No Longer Your Luna: A Mother's Reckoning

COLD AND RUTHLESS

SELENA'S POINT OF VIEW

"I have to tell you something," Damian said, his tone suddenly serious.

I turned to face him fully, curious about what had prompted this shift in his demeanor.

"The reason Marcus hasn't been around is because I've been occupying him with work," he revealed, watching my reaction carefully. "So don't hold it against him so much."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. All this time, I'd been nursing a quiet resentment toward Marcus for his absence, convinced he had simply lost interest in my training. I had misjudged him entirely.

Damian must have noticed the conflict playing across my face because he continued, his voice softening. "But the work is done now, or at least it has reduced considerably. He should find time to train you soon."

He paused, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his exhaustion. "Today, I just decided to give myself a break. It's been a rough week for me, rougher than most, actually." I nodded in understanding, seeing him now not just as my mate but as someone burdened by responsibilities.

"Must be good to be the boss then?" I teased, hoping to lighten the mood that had settled between us. "You know, because you can just decide to give yourself a break whenever you feel like you need it."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something softer beneath his usual composed exterior.

"Being the boss is tough, Selena," Damian said, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "Tougher than that cute head of yours thinks." He reached out and flicked my forehead with his finger, the gesture so unexpectedly playful that it caught me off guard.

I recognized the teasing for what it was, but I couldn't help myself, I glared at him anyway. The reaction was automatic, instinctive. Before I could voice my complaint, though, his hand returned to my forehead, this time soothing the spot he had just flicked with a tenderness that made my breath catch.

"Are you being cute on purpose, Selena?" he asked, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart skip.

Heat crept up my neck as his earlier comment suddenly clicked into place, the one about me looking cute when I glared or wore a serious expression.

"I hate that you think that," I told him, wrapping my arms around my chest in a protective gesture. The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but I couldn't help it. "I feel like every time I try to be serious or strict, you will refuse to take me seriously," I continued, pursing my lips. "You just think I'm cute, like I'm some kind of amusing distraction."

Damian stared at me, that familiar smirk still playing at his lips, though something flickered in his eyes, something I couldn't quite read. "I'm sorry," he suddenly apologized, the words hanging in the air between us.

But I couldn't find any genuineness in his tone. Perhaps it was because that smirk hadn't faded.

"Don't apologize if you don't mean it," I told him, my voice quieter now but no less firm.

"It's not your fault you're beautiful, pretty, and cute all at once," Damian said, defending himself with flattery.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my heart betrayed me with a sudden flutter. The warmth crept up my neck despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.

"I don't want to make you angry," he continued, his voice softening, "or put you in a situation where you feel like you have to hide this adorable side of yours that I see."

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, hoping the gesture would mask how his words had landed. "I don't know what you see, but I am definitely not cute." I paused, thinking of my best friend's abd daughter's usual assessment of my temperament. "Mia would tell you something completely different."

The truth was, Mia had witnessed my temper more times than I could count. She would described me as intimidating, even scary when provoked, never cute. Damian's perception had to be skewed somehow, colored by whatever lens he viewed me through. Either that, or he was seeing something in me I had never recognized in myself.

"Well, I want to trust myself."Damian shrugged and I scoffed.

"Is this you flirting with me or something?" I blurted out, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You know, you're always too nice to me. It's a little suspicious to be this kind to people you don't even know well, and yes, I know I'm your mate, but still, we just met not long ago."

I decided to come clean. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, fueled by weeks of confusion and sleepless nights. I'd spent countless hours trying to decipher the hidden meanings in his words after every conversation we had. My mind would replay each exchange, searching for clues I might have missed. I couldn't tell if he was flirting with me most of the time or simply possessed an unusually generous spirit. The uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me caught between hope and doubt, afraid to assume too much yet unable to ignore the warmth that bloomed in my chest whenever he smiled at me or was kind to me.

