Chapter 3: A Taste of Happiness

(Layla's POV)

I couldn't believe it. After two years in that cramped attic, I was finally moved into a proper bedroom. When Mrs. Mia reluctantly showed me to Ella's room, I fought back tears of joy.

"Don't get used to it," she snapped. "This is only because we can't have our future Alpha's fiancée living like a servant. Remember your place."

But her words couldn't dim my happiness. A real bed with plush pillows! A wardrobe full of beautiful clothes! A mirror that wasn't cracked!

Even though I still woke before dawn, cooked, cleaned, and endured hours of lessons, everything felt different now. Hope bloomed in my chest. For the first time since losing my memories, I saw a future beyond mere survival.

All because of Eamon.

When his invitation arrived, delivered by a royal messenger, I nearly dropped the pan I was scrubbing.

"Miss Ella," the messenger announced, handing me an elegant envelope. "From Mr. Thorne."

My hands shook as I read his beautiful handwriting: "Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight at seven? I'll send a car."

I rushed through my chores, ignoring the sour looks from other maids. Nothing could ruin this day.

In my room, I carefully applied my contacts, wincing at the burn. My scalp itched from fresh dye. The chemicals left my skin red and irritated, but I didn't care. Beauty required sacrifice.

Sophie knocked and entered with a garment bag. "The dress for tonight. Mrs. Mia said I'm to help you prepare."

Inside was a stunning emerald green silk dress. Sophie began roughly brushing my hair, deliberately harsh.

"Careful," I winced.

"Sorry, Miss," she replied, not sounding sorry at all. "Just trying to make you presentable."

"That's enough," I said firmly, taking the brush. "I can finish myself."

Sophie's eyes widened. "But Mrs. Mia said—"

"You may leave now," I interrupted, suddenly bold. "Thank you for your assistance."

For a moment, Sophie looked ready to argue. Then she gave a stiff nod and left.

I laughed softly. The look on her face was worth whatever punishment might come later.

The restaurant Eamon chose was the most exclusive in the territory—crystal chandeliers, velvet chairs, and waiters moving like shadows. Every head turned as we entered, whispers following.

"The future Alpha and his fiancée..."

"She's even more beautiful than they say..."

My palms were sweaty, but Eamon's steady hand on my back gave me courage. He pulled out my chair like a gentleman, his smile making my heart race.

"You look stunning tonight," he said, never breaking eye contact. "These are for you."

He presented a bouquet of lilies and roses, more beautiful than any flowers I'd ever seen. Unlike the tulips taken from me, these felt truly mine.

"Thank you," I whispered. "They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he replied.

When the menus came, panic rose in my chest. So many unfamiliar dishes! What if I chose wrong?

Eamon leaned closer. "May I order for both of us? The chef here prepares an excellent lamb."

I nodded gratefully, relieved that all those etiquette lessons were paying off. I knew which fork to use, how to hold my wine glass, how to take small bites despite my hunger.

(Eamon's POV)

I couldn't take my eyes off her. My wolf, Eric, paced restlessly. Mate, mate, mate, he growled.

It was infuriating. An omega? My fated mate?

My investigation confirmed she was nobody—an orphan the Graves found because she looked like Ella. But watching her now, poised and elegant, my body reacted against my will.

I wanted her. Needed her. The urge to claim her was overwhelming.

At least the Graves' deception worked in my favor. As "Ella," I could marry her without scandal. The thought of having her beneath me sent heat through my veins.

"You are the most beautiful omega I've ever seen," I told her, my voice husky. "Look at all those guests. No one would think you're not a real daughter of the House of Graves."

Her cheeks flushed, her false blue eyes wide with pleasure.

"Maybe you'll make a good Luna," I continued, "as long as you stay this beautiful and take care of pack affairs while keeping your secret."

She nodded, spine straight with determination. "I can definitely do that."

Her conviction stirred something in me. She wasn't just agreeing out of fear. She truly believed she could do it.

