No Longer the Luna in His Shadow

Our tenth anniversary with Damian was a disaster.

Damian said he'd come home early, but he was still a full hour late.

When he walked in, he pressed a gift box into my hands and kissed my lips perfunctorily.

"Happy anniversary."

A kiss devoid of warmth or longing.

I stood by the dining table, looking at the candlelit dinner I'd prepared.

The steak had gone completely cold.

"I'm going to shower." Damian loosened his tie and headed straight for the bathroom.

No explanation. No guilt.

The bathroom door didn't close all the way. The sound of water soon followed.

I untied the ribbon on the gift box.

Inside was a pair of finely crafted earrings.

For anything other than a tenth wedding anniversary gift, they might even have been considered expensive.

Before I could take them out, his voice drifted from the bathroom.

Low, carrying a relaxed warmth I hadn't heard in a long time.

"...I got it, sweetheart. Whatever you want, I'll give you."

"Mm." Damian's tone was lazily confident, in control of everything. "That moonstone necklace, resting against your throat... it'll look beautiful. Just thinking about it, I can barely wait."

A few seconds later, he laughed softly.

Moonstone necklace.

In our pack's traditions, a moonstone necklace was never just jewelry.

It was a symbol of status. A public declaration of recognition and commitment.

And now, on our wedding anniversary, my Alpha husband had won that moonstone necklace—for another woman.

Damian's voice came again from the bathroom, this time edged with displeasure: "Why bring her up? The gift? Just a freebie that came with it. Don't be upset. Okay? Tomorrow night I'll make it up to you properly."

A freebie.

I looked down. My gaze locked on the inside of the earring in my hand. There, in letters almost too small to see, was an engraving:

Complimentary.

I laughed bitterly at myself.

Then I heard Damian say, "Relax, Bella. We just went several rounds this evening. I'm not going to touch her."

Bella.

Of course I knew who she was.

His assistant—the one who always bowed her head and called me Luna with such respect. A Beta.

The bathroom door opened.

Steam billowed out. Damian walked through the living room toweling his hair, his gaze sweeping over the gift box in my hands.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

I looked up, forcing the corners of my mouth to rise. "It's beautiful."

He gave a noncommittal hum and turned toward the study.

I watched him lock his backup phone inside the safe as casually as if I weren't even there.

Click.

He'd locked his secrets away.

Or maybe he'd never intended to hide them from me at all.

A few minutes later, Damian emerged from the study and walked straight to the bedroom.

Lights off. Lying down. Back turned to me.

In the darkness, his breathing was steady and even.

I stood by the bed, those earrings clutched in my fist, nails digging into my palm.

I forced myself not to tremble. Not to make a sound.

But my body had a will of its own.

I walked over, lifted the covers, lay down, and slowly pressed myself against the warmth of his back.

How pathetic—I still craved him.

My arm slipped gently around his waist. With what little courage remained from ten years of marriage, my fingers slid beneath the loose collar of his robe, touched the skin of his chest, and began to trace slow, pleading circles.

"Damian..."

My voice was barely a whisper. "Today... is our tenth anniversary."

His body went rigid.

The next second, he whipped around, seized my moving wrist, and wrenched me away from him without mercy.

The force was so sudden I nearly fell off the bed.

"Don't touch me," he said coldly.

My voice came out hoarse. "I just—"

He stared at me. In the dim light, his eyes held nothing but complete impatience and disgust.

Then he spoke the words that sliced through the last shred of my dignity:

"Erin, at our age, too much intimacy between mates only gives people nightmares."

I froze. Every drop of blood in my body seemed to turn to ice.

He rolled over, turning his back to me again, and pulled up the covers.

"Sleep," he commanded, his voice thick with weariness. "Stop making a fuss."

Stop making a fuss.

I lay down, eyes open, staring at the blurred shadows on the ceiling until his breathing grew deep and regular.

Deep in the night.

I sat up soundlessly, my bare feet touching the cold carpet. Like a ghost, I drifted toward the study.

The door was ajar.

The safe sat silent in the corner.

I walked to it, my fingers brushing the cold metal dial.

The combination... how could I not know it? I'd kept so many of his secrets, glimpsed so many more.

The dial turned, gears clicking softly into place.

Click.

The door swung open.

That pure black backup phone lay quietly inside.

The moment my fingertips touched it, the screen lit up on its own.

A notification for a new message appeared, its pale glow illuminating my ashen face.