The Luna Reborn

Aveline's POV Soft hands tug the corset tighter. I don’t flinch. Another maid smooths the lace over my shoulders, aligning each floral thread with mechanical precision. A third adjusts my veil so it falls just right. None of them meet my eyes. Maybe they feel the tension radiating from my spine. Or maybe they’re just used to dressing women who don’t get a choice. The chamber smells like jasmine and honey—too sweet, almost suffocating. A gold-framed mirror reflects a stranger: flawless skin, lips painted the color of crushed roses, and eyes darkened to look mysterious. Beautiful. Polished. Market-ready. Pretty enough to be sold off. “Your hair turned out lovely,” one of them murmurs. Her voice is light, but the words land with the weight of obligation. I nod, not really hearing her. An arranged marriage. To Alpha Damon Vexley. And I still don’t know why. Just a few days ago, I was scrubbing floors in the lower court—my hands raw, my name forgotten. An invisible omega. One no one looked at twice. Then, a summons. A gown. A name I’d only ever heard whispered with fear and reverence. Now I’m wrapped in white silk, standing on the edge of a life I never asked for, about to marry the most feared and powerful Alpha in the region. Damon Vexley. They say his voice alone can silence a room. That his wolves follow him without question. That his enemies don’t live long enough to become problems. He’s everything a woman should want—deadly, rich, commanding. A name wrapped in gold and blood. But none of that excites me. It terrifies me. It confuses me. Why me? There are highborn daughters, ranked she-wolves, politicians’ nieces—women born for alliances like this. So why choose an omega? A servant? No one would answer when I asked. Not the guards. Not the council. Not even Rhydian, the Alpha of my own pack, w Ironfang. Only three words: It is decided. “Deep breath,” a maid says gently, pulling the final hook into place. I obey without thinking, lungs aching as I exhale. “There,” she says. “You’re ready.” But I’m not. I feel nothing. No excitement. No butterflies. Only the cold echo of a life turned upside down—and the chill of a future I never chose. “Does he even know who I am?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them. The maids hesitate. One glances toward the door. Another shrugs. “He must. The council wouldn’t arrange this without his blessing.” But her tone lacks conviction. We all hear it. I stare at my reflection again. The veil glimmers. The lipstick makes me look bold. But inside? I’m hollow. What kind of man accepts a stranger for a bride without a word? What kind of Alpha marries a servant… and says nothing? Outside, music swells—low and solemn. The ceremony is starting. One of the maids steps back and opens the door. “They’re waiting, Luna.” The title lands like ice down my spine. I nod and take a step forward, even though my legs feel like stone. Every instinct screams that something is wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Alpha Rhydian—my pack’s leader—waits just beyond the threshold, a silent wall of steel and authority. He offers his arm without a word, his hand resting firmly over mine like a chain masked as comfort. As if he’s walking me down the aisle because no one else will. “Chin up. Back straight,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but lined with command. I inhale slowly and obey. Not because I want to—but because I have no choice. The grand doors swing open. Light floods the hall, catching on the silver petals that litter the aisle. The ceiling soars above like a cathedral of stars, glittering in silent witness. The crowd rises as one—noble wolves in tailored suits and gowns, strangers with sharp eyes and sharper judgments. I walk. Each step echoes, louder than the last. Rhydian keeps pace beside me, his grip steady. But it feels like a tether—like if he let go, I’d float out of my body completely. My wolf stirs before I even see him. At first, it’s just a whisper in my blood, a low thrum rising beneath my skin. Then it builds—restless, alert, anxious. She pushes against my chest, pacing inside me, ears perked as if scenting something in the air that I can’t yet sense. She’s never done this before. I press her down, unsure what to make of it. I don’t recognize most of the faces. Council members. Ranked Alphas. Damon’s inner circle. And I know exactly what they’re thinking. She’s just an omega. I lift my chin a little higher. I don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me fold. Then I see him. Damon Vexley. The Alpha himself. Tall. Sharp. Unmoving. His suit is black, perfectly tailored, his silver cufflinks glinting like cold stars. His face is unreadable, carved in shadow and stone. Not anger. Not interest. Not even contempt. Just... nothing. But my wolf— She lunges. In a single breath, she howls inside me, wild and desperate. Mate. The word crashes through me, primal and undeniable. She claws at my ribs, whines at the bond stretching invisibly between us. I stagger slightly but recover, my face never showing the war raging beneath my skin. The silence between us crackles like a storm waiting to break. Rhydian releases me at the altar, and suddenly, I am alone. My wolf surges again, aching to get closer. To touch. To claim. But Damon doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me. And with every second that passes, her excitement fades into confusion… and then pain. I fold my trembling hands in front of me, gripping the silk of my dress to keep them still. For a moment, I let myself believe—just for a heartbeat—that maybe this won’t be a complete disaster. Maybe there’s something behind his cold exterior. Maybe, in time, we’ll learn to see each other. Maybe I’ll be more than a pawn. But Damon doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t meet my eyes. My wolf whimpers, wounded, sensing the shift before I do. The officiant begins the binding ceremony, his voice formal and distant. I barely hear the words. All I can focus on is the man I’m supposed to call mate. Then, without warning, Damon speaks. “I reject this union.” The words fall like a sword. Gasps ripple through the crowd. One of the maids behind me chokes back a cry. Inside me, my wolf screams. She doesn't understand. Mate. Mate. She repeats it like a desperate prayer. And then—she goes silent. And I go still. Frozen. Surely I misheard. But then Damon turns his head—finally—and looks directly at me. His eyes are storm-gray, cold and flat as if this entire moment means absolutely nothing. “I reject her as my mate,” he says again, voice calm but merciless. The officiant stumbles mid-sentence, unsure whether to continue. My throat tightens. My mouth is dry. I want to say something—anything—but no words come. All I feel are a thousand eyes piercing into me. Judging. Pitying. Blaming. I didn’t even want this. And still, somehow, I’m the one left shattered. Damon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just lifts the ceremonial rin g from the cloth, holds it for a heartbeat—and drops it back on the tray like it’s something rotten. “This ceremony is over.” And then he turns. And walks away. As if I never existed at all.