Layla

I followed Elder Geoffrey in silence.

Once we were alone, he unrolled a parchment.

“This was your bond scroll,” he said, speaking through the sign language interpreter. “The one sealing your union with Alpha Tristan. But it’s fading. The ink, the seal... all of it.”

I stared at it, numb.

“The bond fades as his loyalty wavers,” Elder Geoffrey continued. “And with what I’ve seen, he’s no longer bound to you—not truly.”

His words didn’t bring pain. They brought clarity.

I nodded slowly. “Then it’s time I stop clinging to a title that no longer exists.”

One light in the darkness—finally. The Moon Goddess and the balance of nature had begun unbinding our connection. Magic recognised what he refused to admit.

I texted Beta Aiken immediately.

[The bond is fading. His betrayal is undoing it.] But he hadn’t replied.

That night, as I was about to enter my room, Alpha Tristan found me—not in the room we once shared, but in a dusty old storage room.

He handed me a box.

“Wear this to the theatre tomorrow,” he said sharply. “As my Luna. You’ll stand beside me for the entire performance. We can’t afford to ruin our image. And bring the kid.”

I growled inwardly. He still didn’t know Naomi was gone.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment, as if waiting for a reaction. But before I could move, a chime echoed from my phone.

“Who’s that?” His eyes narrowed. “One of your lovers?”

I didn’t answer. I kept up the act, pretending not to hear.

He snatched my phone from my hands. “Give me the passcode.”

I said nothing.

“Bloody useless device—just like its owner.” He hurled it at the carpeted floor.

“Alpha?”

Rovena’s voice broke the moment. She stood there with little Owen in her arms, wearing that ever-so-sympathetic expression.

“Your son wants a bedtime story, darling,” she cooed.

A smile curled at his lips. He turned his back to me without another word.

Good. Stay that way. Because I didn’t care anymore.

When the door shut, I picked up my phone and switched it back on. Relief filled my chest when the screen lit up—and so did a message from Aiken.

[Your father’s holding back his fury, Layla. One word from you, and we’ll come get you.]

I hit call.

“Aiken?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Layla.” His voice was tight. “What’s happening?”

“Plans have changed,” I said quickly. “Pick me up at the theatre tomorrow. I’ll send the address. I’m done pretending.”

“I know your hearing’s returned. Seer Rhiannon said so yesterday.” A pause. “Do you want a bit of a show?”

“Do what you must—as long as it gets me out of the claws of those two demons.”

**

The next morning, Rovena was in a frenzy over the gown Alpha Tristan had gifted her. She twirled in front of the mirror, then shoved it in my arms.

“Press it. Properly,” she demanded. “We can’t look like peasants at the theatre tonight.”

That was just the start.

Over the course of the day, she gave me the most ridiculous errands.

“I want my necklace threads colour-matched to the lining of this dress.”

“Steam the curtain tassels—they look at me funny.”

“Count all my hairpins. There should be seventy.”

By the fourth hour, I’d nearly ripped a velvet ribbon in half.

She shoved little Owen in my arms next. “Watch him while I get ready.”

He started crying almost immediately. I tried everything, but he wouldn’t stop.

“Ugh! Honestly, Luna Layla,” Rovena snapped when she returned. “You can’t even calm a baby. How on earth did you manage Naomi?”

I clenched my jaw. My hands shook with the urge to slap her into next week.

But I didn’t. Because she’d still not told me where Naomi was buried.

And then Alpha Tristan walked in.

He didn’t scold her. He didn’t defend me. He just... stood there, watching. Silent.

His eyes landed on me. “Where’s Naomi?”

I said nothing.

His gaze slid down to my collarbone—right where his mate mark used to burn bright.

Now it was barely a shadow. Fading like the bond we once had.

“What’s this?” he asked. “You think I cheated, and suddenly your body rejects me?”

I looked him in the eye for the first time in couple days.

As I turned to leave and prepare myself, something pulled at the edge of my mind.

I had to tell him the truth—even if, to Alpha Tristan, it would sound no different than one of my own delusions.

“Naomi’s dead. And I’m not your Luna anymore.” My voice was low, calm. The final nail in a coffin. “Even nature has rejected that title, Alpha.”

He laughed. “You still be my Luna until I reject you.”

A cold, dismissive, arrogant laugh. Like I was telling fairy tales.

He wouldn’t understand. But he would. Very soon.

Layla

The real show was about to begin any minute now. But today, it felt like my life was the one being performed—not just the drama on stage.

I walked beside Alpha Tristan, wrapped in a silk gown so expensive it practically dripped with pretension.

Around my neck hung an Alexandrite pendant he’d fastened on me himself—part of his little showpiece. Not out of affection, of course.

He didn’t dress me to honour me. He dressed me up like a trophy.

Trailing behind us was Rovena, face twisted in a sour scowl. She kept tugging at the hem of her gown, clearly struggling to keep up.

I stifled a laugh. A bit of comic relief before the humiliation began.

At least the scene made her remember her place.

But I should’ve known better. That small joy didn’t last long.

