Chasing His Multi-identity Luna

3

Grace’s POV

The air inside the mansion was suffocating, thick with judgment and the stale weight of old hierarchies. Grandma Mia sat ramrod straight beside me, her aging wolf shrinking beneath James’s Beta aura.

‘Pathetic’, Sia snarled in my head. He thinks his scent rules us? I felt her phantom teeth bare at the invisible pressure, but I kept my shoulders loose—let them think I couldn’t feel it.

After a few strained greetings, silence settled like a shroud. The four of us sat like mismatched game pieces, waiting for the golden girls—Amy and Emma—to arrive. I lasted ten minutes before muttering an excuse and slipping outside, desperate for air that didn’t taste like disappointment.

The cold hit my lungs like a relief.

I leaned against the stone wall, fingers fumbling for my phone, but my thoughts scattered. Across the street, a sleek black car idled, windows tinted obsidian. My nose twitched.

‘Cedarwood. Smoke. Alpha’. Sia’s voice was sharp, ‘Too close. Too bold for Blue Moon territory’.

The passenger door opened. A tall man in a white shirt leaned forward, his voice faint across the street.

“What are you looking at?”

Thanks to Sia, even though he was far away from me, I could still see him clearly and hear their conversation.

The man in the backseat didn’t answer at first. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled, lazy and lethal. Dressed in black, long legs sprawled, he looked more like a king on a throne than a passenger.

“She’s got a pretty profile,” he said, lips curving into a smirk. His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet—deep, slow, arrogant.

Even from a distance, Sia’s hackles rose. ‘Dangerous. Stay away, Gracie’. But my body tensed, a primal warning I couldn’t ignore.

The Alpha flicked ash from his cigarette. “Our business here is done. We return to Starlight Pack tonight. Stop wasting time playing school doctor.”

‘Starlight Pack’. Sia’s unease spiked. ‘The apex. What’s their Alpha doing here?’

The engine purred. The car began to roll past me. Just as it did, the back window lowered an inch.

Our eyes met.

My breath hitched.

Those eyes—dark, turbulent, like storm clouds before a downpour. Sia went silent, a rare stillness. ‘Wait… she murmured, his scent…’

Then the window closed. The moment shattered.

I stood frozen, Sia’s confusion echoing in my head. ‘It can’t be…’ she trailed off, uncharacteristically uncertain.

Amy’s car pulled into the driveway, laughter spilling like perfume. Emma stepped out, bright as always, while Amy’s gaze sharpened when she saw me loitering.

“Grace,” she hissed. “Try not to embarrass us.”

I didn’t answer. I was still puzzling over smoke, cedarwood, and why Sia’s voice had trembled.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted like a curtain. Emma was home—the favorite, the prodigy.

The servant beamed as she took Emma’s school bag. “Welcome home, Miss Emma.”

Davis stood straighter. Even James smiled, all teeth and approval.

“Big brother!” Emma squealed, linking arms with Davis. “This is my sister. She’s from the countryside.”

Her tone made it sound like I’d crawled out of a bog.

‘Pathetic little princess’, Sia scoffed.

Amy’s smile tightened. Davis glanced at me, curiosity veiled in pity. I didn’t flinch. I leaned against the couch like a shield and gave him a cool nod.

“This is Davis,” Emma chirped, as if smoothing out a wrinkle.

Davis nodded back, but his eyes lingered—assessing, maybe. Or just wondering about the “packless stray.”

Amy launched into a speech about Emma’s violin recital. The servant chimed in—“Grade Nine certification,” “soloist performance”—blah, blah, blah.

Grandma Mia smiled, but her mouth stayed tense.

Then Amy turned to me. “Grace, didn’t you take violin too? What grade are you at now?”

My fingers curled into my palms.

Sia’s laughter rang in my head. ‘Tell her, Gracie. Let the perfect little Emma choke on her trophy’.

I almost laughed. Violin. The memory: seven-year-old me, bow slipping in my grip as Amy sneered, “Emma’s already playing Mozart, Grace.” I’d quit after a month, much to her disdain.

I smiled, saccharine and sharp. “I burned the sheet music years ago. Much more fun that way.”

James blinked. Emma’s smile wavered. Amy went pale.

Perfect.

But Sia’s voice was sly. ‘Liar, the strings sang for you’.

Davis coughed, hiding a smirk. Grandma Mia sighed. The servant brought tea, a peace offering. I grabbed my phone and let their whispers fade.

Let them talk. Let them stare.

I play for myself. For the moon. Not for their approval.

"Why, Grace? You clearly..."

I cut my grandmother off before she could finish.

I met her gaze that it became clear—she didn’t understand why I had lied about not being able to play the violin.

The truth is, I can. In fact, I’m a master.