Luna’s Legacy: Born in Lies

Chapter 4 | Luna

“I stopped asking questions. It’s easier that way.”

Four days later – Valmer Port, Vantress

Everything had changed after he left.

No one said it out loud. But you could feel it.

In the walls. In the silence. In the way the house no longer felt like something you could breathe in. Colder.

That was the only word that fit. Not empty. Not broken. Just… colder.

Josie and Alaric tried to act as if nothing had happened at first. Like Alphi leaving was normal. Like this was just another step, another phase.

It didn’t last.

The arguments started quietly.

Low voices behind closed doors. Tension that slipped through the cracks anyway. Words I wasn’t supposed to hear, but did. More than once.

Enough to know it wasn’t about nothing.

Enough to know it was about him.

I stopped asking. Not because I didn’t care. Because I wouldn’t get an answer.

So I did what I always did. I buried myself in something I could control. School. If I wasn’t studying, I was working ahead. If I wasn’t working ahead, I was perfecting something that didn’t need perfecting.

And when even that wasn’t enough, I went to the atelier.

The only place that still felt like mine.

Fabric didn’t lie. It didn’t avoid questions or lower its voice when you walked into the room. It didn’t pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. It just was. And I could work with that.

The gala had been planned weeks ago. Before he left. Before everything shifted.

A farewell event. One last night before the next step. Before everyone went their separate ways.

I almost didn’t go. But staying home felt worse. So I said yes.

The dress had taken me days. Not because it was difficult. Because I needed it to be right. Dark blue. Not soft, not light, deep. The kind of blue that almost looked black until the light caught it.

The bodice was fitted, structured just enough to hold shape without feeling stiff. I’d hand-stitched the embroidery myself, delicate patterns that followed the line of my waist and curved upward along my left side.

Silver thread. Subtle. Only visible when you looked closely. Or when the light hit it just right.

Lace ran from my shoulder down along that same side, asymmetrical, intentional. Not perfect. Better than perfect.

The skirt fell in layers, light enough to move with me as I walked, heavy enough to feel grounded.

I hadn’t made it to impress anyone. I made it because I needed something beautiful that didn’t come with questions.

“Your date will be here soon.” Josie’s voice pulled me out of the mirror. I met her eyes through the reflection.

She smiled. It didn’t reach all the way.

“Okay,” I said.

That was all. We didn’t talk about him. Not anymore.

The drive to the venue was quiet. Too quiet.

I watched the city lights blur past the window, letting the movement distract me from the stillness that had settled inside me.

Tonight was supposed to feel like something. Exciting. Important. A beginning.

Instead, it felt like something else. Like waiting.

The venue was already alive when we arrived.

Music. Voices. Laughter that felt just a little too loud.

Everyone was pretending nothing had changed. Maybe for them, it hadn’t.

I stepped inside, smoothing my dress instinctively as my eyes adjusted to the light.

People turned. They always did. Not because of me. Because of the dress. That was fine. I preferred it that way.

“Luna?”

I turned slightly towards my date, Ethan.

He had been standing a little further back, giving me space when I arrived. Something I appreciated more than I would say out loud.

He looked good. Clean lines, dark suit, hair done just enough to seem effortless. The kind of boy people noticed without trying too hard. The kind of boy that should have been enough.

“Hey,” I said, softer now.

He smiled, stepping closer. “You disappeared for a second. I thought I had lost you already.”

“You’re not that unlucky,” I replied.

That earned a quiet laugh.

Easy. That’s what he was.

Easy to talk to. Easy to be around. No sharp edges. No weight behind his words. No pull.

He offered his arm, casual but intentional. I took it without thinking, letting him guide me further into the room.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he said.

There it was. The expected compliment.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing down briefly at the dress. “I made it.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“That explains it,” he said.

“Explains what?”

“Why, it actually looks like something people would remember.”

I smiled at that. It was sweet. He was sweet. But it didn’t land the same way.

Not like when certain men said something that sounded like nothing but meant everything. Not like when they looked at me, and I felt seen instead of just… noticed.

I pushed the thought away.