Damian slipped his hands into his pockets and smiled, though something in his expression seemed almost vulnerable. "First of all, I'm glad you think I'm nice and kind. That's exactly what I want to be for you, how I want you to see me." He paused, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting mine again. "I'm not being disingenuous. I genuinely want to treat you well, but I need you to understand something." His voice lowered, becoming more serious. "I'm not a kind person by nature, Selena. I'm cold. Ruthless, even. Kindness doesn't come naturally to me, it never has." The confession hung between us, heavy and unexpected.

"I don't have much experience with being gentle or compassionate," he continued, his jaw tightening slightly as if the admission cost him something. "But the fact that you perceive me as kind means I'm making progress. I'm still learning how to be the person you deserve."

I stared at him, shocked by the raw honesty of his revelation. My mind raced, trying to process what he had just shared. I hadn't expected such vulnerability, such brutal self-awareness. Part of me appreciated his candor, the courage it took to expose his flaws so openly. Yet another part felt a flutter of concern, wondering what experiences had shaped him into someone who saw himself as fundamentally cold.

For several moments, I remained speechless, caught between gratitude for his honesty and uncertainty about what it meant for us.

"Say something."Damian urged me and I blinked clearing my throat.

"I don't know what to say," I told him, my voice barely above a whisper, "but I appreciate your honesty."

The words felt inadequate, yet they were all I could muster in that moment. I had read countless articles about Damian, business profiles that painted him as ruthless, society columns that described him as enigmatic, but none of those carefully crafted pieces had allowed me to know him on a deeper emotional level. That was what I craved: to understand the man behind the reputation, to see past the carefully constructed facade. Yet I hadn't expected him to reveal something so vulnerable about himself, to acknowledge his own perceived flaws with such candor.

I wanted to respond with something meaningful, to offer reassurance or understanding, but the truth was I couldn't say anything definitive about his self-assessment. In all our interactions, I had witnessed no trace of the coldness he claimed defined him, no hint of the ruthlessness others whispered about in hushed tones. Instead, he had been welcoming from the very first moment, patient with my questions and hesitations, gentle in ways that contradicted everything his reputation suggested.

"This is me. If you are an ounce curious about who Damian Sather is, that is me, a cold, ruthless man," he said.

I nodded, letting his words settle between us for a moment before responding. "Okay," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And I am a naive, traumatized, and damaged woman who has yet to explore life because all her life she's been in a cage. So now what?" I placed my hands on my waist, challenging him with my gaze.

My heart pounded as I continued, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Is this like a self-introduction to the negative parts of ourselves? Because the negative parts of ourselves are not entirely who we are." I took a breath, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. "You are not cold and ruthless, Damian. That's not who you are to me, so I refuse to accept that's who you are."

The silence that followed felt thick and heavy. Damian just stared at me, and I could see the shock flickering in his eyes, genuine surprise that seemed to c***k through whatever wall he had built around himself. Had I somehow crossed a line? My cheeks flushed with heat as I realized I had been rambling, the words spilling out aimlessly. But even as doubt crept in, I knew I meant every single one of them. Whatever darkness he believed defined him, I had seen something different, something worth defending.

"You are right," Damian said a moment later, his voice measured and calm. He paused, seeming to weigh his next words carefully. "What your past is like doesn't define who you are. So yeah, I get it. You're not naive, traumatized, yes; damaged, yes, but you're not caged anymore. You've broken free."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You have the potential to become the best version of yourself if you're willing to work for it. You don't have to remain the damaged, traumatized Selena. You can transform into someone new, someone who has healed from all that pain. Someone better, stronger."

He hesitated, and I saw a flicker of vulnerability cross his features. "That logic applies to me too, doesn't it?" Damian asked, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

I smiled, though I could feel my face contorting with emotion. Warmth spread through my chest, followed by the sharp sting of tears welling in my eyes. He understood me. After all this time, I had finally found someone who could see past my walls, who grasped the complexity of my struggle without judgment or pity.

"Thank you," I whispered. It was the only thing I could manage to say. I bit my lip hard, fighting against the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me, desperate not to let the tears fall.