said, placing it in my hands. “Don’t cry anymore, okay? You’re stronger than this.”
The boy who gave me that music box was gone. In his place was an Alpha who saw me as nothing more than a shadow of another woman. I clenched my fists, ignoring the sting of the broken shards. My wolf stirred within me, howling in pain and anger.
If Ronan couldn’t see my worth, then it was time for me to find someone who could. And under the next blood moon, I would prove to him—and to myself—that I was more than a stand-in.