That wasn’t fair. Not to Ethan. Not to anyone.

Music filled the space around us as people moved toward the centre of the room. Conversations blurred into something softer, lighter. Normal. Or at least pretending to be.

Ethan guided me onto the dance floor, his hand settling at my waist. Careful. Respectful. Leaving space instead of taking it.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “You look like you’re thinking too much.”

“I always think too much.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. Balance it out a little.”

I huffed softly. “Good luck with that.”

He smiled, and for a moment, it almost worked.

I let myself follow the rhythm, focusing on the movement instead of the thoughts pressing in at the edges. On the music. On the steps. On something simple.

But it didn’t last. It never really did. Because even as I turned with him, even as I let the moment carry me just enough, my eyes drifted.

Across the room. Unconsciously. Looking for something. Or someone.

The music shifted, slower this time, and Ethan guided me through the last few steps before letting go.

“See?” he said with a small smile. “That wasn’t so bad.”

I huffed softly, smoothing my hand over the fabric of my dress as I caught my breath. “You make it sound like I needed convincing.”

“You did,” he said, a little too easily.

That made me smile. Just a little.

He stepped back, giving me space again, always careful, always aware of where he stood in relation to me.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He hesitated for a second, as if he wanted to say something more, then just nodded and turned toward the bar.

I watched him go for a moment before letting my shoulders relax.

The music continued around me, people moving, laughing, talking as if nothing had changed. Like everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

I shifted slightly, stepping closer to the edge of the dance floor, fingers brushing lightly over the embroidery at my side, something familiar, something grounding.

For a second, I let myself just stand there. Breathing and not thinking.

Ethan came back with two glasses just as I turned around again.

“Water,” he said, handing one to me. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it.

His attention stayed on me, open and kind. Like he was waiting for me to fully return to the moment.

I took a sip, more to have something to do than because I was actually thirsty.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Luca.

His voice was calm, but not really asking.

I felt Ethan tense beside me. Subtle.

But I noticed.

Ethan looked at him a fraction longer than necessary.

“Actually—” he started.

Luca’s gaze shifted to me. Not waiting. Deciding.

“May I have this dance,” he said, a little softer now, “with this goddess?”

The words were light. Almost playful. But the way he looked at me wasn’t.

My heart skipped.

Ethan followed my gaze, saw the hesitation there, and slowly let his shoulders drop. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Sure.” Polite and respectful. Like always.

I gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Thank you.”

He nodded and stepped back, giving space. Like he always did.

Luca didn’t.

His hand found my arm before I had fully turned toward him. Not rough. But certain.

His fingers brushed along my skin before he took my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor without another word. No distance. No hesitation.

His other hand settled on my hip. Lower than Ethan’s had been. Firmer. As if he wasn’t asking where the line was, but deciding it himself.

I looked up at him. “That wasn’t really a question,” I said.

The corner of his mouth moved slightly.

“You could’ve said no.”

We both knew that wasn’t true.

The music carried us before I could answer.

With Ethan, I had followed. This was different. Luca led. Not carefully. Not testing. Like he already knew where I would move before I did.

My hand rested in his, but he didn’t hold it. He guided. Subtle. Unavoidable. His hand at my hip shifted slightly, pulling me closer during a turn.

My breath caught. “Luca—”

“Don’t,” he said quietly. Not a warning. Not a request. More like… a boundary. Or maybe protection.

I wasn’t sure. I only knew that everything about this felt different. Heavier. Sharper. More real.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said eventually.

He didn’t look away. “I did.”

No further explanation.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

That was the real question.

His grip tightened for just a moment. Barely noticeable. But I felt it.

His gaze moved over my face, as if he were trying to memorise something. Or hold on to it.

“I wanted you to have a good night,” he said.

It sounded right, but it didn’t feel complete.

“And after?” I asked.

There it was. The silence that followed was different. Not empty. Not awkward. But heavy.

His hand on my hip stilled for a brief moment. Just one heartbeat.

Then he moved again. As if buying time.

“After,” he said quietly, “we talk.”

