Ten Thousand Reasons I Refuse To Be Your Luna

CHAPTER 9: Reason #9

*Property of the Insurance Holder.*

The words refused to leave my mind.

I stared through the ballroom window at the photograph tucked inside the black envelope. The man receiving it glanced around carefully before sliding it into his briefcase, smooth as anything, like he did this sort of thing every day of the week.

“What does it mean?” I whispered. Morrette’s expression hardened. “I told you to stay away from this.”

“You know what it means,” I said. “I know enough,” he said. “Then tell me,” I asked him. His eyes never left the ballroom. “I cannot.”

I stepped in front of him, forcing him to actually look at me instead of past me. “Everyone keeps saying that. My father. Chairman Lucien. Harold. Now you. When does someone finally stop protecting me and start trusting me instead?”

For one brief second, I thought he might actually answer. Instead, he moved past me gently, like I was something breakable he was trying not to disturb. “Go back inside,” he said. That was the last straw. “I am not leaving.” His jaw tightened. “Melissa.”

“I am done listening,” I said, and honestly, I surprised myself with how much I meant it.

The ballroom stayed lively behind me, completely unaware that something far more dangerous than business negotiations was unfolding a few feet away from the champagne fountain.

I went back inside anyway. Not because I planned on obeying Morrette, since that has never really worked out for either of us, but because I wanted to see the man who received that envelope with my own eyes. Victor Crane.

He stood beside a cluster of investors, smiling like nothing unusual had happened in his life, ever. Expensive suit. Silver tie. Manners so perfect they almost looked rehearsed. Nothing about him screamed danger. And yet every instinct in my body screamed otherwise.

I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, mostly for something to hold, and walked closer.

“…the shipment arrives next week.”

“…the Chairman approved everything.”

“…the Moon Order will handle the rest.”

The conversation stopped the second they noticed me approaching. Victor turned and smiled, warm as sunshine, and about as trustworthy. “Miss Star,” he said. “I have admired your work for years.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I have heard Star Global is expanding,” he said. “We are trying,” I replied smiling. “I do hope we will work together someday,” Victor said.

His smile never wavered. Neither did mine, at least on the outside. Inside, something felt very wrong. He knew my name before anyone had introduced us, and I had a distinct feeling that was not an accident.

I did not see this part happen, not with my own eyes. I only learned about it afterward, in pieces Morrette gave me one careful sentence at a time, but I have run it through my head so often it almost feels like my own memory now.

Across the ballroom, he had been watching everything, one hand pressed to the hidden communication device tucked inside his sleeve. “Sophia,” he said quietly.

Her voice answered through the earpiece. “I am listening.” Morette said, “Victor made contact.”

“Confirmed.”

“What about the envelope?” Morette asked. “Our photographer could not capture the contents,” I replied. He glanced across the room toward me. “I do not need the photo anymore.”

“What happened?” I asked. “She saw it,” he said. Several seconds of silence passed. Then Sophia sighed. “That is bad.”

“I know,” he said. Marcus’ voice cut in suddenly. “Boss. We have another problem.”

“What.”

“The Moon Order has people inside the hotel.”

He scanned the room slowly. Waiters. Musicians. Security guards. Guests. Any one of them could be an enemy wearing a very good costume.

“How many?”

“We have identified six.”

“And?”

Marcus hesitated just long enough that I imagine even through an earpiece, it felt heavy. “They are not watching Victor. They are watching Melissa.”

The contract presentation finally began. Executives gathered near the main stage. The chairman of Helios BioTech welcomed everyone before inviting potential partners up one by one, like some very expensive game show.

When my name was announced, applause filled the ballroom.

I stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, spotlights aimed directly into my face. Normally this was the part where I felt strongest, the part I was built for. Today felt different.

The lights. The crowd. The strange, heavy silence underneath all that applause. My breathing turned uneven. Not now, I told myself. Please, not now.

I smiled anyway. “Good evening, everyone.” The words came out steady. Inside, panic was already climbing my throat.

I slipped one hand into my handbag, discreetly, searching for the small medicine case I always carried. Empty.

I froze. I had forgotten to refill it, of all the nights to forget. My chest tightened immediately. No, no, not here, not in front of everyone I had spent years convincing that I never cracked.

The audience kept watching. Waiting. My vision blurred at the edges. The lights felt too bright, and the room, somehow, felt too small to breathe in.

I found out later that Morrette noticed before I even realized how bad it had gotten. “Something is wrong,” he said to himself, watching me from the crowd. I had not moved in nearly ten seconds. I was staring into the audience without actually seeing a single face in it. My hands were shaking.

He knew that look. Panic, plain and simple, the kind he had apparently seen on me before, though I could not tell you when.

He pushed through the crowd without a second of hesitation. Several investors frowned at him. “Sir, you cannot approach the stage.” He ignored every one of them.

Victor Crane smiled quietly from the back of the ballroom, almost like this was exactly what he had been waiting for all evening.

I could not hear anything anymore. The applause. The music. The murmured voices. All of it turned distant, like I was underwater and everyone else was standing on dry land.

I gripped the podium to keep myself upright. Do not panic. Smile. Smile. You are Melissa Star. You do not fall apart in public. Not ever.

Just as my knees started to give out, someone climbed onto the stage. Strong hands caught my arm before I hit the floor. Morrette.

“What are you doing?” I whispered weakly. He did not answer. He simply stood beside me, shielding me from hundreds of confused, curious eyes. The ballroom erupted into whispers. “Who is he?”

“Security?”

“No.”

“I have seen him somewhere before.”

Camera flashes exploded across the room. Every reporter turned their lens on us at once. I wanted to pull away. Instead, my body leaned into him without asking my permission first, which was, frankly, humiliating and a little bit of a relief at the same time.

For the first time in years, I could not pretend I was fine. I did not witness this last part at all. Morrette told me about it much later, in the quiet after everything, and even then he only gave me half of it.

Chairman Lucien stood near the entrance, watching everything unfold with an expression as calm as a still pond. Beside him stood a man dressed entirely in black, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a hat.

The man watched Morrette on the stage. Then he smiled. “So,” he said. “The heir has finally stepped into the light.” Lucien did not look at him. “You promised,” he said, low and even.

The man chuckled. “I promised not to touch the girl.” His smile widened slowly, like something enjoying itself far too much. “I said nothing,” he added, “about breaking the man who keeps protecting her.”