"Alpha, I can’t walk properly. My heel keeps getting caught in the hem of my dress," she whined in that sickly sweet tone, cocking her head. "I don’t want to embarrass you. Could Luna Layla link arms with me instead?"

I stopped, turning slowly.

"Are you hurt?" Alpha Tristan asked, leaning down to inspect her legs.

"My shoes are fine," she cooed. "But… I want to switch gowns with Luna Layla. And her lovely pendant too."

Every muscle in my body stiffened. Alpha Tristan straightened up and turned to me.

His eyes—ice cold, glacier sharp. Not a single word escaped him.

He didn’t need to speak. His glare said it all.

“She’s not your Luna,” I said firmly. “And I’m not your mistress.”

“Switch your gowns,” his Alpha Tone, voice like a blade, “or you’ll be leaving tonight with not a shred of fabric on your body.”

Rovena repeated Alpha Tristan’s orders to me.

My hands clenched into fists, but I lowered my gaze. “Fine. Enjoy it while it lasts, Rovena.”

We changed gowns in the washroom. I could practically see her gloating, eyes gleaming with that fake sense of victory.

But me? I didn’t walk out as an omega. I walked out as the final witness of a farce that was about to collapse.

**

The lights had dimmed in the exclusive balcony section.

Seats were filled with high-ranking werewolves from across Britain, all gathered for tonight’s grand performance: Les Misérables.

A classic. A tale of pain and redemption. I knew it well.

But something was off. Tucked beneath my chair was a slim leaflet. I opened it, frowning.

The title wasn’t Les Misérables anymore.

It read: The Fallen Luna.

Lead role: Layla.

My name, in bold. Like the world had decided I was the punchline to a cruel joke.

I gripped the leaflet tighter. What the hell was this?

I kept my expression blank. Pretended not to hear. My deafness—once a curse—was now my only shield.

But then Alpha Tristan leaned in, voice like poison.

"This play is for you, Luna Layla. A tribute to who you truly are."

My stomach dropped.

The curtains parted. Somber music filled the hall.

The lead actress stepped onto the stage, wearing a long black wig and a face sculpted into misery.

Her name? Layla.

In the play, she was a lowly prostitute who sold herself to feed her daughter—Naomi.

I trembled. I tried to stand, to flee—but the stage lights shifted and pinned me in their glare.

Alpha Tristan rose from his seat.

“I dedicate this performance,” he announced, voice ringing through the theatre, “to my mate—Luna Layla. Whose life mirrors this story in every foul and disgraceful way.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

“An Alpha, with her?”

“She’s a disgrace.”

“She’s a curse, not a Luna.”

Each word sliced into me like a whip.

Tears streamed down my face. My chest tightened.

I wanted to run. To scream. But my legs—my entire body—refused to obey.

A curse. Literally.

I looked at my wrists. Bound in magic. Rovena’s doing.

I turned my head and saw her—smiling. Content. Vicious.

I fought it. Fought hard. But the spell clung to me like chains.

Then the chaos began.

The ceiling trembled. A low rumble grew louder from beyond the theatre walls.

Panic swept the room. A burst of magic zipped through the air, sparking violently.

Dark silhouettes—werewolves—stormed through the main doors. Their shadows swallowed whole sections of the audience.

Screams. Chairs scraped. People fled.

Then a blast of energy hit my section of the balcony.

I was thrown to the floor, my body wracked with pain. Still bound. Still helpless.

All I could do was watch.

Rovena stood, casting a spell circle with frantic hands.

But each time she launched an attack, something—some unknown force—reflected it back, breaking her magic apart.

Alpha Tristan appeared in the midst of it all, eyes wide. But when he spotted the two of us, he didn’t hesitate.

He ran straight to Rovena then left me.

One of the reflected spells struck her. Her body convulsed, writhing with raw magical feedback.

But he still didn’t stop. He cradled her, shielding her with a protective spell.

“Alpha!” I screamed. “Free me—please!”

He looked back, only for a moment.

“I don’t care if you die, Layla,” he spat. “This… is justice.”

Then he turned his back on me.

Tears hit the cold stone floor beneath me.

This time, there was no hiding it. No shielding myself from the truth.

He never intended to protect me.

But then… footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.

A figure stepped into view. A large wolf with deep silver fur—familiar.

“Aiken?” I croaked.

The wolf drew closer, lifting me into his arms with ease.

“Please,” I whispered, breath shallow. “I’m still under a binding spell. I can’t move…”

The ceiling groaned above us. The theatre was starting to collapse.

And then—his voice. Calm. Resonant. But not Aiken’s.

“I’m not him,” he said gently, when he shifted to human form. “Supreme Alpha Finley sent me. You’re safe now.”

My vision was blurred, but I could feel the warmth of his body as he cradled me, carrying me through the wreckage of the theatre roof.

Minutes passed, and I was already in the back seat of a car—leaving behind the hell Alpha Tristan had built for me.

And I swore, under my breath.

I would return on the next lunar eclipse to drag every last one of them—those who hurt Naomi, those who broke me— into the fire they once threw me into.