Ten Thousand Reasons I Refuse To Be Your Luna

CHAPTER 6: Reason #6

The masked man smiled.

It was not the smile of someone who had just found his target. It was the smile of someone who had expected me to be standing there all along.

For one terrifying second, my body refused to move. The gun in his hand rose slowly, and my heartbeat pounded inside my ears so loudly that I could hear nothing else. Run. Move. Do something.

Instead, I just froze. Then someone grabbed my wrist. “Melissa!” Morrette shouted, pulling me behind another parked car just as a loud bang echoed through the garage.

The bullet shattered a concrete pillar exactly where I had been standing moments before. Dust filled the air around us.

“What are you doing here?” Morrette snapped. “I—” I began, but my voice refused to come out.

He looked at me for only a second before he understood what was happening. My breathing had become uneven, far too fast, and my hands trembled violently. No. Not now. Not here.

I reached into my handbag with shaking fingers, searching for the silver medicine case. Where was it? Where—

I found it, but the case slipped from my hand and hit the ground. The tablets scattered across the concrete floor. No,” I whispered, dropping to my knees, desperately trying to gather them.

“What are you doing?” Morrette asked, staring at me in disbelief. “I need them,” I blurted. Another gunshot echoed nearby. “I need them,” I repeated, my voice cracking.

Without asking another question, he quickly picked up the scattered tablets and handed the case back to me. I swallowed one dry, closed my eyes, and took one breath. Then another. Slowly, the noise inside my head grew quieter. Not gone. Just manageable.

Morrette did not say anything. He simply watched me. For the first time since we had met, his eyes did not hold annoyance. Only concern.

Footsteps echoed through the garage. The attackers were searching. “They are over there!” a voice called out from somewhere behind the pillars. Morrette looked toward the sound at once. “They found us,” he muttered. He glanced at me. “Can you stand?”

“I think so,” I answered, though I barely managed to nod. He took off his black security jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “Stay behind me,” he ordered. “What about the meeting?” I whispered.

“You still care about your meeting?” he asked, disbelief thick in his voice. “I have spent three years chasing that contract,” I replied. He almost laughed. “You really are unbelievable.”

“And you are still annoying,” I shot back. For reasons neither of us understood, we both smiled, if only for a second. Then the footsteps grew closer, and the moment disappeared entirely.

Morrette led me through a narrow maintenance corridor connecting the parking garage to the hotel. The hallway was dimly lit, emergency lights flickering unevenly overhead.

“Who were those people?” I whispered. “I do not know,” he answered flatly. “That is a lie,” I said. He remained silent. “You recognized them,” I pressed. “No,” he replied. “They called someone Alpha,” I said. Still, he says nothing. “You fought like you have been trained your whole life,” I added.

“I know how to defend myself,” he muttered. “Mechanics do not fight like that,” exclaimed. He finally stopped walking and turned toward me. “I never said I was just a mechanic,” he admitted quietly. I stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means—” he began. Before he could finish, his earpiece crackled to life. “Target escaped,” a voice reported. Another voice answered, sharp and impatient. “Search every exit.”

Morrette quietly removed the earpiece and crushed it beneath his boot. “You really do not work security,” I said. “No,” he admitted.

“So who are you?” I desperately asked him. He looked straight ahead, his jaw tight. “Someone trying to stop bad people.” It was the most honest answer he had ever given me. It also told me absolutely nothing.

We eventually reached the hotel’s private garden. The charity luncheon continued inside as though nothing had happened at all. Music drifted through the open windows. Guests laughed. Champagne glasses clinked together somewhere close by. No one outside knew that armed men had just attacked the underground garage. The contrast felt almost surreal.

Morrette glanced toward the ballroom. “You should go back,” he said. “I cannot,” I answered. “Why?” he asked.

“I will look terrified,” I replied him. “You do,” he replied bluntly. I sighed. “I always do.” He frowned. “What?” “I have been pretending I am fine for years,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

I regretted it the moment I said it. He did not ask questions. He did not pity me. He simply replied, “You do not always have to pretend.”

Something tightened inside my chest. No one had ever said that to me before. Not my employees. Not my investors. Not even myself. I quickly looked away. “I should return,” I murmured. He nodded once. “Go,” he said quietly.

The contract meeting resumed thirty minutes later. Somehow, no one mentioned the attack. The organizers claimed it had only been an electrical malfunction, and everyone accepted the explanation without question. Everyone except me.

During my presentation, I could not stop thinking about the masked men. About the word Alpha. About Morrette. Even so, I finished the meeting flawlessly.

When the Aurelius executives finally stood to shake my hand, their chairman smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Miss Star,” he said. “We look forward to working with Star Global.” The contract. Three years of work. Finally, I had won.

Everyone applauded. Clara hugged me tightly. The directors celebrated around us. I smiled for the cameras. Inside, I felt nothing at all.

Late that evening, I returned to my penthouse carrying the signed agreement. It should have been one of the happiest nights of my career. Instead, I kept replaying everything that had happened in the garage over and over in my mind.

I opened my notebook. After staring at the blank page for several minutes, I finally wrote: *Reason #6* *You bring danger into my life.*

I read the sentence again, then slowly closed the notebook. My phone vibrated. A message. Unknown sender. No number. No name. Only one photograph.

It showed me standing beside Morrette outside his garage three days earlier. A red circle had been drawn around me. Beneath the picture were six words. *Stay away from the Alpha, or die.*

I stared at the screen, my heartbeat growing louder with every passing second. The sender knew where I had been. They knew Morrette. And somehow, they had known I was involved with him long before I understood why myself.