"I can't bear to see my marriage contract canceled," I explained, "and I don't want to marry anyone else. That's why I..." I paused. "I can't protect you if someone discovers who you really are. Do you understand?"

"I understand completely," she replied without hesitation. "If my identity is revealed, I'll take all the blame. I won't implicate you or the Graves family."

This stupid omega really believes she can handle this role.

Her loyalty pleased me. A loyal Luna is useful, making it easier to tolerate that she's just an omega.

As we ate, my phone buzzed. Reading the message, my mood soured instantly.

(Layla's POV)

Eamon's expression darkened suddenly. The change was jarring, like clouds blocking the sun.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, setting down my fork.

He sighed, putting his phone away. "Nothing, just a crazy prisoner. I don't know why father keeps him alive. He should've been shot long ago—he's seriously injured a guard again. I don't want to deal with this."

I'd heard whispers about this prisoner—a dangerous madman kept in the royal dungeons.

"That sounds terrible," I said. "Why hasn't he been executed if he's so dangerous?"

"My father's misplaced mercy," Eamon replied bitterly. "But don't worry." His smile returned, sharp and cold. "When I become Alpha, I'll execute him right away so everyone will have peace of mind."

His casual talk of execution chilled me, but I nodded agreement. This was our future Alpha. He would be responsible for our protection, our justice.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. By the time Eamon drove me home, I felt like I was floating.

"Thank you for tonight," I said as we stood at the door, holding my bouquet.

"The pleasure was mine," he replied, gaze intense. "I'll see you soon, my future Luna."

My heart fluttered. My future Luna. Me, an omega with no wolf, no family, no past. It seemed impossible, yet here I was.

Inside, I found a vase for my flowers, placing them on my nightstand. My stomach growled—I'd barely eaten, too focused on manners.

I crept toward the kitchen, hoping for leftovers. Voices drifted from behind the closed door.

"She thinks she's actually going to be Luna," Clara mocked. "As if an Alpha would ever accept an omega as his mate."

"Did you see her tonight?" Sophie added. "All dressed up like she belongs. She doesn't realize she's just a stand-in until they find the real Ella."

"Or until Eamon discovers what she really is," another maid said. "He'll abandon her so fast."

Anger burned in my chest, hot and unfamiliar. For two years, I'd endured their cruelty silently. No more.

I pushed the door open, standing tall. "Eamon knows exactly who I am," I announced firmly. "And he's going to marry me and make me his Luna regardless."

Clara's jaw dropped. Sophie recovered first, lunging toward me, hand raised.

"You lying little—"

I sidestepped easily. My body might not have a wolf, but years of hard labor had made me strong. Sophie stumbled, off-balance.

"Don't," I warned. "Eamon wouldn't be pleased to hear his fiancée was assaulted by kitchen staff."

Clara grabbed Sophie's arm. "Come on," she muttered. "She's not worth it."

They left, glaring but defeated. For the first time, I felt powerful. Not because I was pretending to be Ella Graves, but because I was standing up for myself.

The days that followed were my happiest. Though Mrs. Mia still forced grueling lessons and Mr. Graves barely acknowledged me, knowing I had a future with Eamon made everything bearable.

Wedding preparations began. Designers brought fabric samples, florists showed arrangements, caterers offered tastings.

"No, no," Mrs. Mia would say, dismissing my choices. "Ella would want the pearl beading, not the lace."

But I didn't mind. I was going to be married. I was going to be Luna.

One afternoon, I stood in my bedroom, trying on the wedding gown. The white silk felt like water against my skin, the bodice sparkling with crystals.

"Perfect," the seamstress murmured, adjusting the hem.

I admired my reflection, hardly believing this was my life now. All those years of suffering were worth it for this moment.

Suddenly, I heard running footsteps in the hallway. The bedroom door burst open, and Sophie stood there, "Miss Ella is back!" she shouted, voice cracking with panic. "Oh my God, she's right outside the door!"