My Best Friend, My Luna

OLIVIA I have fond memories of my first encounter with Ely McCade. We were mere young kids, around six years old, frolicking in the park, innocent and carefree. Ely's face beamed with mischief as he darted about, and an unexplainable magnetism drew me to him. Thus, began a friendship that transcended time. Throughout our youth, Ely and I were inseparable. We shared the same school, engaged in sports together, and were even part of the same social circle. As the son of the esteemed Lycan King, Ely hailed from a lineage my parents held in high regard, leading to their collaboration on numerous business endeavors. Our lives were intertwined, and I couldn't fathom a world devoid of his presence. However, as we matured, change crept in. Ely's countenance turned serious, his focus directed toward assuming the mantle of his family's empire and becoming the future King. On the other hand, I pursued my artistic passion and honed my skills as a tattoo artist. Despite the shifting tides, we always discovered our way back to one another. It was when I reached the age of sixteen that my perspective altered concerning Ely. I began to perceive the sparkle in his gray eyes when laughter erupted, how his luscious wavy locks cascaded perfectly, and the elegance and potency emanating from his lean frame. My attraction to him grew, compelling me to shroud my sentiments in secrecy. Revealing my feelings was an endeavor I dared not undertake, for I feared jeopardizing our profound friendship. Ely was a charismatic charmer, a seductive soul with a revolving door of companions adorning his arm each passing week. I refused to be relegated to the role of another conquest, another tally on his list of romantic endeavors. Thus, I concealed my emotions deep within, endeavoring to move forward. I engaged with other gentlemen, seeking solace in their company, but none could ever rival Ely's allure. He remained a constant in my life, an indispensable presence. One fateful night, we found ourselves in my apartment, immersed in the ambiance of a movie and sipping wine. With each glass consumed, an enigmatic tension enveloped us. Leaning toward me, Ely's lips grazed my ear, leaving behind a trail of warmth. "I've always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, Liv," he murmured. My heart leaped within my chest as his lips met mine. An electric surge coursed through my veins, igniting a fire within. We broke apart, breathless, and at that moment, I realized I had stumbled into treacherous waters. The following weeks were a haze of passion and longing. We became consumed by one another, navigating a clandestine affair reminiscent of adolescent indiscretion. We understood the inherent wrongness, the obstacles that stood in our way, yet we were powerless to resist the yearning that united us. However, like a fleeting dream, it swiftly came to an end. Ely proclaimed that we should remain friends, for friends ought not to delve into the realms of intimate knowledge. He explained his duty to his family and pack, emphasizing the importance of his unwavering focus, unencumbered by matters of the heart. My heart shattered, but I comprehended the constraints binding Ely. As the heir to the throne, he bore the weight of responsibility toward his pack. We attempted to create distance between us, a futile endeavor akin to defying the pull of gravity. Our connection remained unyielding, and we found ourselves inevitably drawn back into each other's orbit. In Ely's presence, my gaze would often linger, captivated by his captivating features and the air of confidence enveloping him. He perpetually illuminated any room, effortlessly evoking laughter and never taking life too seriously. Though I cherished our moments together, a tinge of melancholy seeped into my soul whenever I witnessed him entwined with other women. Ely possessed a well-known reputation as a playboy, a figure who commanded the attention and affections of countless admirers. It was not uncommon for him to have a different companion adorning his arm each passing night. Despite my attempts to suppress any stirrings of jealousy, it proved arduous. I recognized the futility of such emotions, for Ely had never exhibited any romantic inclination toward me, and I refused to risk jeopardizing our cherished friendship by confessing my desires. One evening, within the confines of his abode, Ely casually mentioned his involvement with someone new. My heart sank, yet I mustered the strength to feign elation on his behalf. He spoke effusively of her beauty, intellect, and the profound excitement she ignited within him. I nodded along, striving to bury the twinge of envy gnawing at my core. As the night wore on, and the intoxicating elixir of liquor swirled within our veins, Ely's demeanor morphed into one of flirtation. He inched closer, and the alluring fragrance of his cologne enveloped me. My heart quickened its pace as he complimented the artistry etched upon my skin, tracing the intricate lines of ink with his fingertips. Gradually, his hand ventured to my thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of my jeans. Deep down, I knew I should halt his advances, caution him against this perilous path we tread, but the allure proved insurmountable. My yearning for him had persisted, dormant within my heart, and now that he stood so close, tantalizingly close, resistance crumbled beneath the weight of desire. Our lips met, and the collision ignited an explosive symphony within my mind. I had never experienced such intensity, such fervor coursing through my veins. However, as swiftly as it had transpired, it crumbled into fragments. Ely pulled away, a mask of guilt overshadowing his countenance. He confessed the impropriety of his actions, citing his ongoing involvement with the other woman, expressing his reluctance to inflict harm upon her. A lump formed in my throat, reality crashing down upon me. Ely did not regard me in the way I yearned for. He remained true to his nature, an unyielding Casanova. In the ensuing days, an undeniable shift altered the atmosphere between us. We purposefully evaded each other during pack meetings, and when conversations did transpire, they felt rigid and strained. I endeavored to convince myself that this distance was imperative, that I ought to redirect my focus towards discovering someone who reciprocated my affection. However, the execution of such a notion proved far more complex than anticipated. One solitary night, amidst the sanctuary of my abode, I sought solace within the pages of a book, desperately attempting to divert my attention. Unexpectedly, a gentle rap echoed from my door, jolting me from my reverie. A surge of surprise coursed through me as I beheld Ely standing before me, adorned with an aura of hesitation and self-doubt. "Can I come in?" he inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Nodding, I stepped aside, granting him entrance. We settled on the couch, and a weighty silence hung in the air, stretching out before Ely found his voice. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his words barely audible. "I shouldn't have ventured into that kiss. Olivia, I'm adamant about not inflicting any pain upon you. Your significance in my life is immeasurable." Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and with sheer determination, I willed them to remain at bay. "It's alright," I managed to utter. "Liv, I cannot bear the thought of losing you. You are... you are my best friend," his voice saturated with sincerity.