My stomach tightened. Because suddenly I knew.

Whatever he had come here to say was going to be life-changing.

I held his gaze for a second longer. “Now you’re making it sound ominous.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“No?” I said softly. “Because it kind of feels like it.”

A faint exhale left him, almost as if he was about to say something and then decided not to. Typical.

I tilted my head slightly. “So, what are we doing until then? Just… pretending?”

That earned me the slightest shift in his expression. “Not pretending,” he said.

“Then what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand at my hip adjusted slightly, pulling me just a fraction closer, not enough to draw attention, but enough that I felt it. His hard length, and if the look in his eyes was lust, it was because of me.

His gaze moved over me again. Slower this time. Taking me in on a whole other level. In this moment, I wasn’t the annoying little sister of his best friend. In this moment, he looked at me as if he wanted to eat me. ME!

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he whispered.

I frowned slightly. “See what?”

“The way you look tonight.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“That’s what you’re going with?” I asked, half-teasing, half-suspicious.

“It’s not what I’m going with,” he said. “It’s what’s in front of me.”

There was something different in his voice now. Less guarded. More… certain.

My heart did that annoying thing again.

“I made the dress,” I said, like that explained everything.

“I know.” His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric at my side, right where the embroidery curved along my breast.

“Which makes it worse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Worse?”

“For everyone else in this room,” he clarified.

That almost made me laugh. Almost.

“You don’t say things like that,” I said.

“No.”

“Then why now?”

Another pause.

“Because tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you look like the woman from my dreams. The one I can’t forget. The one I want so desperately, but who isn’t mine.”

The words landed differently than I expected. Not like a compliment. Like a statement. Like something he meant. Really meant.

I swallowed. “That’s… a lot,” I said, softer now.

“I’m aware.”

A small silence settled between us. Not awkward.

“You’re distracting me,” I said finally.

That earned the faintest hint of a smile.

“That was the idea.”

There it was.

I shook my head slightly, but I didn’t move away. Didn’t want to. Which was probably the real problem.

A small silence settled between us again, softer this time. Less sharp. But not easier. I glanced up at him.

“You’re really bad at subtle,” I said.

“Never claimed to be good at it.”

“That’s not true,” I replied. “You’re usually very good at saying just enough.”

That made something in his expression shift. Not defensive. Not amused. Something else.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.

That wasn’t the response I expected.

I frowned slightly. “That’s it? No argument?”

“No.”

Another pause.

Different this time.

He held my gaze a second longer than necessary. “That wasn’t just a distraction,” he admitted.

The words landed heavier than anything he’d said before.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I meant it,” he added, quieter now. “All of it.”

My breath caught, just slightly. “That’s new,” I said.

“It is.”

“Why?”

There it was again. That hesitation. Not uncertainty. Choice.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said.

Simple. But not light.

Something in my chest tightened.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Then be honest.”

A beat.

“Why are you here, Luca?”

This time, I didn’t soften it. Didn’t dress it up. I wanted the answer.

He looked at me. Really looked. And whatever he saw, it made something in his jaw tighten.

“Not here,” he said.

That wasn’t what I asked.

“That’s not how this works,” I replied.

“Tonight it is.”

Before I could respond, his hand shifted at my waist, sliding fully around me this time. Not guiding. Holding.

His arm settled firm against my lower back, pulling me just close enough that there was no space left to misunderstand it.

My breath caught again. Not because it was too much. Because it wasn’t. Because it felt intentional. Possessive, almost.

Not in a way that made me step away. In a way that made me very aware of everyone else in the room. Of eyes. Of distance. Or the lack of it.

“What are you doing?” I asked, quieter now.

“Making sure no one interrupts,” he said.

That wasn’t the only reason. We both knew it.

His gaze lifted briefly, scanning the room, and I followed it instinctively. People were watching. Of course, they were.

This wasn’t just about me. This was a message.

“Come on,” he said. No question this time.

He guided me off the dance floor, his arm still firm around my waist, not once loosening his hold as we moved through the crowd. People stepped aside. Not dramatically. But enough. Enough to notice. Enough to feel.

I didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop him. Didn’t even try. Which probably said more than anything else.

“Luca,” I said as we reached the edge of the room. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“Good.”

That stopped me. I looked up at him. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

He didn’t stop until we were outside.

The noise of the gala faded behind us, giving way to something quieter. The night air was cooler than I expected, the kind that made you aware of your skin.

“Luca,” I said again, softer this time. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can breathe.”

That answer didn’t calm me. If anything, it made it worse.

We walked further, away from the lights, away from the music, until the ground shifted beneath my heels and the sound of water reached us.

The bay.

Of course.

It was the only place close enough that still felt removed from everything else.

The waves rolled in gently, the dark water reflecting faint traces of light from the distance. The beach was empty. Too empty.

He stopped, finally, and let his arm fall from my waist.

For a second, I felt its absence more than its presence had registered.

I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively. The cold. Or something else.

Luca noticed. Of course he did!

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and stepped closer, draping it around my shoulders. His hands lingered for just a second as he adjusted it. Grounding.

“Sit,” he said.

I didn’t argue.

We moved down onto the sand, side by side, the space between us smaller than it should have been, but not close enough to touch.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The waves filled the silence. Steady. Unchanging. Unlike everything else.

“You’re scaring me,” I said finally. My voice came out quieter than I intended. Honest.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed somewhere out over the water. “I know.”

That wasn’t helpful.

“Then stop.”

He didn’t.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

He was choosing his words.

I could feel it. Every second of it. And suddenly, I didn’t want to hear them anymore.

“Luca,” I said, turning toward him, “just tell me.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. And something in my chest tightened before he even spoke.

“There was an accident.”

The words didn’t land. Not properly. They just… existed.

“What?” I asked. Flat. Confused.

“On the road,” he continued. “After we left.”

No.

No.

I shook my head slightly. “That doesn’t make sense.”

It didn’t. It couldn’t. He had just left. People didn’t just…

“He didn’t make it.”

Everything stopped. The waves. The air. My thoughts.

No.

“That’s not—” My voice broke. “No.”

I shook my head again, harder this time. “That’s not true.”

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t!

Luca didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct. Didn’t soften it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Making it real.

Something inside me cracked. Sharp. Sudden. Unfixable.

“No,” I whispered, but it wasn’t denial anymore. It was something else. Something breaking.

My breath hitched, my chest tightening as the weight of it finally settled. Too heavy. Too much.

And then it came.

All at once.

The tears. The sound. The way my body folded in on itself, like I couldn’t hold it together anymore.

I didn’t realise I had moved until Luca’s hands were on me. Steady. Certain.

He pulled me toward him, lifting me without effort, settling me onto his lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t protest. Didn’t think.

I just broke.

My hands fisted into his shirt as I buried my face against him, the sobs coming harder now, uncontrollably.

He didn’t tell me to stop. Didn’t try to quiet me.

His arms wrapped around me instead, firm, holding me together when I couldn’t do it myself.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. Low. Steady.

I clung to him like he was the only solid thing left.

Time blurred.

I didn’t know how long I cried. Minutes. Hours.

It didn’t matter.

At some point, the sobs softened. Faded. Left behind something empty. Something exhausted.

My head rested against his chest, my breathing uneven, heavy with the aftermath.

I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to exist in a world where that was true.

His hand moved slowly over my back. Repetitive. Grounding.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

The sound of the waves filled the space again, softer now. Or maybe I just didn’t hear them the same way anymore.

My eyes grew heavy without warning. My body giving up where my mind wouldn’t.

I tried to stay awake. I didn’t want to let go. But I did.

Half-aware. Half-gone. And somewhere, through the haze, I heard him.

Soft. Almost too soft to catch. “One day… you’ll understand.”

The words slipped past me, broken into pieces I couldn’t fully hold on to.

“Not like this… but you will.”

I frowned slightly, somewhere between sleep and something else.

Understand what?

But the question didn’t form. Didn’t stay.

Because the darkness pulled me under before I could reach it.

And the last thing I felt was him. Still there.