Alpha Killian's True Luna

1

This will look amazing on you, Mrs. Smith.

Miss Lydia, the manager of the boutique, was smiling as she held the dress up. She moved with that easy, quiet way you see in fancy shops I've gone to since I got married. She touched it so carefully, like it mattered a lot, and nodded for me to come feel it myself.

I didn't need to get any closer. I'd seen it the second she brought it from the back. It really was something special. The way the light played on those fine threads, the shape that looked both classy and eye-catching—it was exactly right. This was what I wanted to have on when Nicholas sat across from me at that candlelit table.

"It's beautiful, Miss Lydia," I said, reaching out to touch it gently. It felt cool and costly under my fingers, like a piece of the life I live now. "I'll take it."

Lydia's smile grew bigger, a mix of business pride and real kindness. I reached into my bag and took out the cash. I liked paying this way for my own little treats; it made the whole thing feel more solid, more mine.

As I gave her the money, she started wrapping it up. She used tissue paper and a good strong box with the shop's name on it, tying it with a ribbon in their colors. When it was done, she wouldn't let me grab the handle. She called over one of the younger girls, and they both walked it toward the door.

"Oh, Lydia, please, I can carry it," I said, like I always do. It was only a box. "The car's right there."

She kept going, shaking her head, her face kind but set. "No way, Mrs. Smith. Mr. Smith would be upset if he heard we let you carry anything. You know how he gets about you."

That warm rush of pride and love hit me again at his name. It was true. Nicholas was protective, always had been. He treated me like something too important to deal with even the smallest hassle. I used to push back harder, wanting to stay independent, but eventually I stopped fighting it. It was simpler to let them spoil him through me.

"He does worry," I said with a little laugh, walking out with them.

They set the box gently in the back seat of my car so it wouldn't move around. I waved goodbye with a smile, still feeling that excited flutter in my chest from the new dress.

I didn't stop anywhere else. No interest in looking in other windows or grabbing tea with friends. My thoughts were already at the house, running through what we'd eat tonight. I wanted it all perfect. I drove straight home, focused. I needed to get in the kitchen and begin. Tonight was the warm-up, but tomorrow was the real thing.

Tomorrow was our second wedding anniversary.

Two years. It felt like forever and no time at all. I was just as happy, just as in love, as the day we stood at the altar and said those words. I could still feel his hand holding mine, the way his eyes locked on me when he promised to cherish me. Becoming Mr. and Mrs. Smith started my real life, and every day after proved I'd made the right choice.

When I pulled into the garage of our big house, the engine went quiet. I sat there a moment, just taking in the peace of our home. I felt so lucky. I got out, reached for the box, when my phone chimed.

I didn't even check. I knew it had to be from Nicholas. He often sent sweet little messages during the day—a quick "thinking of you" or what was happening in his meetings. He was everything to me, the center of my whole world.

I waited until I was inside to read it. I wanted to be comfortable, away from the car, so I could really take in his words. I walked to the front door, pressed my finger on the scanner, and heard the lock click open.

The house was quiet, the staff probably off in other parts or done for the day. I went straight upstairs, my heels soft on the marble, and into our bedroom. I sat on the edge of the big bed and let out a long, easy breath. My smile was still there, stuck on my face.

I took the phone from my pocket and opened it.

My smile didn't just fade. It disappeared completely.

There weren't just a couple messages. There were dozens of notifications. My phone kept buzzing, over and over, with tags from f*******: and i********:. Every one pointed to the same post.

My hands started shaking. A cold feeling crawled up the back of my neck and down my back. I tapped the first one, my eyes blurring for a second before the pictures came clear.

The first photo was sharp and obvious. Nicholas and Sophia stepping off a private plane together.

Sophia. His late brother's wife. The one who was supposed to be living quietly, still grieving, far away.

They were holding hands. Not a quick, friendly touch. Their fingers were locked together, close and comfortable. Nicholas looked relaxed, his face soft in a way I thought only I ever saw.

But the third person in the photo was what really crushed me. Next to Nicholas was a little boy, about two years old. He had Nicholas's dark hair. He had Nicholas's brow.

If the pictures weren't enough to break me, to wreck my mind and everything I believed, the captions finished it. I kept scrolling, breathing fast and uneven, reading the words spreading through all our circles.