“I’m ready, Tristan,” I called out from the dressing room.
One last glance in the mirror made me pause. The green dress I wore, patterned with delicate yellow flowers, flowed down perfectly over my body, clinging just enough to reveal my curves. The look was finished with a bright yellow bag and a pair of sharp black heels that clicked against the marble floor. My lips curved upward. The makeup was flawless, my complexion radiant. This is how a Luna should look.
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine what it truly meant to hold that title. Not in secret. Not in shame. But openly—powerfully—Tristan’s Luna.
My gaze flicked to the closet across the room. Daciana’s old clothes still hung there, mocking me with their plainness. I walked toward them, sliding my fingers across the che
