Luna's Moon

Chapter Eighteen

It’s been two weeks.

Two painfully slow, agonizingly silent weeks.

I’ve been working with Mr. Gordon as instructed—answering emails, attending meetings, organizing files like I used to before everything changed. On the surface, everything is peaceful. Too peaceful. It feels like life picked up where it left off, like nothing had happened. But deep down, I knew better.

Because I haven’t seen or heard from Aurelian since that day.

Since the moment he and his pack were escorted out by the police, suspicion of murder heavy in the air.

No texts. No calls. It’s like he vanished into thin air, leaving behind an unsettling void I couldn’t seem to shake.

I even headed over to the first floor—where his office used to radiate power, where his scent still lingered faintly in the air if I stood still long enough. I’d lingered, loitered, pretended to need something from the archives, anything for a glimpse. A whisper. A trace.

But no.

No growl of authority.

No low chuckle that used to make my skin shiver.

No shadow darkening the hall with that signature commanding presence.

Nothing.

The space felt hollow now, like the soul had been sucked right out of it. It was just walls and silence—and me, clinging to ghosts.

My phone rang, and I lunged for it with a wild, desperate hope tightening my chest.

Stella.

A sigh slipped out before I could catch it.

What does it say about me that I found that… disappointing? That my heart had leapt not for my best friend, but for someone who hadn’t called in two weeks? Someone who might be in prison, or worse—

I shook the thoughts off and answered. “Hey.” Even my voice sounded tired.

"Be ready in 20."

The line clicked dead.

I stared at my phone. Then at the time—8:30 PM. On a Friday night.

I looked down at myself. Couch? Check. Popcorn? Check. Blanket wrapped like a burrito? Check. PJ-clad and fully committed to being a hermit? Absolutely.

And on the TV? Bridgerton. Of course. The drama, the gowns, the stolen glances—I was deep into the escapism.

Now I had 20 minutes to transform from sad popcorn gremlin to whatever Stella had in mind.

I was holding up two of my corporate gowns to the mirror, turning slightly to compare which one hugged my figure better, when I caught a movement at the door.

"Jesus!" I gasped, clutching the gowns to my chest like they were bulletproof. "You scared me."

Stella stood there, completely unfazed, smirking like the devil herself.

"I let myself in," she said casually, dangling the spare key I’d foolishly given her from her pointer finger. I stared at it like it had betrayed me personally.

I was about to launch into a well-deserved lecture on the importance of knocking and announcing one’s presence—basic human decency, really—when I finally noticed what she was wearing.

Stella stood there in a slinky, midnight-blue party dress that shimmered slightly every time she moved. The fabric hugged her curves in all the right places, and the neckline dipped just enough to draw attention without trying too hard. It had thin straps and a high slit that revealed toned legs and just the right amount of drama. Her heels were strappy and silver, and she’d curled her hair into soft waves that framed her glowing face.

She looked like trouble. Beautiful, chaotic trouble.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“What are those gowns?” she shot back, squinting at the corporate dresses I was clutching.

We just stood there, blinking at each other like two confused deer caught in the headlights of very different headlights.

“I’m getting ready… like you said to,” I defended, my voice climbing in pitch.

“Yeah? For work?”

“I don’t know!” I hissed, exasperated. “I could still be on my couch right now!”

“Ugh, I knew this would happen,” she sighed dramatically, tossing her purse on the bed. “Thankfully, I came prepared.”

With a triumphant grin, she pulled out a short pink dress from a bag. It was soft satin, the color of rosewater, and hugged the body like it was tailored for sin. The neckline dipped into a tasteful sweetheart cut, and the back was mostly open, with delicate crisscrossing straps. It flared slightly at the hem, just enough to give a flirty sway when walking—or dancing. It was the kind of dress that screamed I didn’t come to play, but I’ll still win.

The length though, it's entirely too much exposure of skin for me.

“What exactly is the occasion?” I asked, still clutching my gowns like a lifeline. I wasn’t ready to give them up—not yet.

“Clubbing,” she said with a nonchalant shrug, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Then, before I could protest, she marched forward and tugged the gowns right out of my hands.

If I hadn’t let go, she would’ve torn them She clearly wasn’t here for negotiations.

“You’ve been moping around and it’s quite depressing,” she stated bluntly, tossing the gowns onto the bed like they’d offended her. “You’re going out. You will have fun tonight.”

"I'm worried, okay?" I threw my hands up, then let them fall uselessly to my sides before I started pacing the room. “I haven’t heard from him in two weeks. Two whole weeks. I feel… desperate. Scared.” My voice cracked slightly as the emotions bubbled up. “I don’t— I don’t even know what’s going on, and it’s driving me insane.”

"Hey, hey," she said softly, stepping closer and gripping my arms, grounding me. Her eyes locked onto mine with a calm, steady reassurance. "It's okay... it's okay. It's Alpha we’re talking about. I’m sure he can take care of himself."

"I know," I whispered, my voice cracking, "but I need to know he is. It’s driving me crazy not hearing from him."

She gave me a small, knowing smile. "Tell you what, I’ll ask around tonight. These parties, they attract the high and mighty—people who always know more than they should. Someone has to have heard something."

“Okay, I’ll get dressed,” I finally said, picking up the pink dress she brought. I held it up, inspecting it. Hmm… maybe I’ll wear tights with it.

“You don’t have to, though,” she offered gently, her tone lighter now.

“No,You’re right,” I replied, clutching the dress as I moved toward the bathroom. "I can’t just sit around at home. That’ll make it worse. I’m going.”

With that, I shut the door behind me

An hour later, the cab rolled to a stop, and I stepped out, my heels clicking softly against the pavement. I looked up—and there it was.

Elixir, glowing in bold, electric letters, the kind that pulsed and flickered like the heartbeat of the night. The bass from inside thrummed through the ground, a steady, seductive beat that promised escape and a touch of chaos.

I turned to Stella, my brow already arched with a question, but she only smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief beneath the glow of the sign.

“Welcome to the cure,” she said, already heading toward the velvet ropes.

I didn’t want to drink anything—not tonight. Getting drunk felt like the worst idea.

“Do you have Coke?” I asked the bartender, leaning slightly over the counter.

He blinked. “The drink?”

“Yes! Of course, the drink,” I said, exasperated. Stella burst out laughing beside me, already sipping her martini like she owned the place.

The bartender chuckled, clearly amused, and offered me a quick grin before turning to get my order. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, trying not to smile. Just my luck—sober and still getting into trouble.

Speaking of trouble, I blinked—my heart skipped a beat as I locked eyes with Michael across the room. His intense gaze was already on me, dark and unreadable. How long had he been watching me? I had no idea. Slowly, he lifted his glass in a mock salute, the corner of his mouth curling into something between a smirk and a warning.

"Your coke"

I turned at the sound of the bartender’s voice as he slid the chilled Coke across the counter.

When I looked back—he was gone.

I straightened, scanning the room quickly. Nothing. No trace.

What the hell is a dangerous rogue like Michael doing, walking freely in the middle of the city?.

Stella leaned in close, her perfume mixing with the scent of alcohol and neon lights.

"Hang on, I gotta go ask around, you good?" she asked, already scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

She hadn’t seen him. Of course she hadn’t.

She didn’t know about him. I never told her what happened that day.The news didn’t even report it.

I nodded faintly, fingers curling around the cold glass of my Coke like it was my last anchor to sanity.

This night… this night is already shaping up to be one I’ll regret.