Luna of the forgotten pack

Chapter Three

POV: Zerina Wolfthorne

"Seriously, if you don’t get up, I’m coming over and dragging you out myself,” I said, balancing my phone between my shoulder and ear while fumbling with my wallet.

“Zee, I’m awake! I’m awake!” came Lila’s cheery voice. My best friend always had that impossible energy in the mornings. I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself.

“Sure, sure. Meet me at the corner coffee shop in five?” I asked, stepping around a puddle from the previous night’s rain. The smell of fresh pastries and coffee hit me as I approached the small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist.

“Perfect. Don’t forget—your usual caramel latte, extra shot,” Lila teased, her voice light and full of laughter.

“I’ve got it,” I replied, unlocking the door and stepping inside. The bell above the door chimed softly, announcing my entrance. It was a quiet morning, the kind of soft light that made everything feel like it belonged in a movie. I smiled at the barista, waved to a familiar couple seated at the corner, and slid onto the line.

"So,” Lila’s voice whispered through the phone again, “are you ready to tell me about last night?”

I chuckled, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “You already know I didn’t do anything interesting. Just stayed home.”

Lila laughed, and the sound made the corners of my heart lift. “Zee, you stayed home binge-watching dramas while eating three boxes of chocolate. That counts as interesting.”

“I maintain my innocence,” I said, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “And I’m paying for coffee today, so hush.”

The barista called out my order, and I turned to grab the tray, balancing the cardboard with the two steaming cups. I ended the call just as I stepped outside, the air crisp and carrying the faint scent of rain on asphalt. The city hummed around me—buses, honking cars, people chatting and that was when it happened.

One moment the tray was steady, the next it jolted forward as I collided with someone. A splash of coffee arced through the air, dark against the brightness of the morning, landing squarely on a black shirt.

I looked up.

And for a second, it felt like the street itself stilled.

He stood there like a shadow made flesh — tall, broad, every line of him deliberate and sharp. His suit was cut to perfection, the kind of tailoring you didn’t find off a rack, the kind that whispered money and power. His presence was… heavy. Not loud, not flamboyant, just heavy, the way a storm cloud makes you aware of its weight even before the first thunder rolls.

His face was sculpted, arrogant in its stillness, with eyes like steel: cold, assessing, the kind that could strip a person bare without a word. Handsome, undeniably so, but in a way that wasn’t soft or charming. No — this was the kind of beauty that carried an edge, the kind that dared you to look closer and risk getting cut.

Most people, I imagined, would’ve frozen. Or stammered. Maybe apologized a dozen times.

I didn’t.

I held his gaze for a moment, steady, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the way the morning light caught in his hair. Arrogant. Powerful. Dangerous.

And yet… interesting.

I didn’t say a word. Didn’t break stride. I adjusted the tray, sidestepped, and walked on. His cold presence lingered like a shadow at my back, but I didn’t turn around.

By the time I rounded the corner, Lila was waving at me from the café steps, her backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.

“Finally! I almost ordered your latte without you,” she said, grinning as I approached.

“Almost? You would’ve done it too,” I replied, laughing. I handed her the cup she’d ordered, and we started walking. “You’re late enough as it is. I had to fight off a near disaster with my coffee just to make it here.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Near disaster?”

I rolled my eyes. “I bumped into this… arrogant-looking guy. Very tall, very… cold. And I spilled coffee on him.”

Her eyes widened. “No way. Was he cute?”

“Extremely. But he wasn’t what you’d call approachable. Honestly, I don’t think he even noticed me as a person,” I said with a shrug, walking beside her. “It was… weirdly unsettling, but not in a scary way. More like, I couldn’t stop thinking about him for five seconds. That’s all.”

Lila laughed, looping her arm through mine as we strolled down the street. “Wow, he’s got a fan already, and you’ve only met him for—what, thirty seconds? I can’t wait to hear the story later when you inevitably run into him again.”

“Don’t jinx it,” I muttered, though my lips tugged into a small smile. “Besides, I doubt I’ll ever see him again. The city’s huge. People like him… they don’t linger.”

We passed a flower stall, the scent of roses and lilies mixing with the faint aroma of the city streets. I felt a strange calm settle over me, shaking off the odd collision with the tall stranger. I focused on the warm cup in my hands, the familiar chatter of Lila’s voice, and the simple rhythm of our steps.

“So,” she said suddenly, her tone dropping to playful mischief, “tell me. Did you notice the way he looked at you? Because I totally would’ve noticed.”

I groaned, laughing. “You think I care? I don’t care. Coffee spills happen. People bump into each other. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” Lila said, voice dripping skepticism. “I call that a classic case of denial.”

We laughed together, our steps light, and I realized how much I needed this—these ordinary, mundane moments. Life was often chaotic, messy, and unpredictable. But for now, it was just me, my best friend, and the city humming around us.

We finally reached the park near our usual hangout spot. Lila plopped down on the bench, pulling me down beside her. “So, what’s the plan for today, Ms. Busy Bee?”

I shook my head, leaning back and taking a sip of my latte. “Honestly? I don’t know. Work later, errands, maybe a little writing if I can squeeze it in. You?”

She smirked. “Mostly the same, but I was hoping you’d let me drag you to the new bakery after lunch. Their croissants are supposed to be life-changing.”

I laughed. “Fine, but only because I’m curious about what you mean by ‘life-changing.’ Otherwise, I’d be too busy—well, not really busy, but you know…”

“You’ll always make time for me,” she teased, nudging my shoulder. “And I’ll take that as a yes.”

We spent the next hour wandering through the park, talking about everything from work mishaps to neighborhood gossip. I kept thinking about the morning’s encounter, but only in brief flashes—the cold, controlled aura of the man, the way he didn’t even flinch when I spilled coffee, and the faint scent that lingered long after he passed. I told myself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

By the time we returned to the corner café, the sun was higher, casting golden light across the city streets. I waved goodbye to Lila with a promise to meet her later and stepped back into the flow of everyday life. The encounter, brief as it was, replayed in my mind like a movie with missing frames.

And though I didn’t realize it yet, the collision had set something in motion—something that neither coffee nor chance could undo.