My Luna, my daughter, my sacrifice

I never thought my sixteenth birthday would be the night everything changed. I wanted reckless. I got ruined. “Aria, you look like sin,” Luca said, grinning as he adjusted the collar of his glittery mesh shirt in my cracked bedroom mirror. “Actual, walking, breathing sin. I’m so proud.” I laughed, even though my stomach was already twisted in knots. My reflection barely looked like me. The girl staring back had straightened, glossy dark hair that fell like silk down her back, smoky eyes painted heavy with liner, and lips stained a dangerous shade of red. The tight black mini dress clung to every curve I barely had, and the heels—God, the heels—made my legs look miles longer. I wobbled on them when I turned, making Luca catch my arm with a dramatic gasp. “Careful, Bambi. You break an ankle before we even get in, and I’m not dragging your corpse home.” “I’ll be fine,” I lied, taking a deep breath. “We’re really doing this?” Luca’s grin sharpened. “Baby, we’re crashing La Lune. The hottest club in town. No more sweet sixteen slumber parties. Tonight, we’re legends.” The word hung between us like a promise. We snuck out just after midnight, slipping past my passed-out mom and the stepdad who never noticed much unless it benefited him. My heart thudded so loud in my chest I swore the whole street could hear it as we slipped into the backseat of the Uber Luca somehow sweet-talked into picking us up. La Lune shimmered in the dark like a secret. Neon lights pulsed against the night, and the line to get in wrapped around the building. But Luca had a plan—and a fake ID he stole from his older cousin. “You’re my cousin from out of town,” he hissed in my ear as we tottered toward the bouncer. “Smile like you belong here. Confidence is everything, babe.” I swallowed hard and pasted on my best I do this every weekend smirk. Somehow—God knows how—we got in. The bass hit me first, vibrating through the floor and right up my spine. Lights flashed, bodies writhed, and the air smelled like sweat, perfume, and danger. It was intoxicating. Luca vanished into the crowd with a wink, mouthing birthday shots! and leaving me alone at the bar. I leaned against the sticky counter, pretending I wasn’t shaking inside. My heels already ached, but I refused to let it show. Tonight, I wasn’t Aria the girl who got straight Bs and still had a stuffed bear on her bed. I was someone else. That’s when I felt it—that prickling heat on the back of my neck. Like I was being watched. I turned. And I saw him. Tall. Broad. Shadowed in the dim light, but even from across the room, his eyes burned gold. Not brown. Not hazel. Gold. And they were locked on me like I was the only person in this whole damn club. My breath caught. He moved toward me, slow and deliberate, cutting through the crowd like it parted just for him. The music thumped, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat. When he stopped in front of me, so close I could smell the dark spice of his cologne, I forgot how to breathe. “You’re too young to be in a place like this,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and silk all at once. I lifted my chin, heart pounding. “And you’re too old to be talking to me.” His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “Maybe. But here we are.” His gaze dropped, trailing down my body in that dress, then back up to meet my eyes again. My skin burned everywhere he looked, and I knew—I knew—this was dangerous. Everything about him screamed it. But I didn’t step back. I stepped closer. “What’s your name?” I asked, my voice breathless. His smile deepened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear as he spoke. “Names are for mornings. What do you want tonight?” A shiver ripped through me. My hands curled against his chest before I could stop myself, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He caught my wrist gently, holding it there, his touch searing. “Careful, little one,” he murmured. “You play with fire, you get burned.” “Maybe I want to get burned,” I whispered back, shocking myself. His growl—soft but deadly—rumbled against my palm. And then his mouth was on mine. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was possession and hunger and something darker, something that made my knees go weak and my head spin. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I felt every hard line of his body against mine. I gasped, and he took that too, deepening the kiss until the world melted away. “Come with me,” he said against my lips. “Let me give you something to remember your sweet sixteen by.” I should have said no. I didn’t.