Ten Thousand Reasons I Refuse To Be Your Luna

CHAPTER 13: Reason #13

The photograph stayed on my desk all night, staring back at me like it had a personal grudge against my sleep schedule.

My father. Morrette. Standing side by side like two old friends who had known each other for years.

I had gone through every family album I owned. Every newspaper clipping. Every single interview my father had ever given, including the embarrassing one from nineteen ninety something where he wore a truly unforgivable tie. Nothing.

Not one single mention of Morrette Mitchell anywhere in my father’s history. It was as if someone had gone through every piece of paper connected to my family and carefully erased any trace that the two men had ever crossed paths.

I hated mysteries. I especially hated the ones that decided to move into my family tree uninvited.

The next morning, Star Global welcomed one of its biggest clients. The boardroom filled up with executives from Aurelius International, all of them there to decide the timeline for our expansion into Europe, which meant I could not afford to think about anything else. Not today.

I arrived early. For once, my mind stayed completely on work. No Morrette. No anonymous messages. No impossible questions I could not answer at three in the morning. Only business, exactly the way I liked it.

Halfway through the presentation, Clara leaned toward me and whispered, “Miss Star.”

“What is it?” I whispered back, not taking my eyes off the slide. “There is someone downstairs asking to see you,” she said.

“I do not have appointments,” I said. “He says it is urgent,” Clara said. “I said no,” I said. She hesitated for a second, then leaned in closer. “It is Morrette.” My expression hardened instantly. “Tell him I am busy.”

“I already did,” Clara said. “And?” I asked. “He said he will wait,” she replied. I glanced toward the window, annoyed in a way that felt entirely too personal for someone who supposedly did not care. Why was he here? How did he always seem to know exactly where I was, like he had a tracking chip installed in my schedule?

The thought irritated me far more than it had any right to. “Let him wait,” I said, and turned back to the slide like a professional, definitely not someone whose stomach had just done a small, treacherous flip.

Almost two hours later, the meeting finally ended and I walked into the lobby. I spotted him immediately, because apparently my eyes had developed a specific radar just for him, which I found deeply annoying.

Morrette sat on a bench near the entrance, sipping coffee and reading a motorcycle magazine like he had all the time in the world. He did not look impatient. He did not even look mildly bothered, the absolute nerve of him.

When he noticed me, he stood up. “I have been looking for you,” he said. “I can see that,” I said. “I need to talk,” he said. “I am working,” I said.

“It will only take five minutes,” he said. “I do not have five minutes,” I said, and walked straight past him. He followed anyway. “Melissa,” he said. I stopped. “What?”

“I need you to stay away from the east district for a few days,” he said. I frowned at him. “Why?”

“I cannot explain,” he said. “There you go again,” I said. “I am serious,” he said. “So am I,” I said. “If you will not tell me why, then do not expect me to listen.” His shoulders dropped just slightly. “I knew you would say that,” he said. I folded my arms. “You do not get to tell me where I can or cannot go.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Then stop trying,” I said, and walked away without giving him the chance to argue, which felt like a small personal victory, even though my chest was doing something strange and uncomfortable the whole time.

That afternoon, I attended the opening ceremony of Star Global’s newest design studio. Reporters crowded the entrance, and fans gathered behind the security barriers, phones already raised before anyone had even arrived.

Everything went smoothly until someone shouted from the crowd. “Melissa!” I turned instinctively, though the voice was clearly not calling for me.

A young woman pushed through the reporters, and before security could stop her, she threw herself straight into Morrette’s arms.

He caught her without even blinking. “You are finally back!” she said, beaming up at him before wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“I missed you,” she said. My footsteps slowed on their own, without my permission. The woman could not have been older than twenty-four. Beautiful. Confident. Entirely too comfortable draped around a man I had personally decided was insufferable.

Morrette smiled, actually smiled, the kind of smile I had never once seen him give me. “You have grown,” he ssaid She laughed. “And you are still impossible to find.”

He patted her head gently. “I have been busy,” he said. She linked her arm through his without a second of hesitation. “You promised you would come home more often,” she said. “I know,” he said. “I will try.”

The familiarity between them made something twist uncomfortably in my chest, and I looked away before anyone could catch me staring. Why should I care?

He could hug whoever he wanted. It was none of my business whatsoever. So why, exactly, did it bother me this much?

Clara walked quietly beside me a moment later. “Do you know her?” she asked. “No,” I answered her.. “They look close,” she said. “I said I do not know,” I said, a little sharper than intended.

Clara glanced at me sideways, then smiled in that infuriating knowing way she had perfected over the years. “You are jealous,” she said. I stopped walking. “What?”

“You are,” she said. “I am not,” I said. “You looked upset and that literally gives the expression,” she said.

“I looked surprised,” I said. “There is a difference,” she said, still smiling. She laughed softly. “You have been thinking about him all week.”

“I am investigating him,” I said. “Is that what we are calling it now?” she asked. I did not answer, mostly because for the first time all week, I genuinely was not sure myself.

That evening, I could not stop replaying the scene in my head. The hug. Their easy smiles. The way he looked completely relaxed around her, far more relaxed than he had ever once looked around me.

I hated myself a little for thinking about it as much as I did. Just as I was about to leave the office, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered it anyway, mostly out of habit.

A woman’s voice spoke cheerfully on the other end. “Hello,” she said. “Is this Melissa Star?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “I am sorry to bother you,” she said. “My name is Lily. I just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” I asked, already suspicious. “For taking care of Morrette recently,” she said. I frowned into the phone. “I have not taken care of anyone,” I said.

She laughed, light and warm. “He is terrible at looking after himself,” she said. “He never tells people when he is injured. Please continue looking after him.”

Before I could ask who she really was, the call ended. I stared at my phone, half expecting it to explain itself.

Who was Lily? Why did she sound so close to him? And more importantly, why on earth would she call me of all people?

That night, I opened my notebook and, without letting myself hesitate, I wrote. *Reason number thirteen. You are already someone else’s person.*

I stared at the sentence for a long moment. Then I added another line beneath it. *From now on, I will keep my distance.* The decision felt right. Necessary. Safer, at the very least for my own sanity.

I would stop asking questions about him. Stop watching him from the corner of my eye at every event. Stop letting him take up so much space in my already complicated life.

If he came to Star Global, I would avoid him. If we ended up at the same event, I would leave early. If he called, I simply would not answer.

The more distance between us, the better, and I was fully prepared to enforce that starting immediately.

Just as I closed the notebook, another message lit up my phone. This time it came with a photograph attached. Morrette. The same woman. A picture clearly taken years ago.

On the back, someone had written a single line. *Remove the girl, and the Alpha loses everything.*

My heart skipped painfully in my chest. The message was not talking about me at all. It was talking about her. Whoever Lily truly was, someone out there wanted her dead. And Morrette, for all his sharp instincts and careful warnings, did not seem to know it yet