The Alpha’s Luna Walked Away — And Won’t Return

Aurora's POV

Conversations burst across the hall like sparks catching dry grass—startled gasps, hushed rumors, curious stares snapping toward us.

A servant speaking back to an Alpha—to Alpha Alaric of all people—was unthinkable. Unheard of.

Alaric’s eyes thinned to icy slits. His jaw twitched.

“What did you just say?”

He tried to sound measured, but fury simmered under every word.

People worshipped him for his strength, resented him for his power, and feared him for the merciless bite behind both.

No one challenged him. Ever.

But I’d lived under his cruelty for years—silent, invisible, withering.

What more could he do to me that he hadn’t already done?

“I said I won’t serve you anymore,” I answered, my voice steady and clear enough to cut through stone.

A few onlookers flinched, as though I’d just laid my throat on the chopping block myself.

Alaric’s lips curved into that familiar, glacial grin that never reached his eyes.

“That’s not your decision to make. You don’t get to walk away from me.”

And of course, Mirelle slid in beside him like smoke—soft, sweet, poisonous.

“Kris, think about what you’re saying,” she cooed. “He can punish you for this. You know better.”

My gaze drifted between the two of them.

Then to the woman standing off on the side—my mother—silent, stiff, offering me nothing but the cold comfort of indifference.

I swallowed everything that threatened to rise in my throat and forced a smile instead—sharp, wide, almost mocking.

“A servant? I refuse that lie. I refuse to keep shrinking just to make room for people who don’t even see me. I deserve more than this. More than all of you.”

Another ripple of shock. For the first time tonight, my parents looked… startled.

Displeased. Appalled.

At least it was something.

“This isn’t the time,” my father said tersely, stepping forward. “We will discuss this elsewhere. Not now—not during my celebration.”

My father.

A title I’d never learned how to wear.

A man who never treated me as his blood.

“You’re right, Alpha Corvin,” Alaric replied, giving him a curt nod.

My mother, eager to cover the scene, raised her voice and announced some distraction to pull the guests’ attention elsewhere. The murmurs shifted with the crowd, but my stance did not.

“My decision stands,” I told them. “I will not live beneath your boots any longer. I am not something to trample.”

I turned to leave, but Alaric’s hand clamped around my arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. “Are you going to expose everything?”

I peeled his fingers off me one by one, refusing to break eye contact.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not telling anyone anything… if that’s what you’re terrified of.”

Then I walked away, his voice echoing behind me.

“We’re not done, Aurora!”

“Let her be, Alpha,” Mirelle said lightly. “She’s just upset you haven’t been coming home.”

I didn’t spare them a look as I pushed through the wide doors of the hall.

Cold night air rushed over me—sharp, clean, liberating.

I filled my lungs with it.

For the first time in years, I felt… weightless.

Unchained.

I wouldn’t miss this place.

Not the faces.

Not the whispers.

Not the ache they carved into me piece by piece.

No more bending.

No more begging.

No more clawing for love from people who never had any to give.

“Aurora.”

I stopped.

My mother stood behind me—the same copper-blonde hair as mine, the familiar eyes.

And yet there was no warmth.

Only frost.

I didn’t speak.

Once, I would’ve searched her face for affection.

Now, there was nothing left in me to search with.

She stepped closer and, without hesitation, struck me across the face.

The taste of metal spread across my tongue, but I refused to react.

“How dare you humiliate your father tonight!” she snarled.

I exhaled, slow and tired.

“Are you satisfied? What’s next? Another slap?”

Her expression faltered.

Maybe she finally noticed it—

The absence of tears.

The stillness.

The hollow quiet where a wolf’s heart should be beating.

No pleading.

No explaining.

Just emptiness.

“You’re exactly like Malrick,” she spat. “He filled your head with lies. Twisted you. Turned you vicious.”

Uncle Malrick.

The only person who ever held me with kindness.

The man who apologized for switching me—who grieved what was stolen from me.

He was blamed until his last breath, and they barred me from attending his funeral because their shame was more important than my grief.

“I pity you,” she said, voice cracking with bitterness. “You may be my daughter, but he damaged you beyond repair. I don’t know how to fix you.”

Fix me?

A bitter laugh almost slipped from my mouth.

“Fix?” I echoed quietly. “There’s nothing here left for you to fix.”

I turned my back on her.

“I don’t want to see any of you again.”

She called my name, but I shifted—letting my wolf take me despite her fragile state. Pain tore through my muscles as my paws hit the ground, but I ran.

Ran from them.

Ran from everything.

Tears blurred the world as the wind rushed past.

I didn’t deserve any of this.

And I would never forgive them.

Not in this lifetime.

Not in the next.