The Unwanted Luna's Defiant Second Chance

Alys POV:

Every eye in the garden swiveled from me to Brandi. The string quartet faltered into a discordant scrape of notes. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the dripping of water from my clothes onto the grass.

Brandi's face, already pale, turned the color of ash.

"No!" she shrieked, collapsing to her knees in a heap of calico and feigned despair. "No, I didn't! Lady Alys, you must be mistaken! You fell! I tried to catch you!"

Tears streamed down her face. She looked like a broken doll, utterly convincing in her hysteria. A few of the guests murmured, their expressions shifting from shock to doubt. A young woman, traumatized by a fall, making a wild accusation... it was plausible.

But I had the truth.

My father, Richard, was kneeling beside me, his strong arm supporting my shivering frame. His face was a thundercloud, his Alpha gaze fixed on the sobbing woman on the ground.

I clutched his arm, my grip surprisingly strong. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, and spoke in a voice so low only he could hear.

"Father, believe me," I rasped, my words urgent. "She's having an affair with one of the groundskeepers. I saw them near the old boathouse just before the party. She was afraid I would tell."

It was the key. It gave my accusation a motive.

The shift in my father was instantaneous and terrifying. His concern for me didn't lessen, but a layer of cold, lethal fury settled over him. This was no longer a tragic accident or a hysterical mistake. It was a direct attack on his daughter. An attack on his family. An attack on his honor.

He rose to his full height, his shadow falling over the scene.

"Guards!" His voice boomed, the Alpha command in it making everyone flinch. "Take Brandi Hicks to the holding cells. Lock down the estate. No one leaves until I say so."

Two of our household guards, their faces grim, moved immediately.

Brandi screamed as they hauled her to her feet. "I'm innocent! Richard, please! You've known me my whole life! She's lying!"

They dragged her away, her protests echoing across the manicured lawns. The party was over.

My mother, Catherine, finally broke through the crowd, her face a mess of tears and terror. She wrapped a thick wool blanket around my shoulders.

"Oh, my baby, my sweet girl," she sobbed, holding me tight.

The adrenaline that had sustained me began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep chill and exhaustion. I leaned into her, letting my body go limp.

"Mama," I whispered, my teeth chattering. "I'm so cold."

Then, I let my eyes roll back and allowed myself to fall into a calculated darkness. I needed to be the victim. I needed to be out of the way while my father, the Alpha, unleashed his wrath.

The next few hours passed in a blur of warmth and soft voices. I was carried back to my room, stripped of my wet clothes, and put to bed. The family doctor came and went, tutting about shock and prescribing rest. My mother never left my side, her hand a constant, warm presence on mine. Her earlier fear had been replaced by a simmering, protective rage that I could feel radiating from her.

Richard's POV:

I took charge of the interrogation myself. In the cold, stone-walled cells beneath the manor, I conducted my own form of justice.

I knew she would deny everything—that was predictable. But I wasn't relying on my daughter's accusation alone. I had a motive to uncover. Adultery. A stain on the honor of my household that had festered long enough, and I intended to root it out.

I turned to my head guard, my voice low and sharp. "Search every servant's room. Turn over every mattress, every loose floorboard. Find me a letter, a gift, a token—anything that ties her to a man."

He nodded and vanished up the stone stairs, his boots echoing.

I stepped into Brandi's cell. She sat on a rough wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale but composed. I didn't waste time with pleasantries. I leaned forward, my palms flat on the table between us, and looked her straight in the eye.

"Who is the man?"

She blinked, feigning confusion. "My lord, I don't—I don't know what you mean."

"I mean the one you're bedding behind my family's back," I said, my voice quiet but cold. "Answer me now, and this might go easier for you."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She shook her head slowly, but I saw the tremor in her fingers.

I straightened and walked to the cell door. "Very well. We'll do this the hard way."

Within the hour, my guards returned. They dragged a man between them—a gardener I recognized, stocky and sweating, his shirt half-untucked. His eyes darted wildly as they shoved him into the cell beside Brandi. One of my men placed a small tin locket on the table in front of me.

I picked it up, flipped it open, and saw Brandi's painted portrait inside. I held it up so both of them could see.

"Found this in his quarters," the guard said. "Hidden under his pillow."

I set the locket down with a soft clink. The gardener dropped to his knees immediately, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Please, my lord—please, I never meant any harm—she told me she was single, she said no one would know—"

Brandi shot to her feet. "You fool! Shut your mouth!"

But he was already weeping, his voice cracking. "She came to me that afternoon, she said Lady Alys had seen us by the boathouse last week. She said she had to stop her from telling you. She pushed her—I swear I didn't touch her—she did it alone!"

Brandi lunged at him, but the guard caught her arm and threw her back onto the bench. She screamed something incoherent, but I had already stopped listening.

I looked at the gardener, then at the locket, then at Brandi's ashen, trembling face. The truth lay open before me, as plain as the torchlight on the stone.

That was all I needed to hear. I had my proof.

Alys's POV:

I was "waking up" when my mother returned to my bedside, her face pale but resolute.

"It's over, Alys," she said, her voice tight. "She confessed. She admitted everything."

I looked up at her, my expression carefully crafted to be one of dazed relief. There was no surprise in my heart, only the cold, satisfying click of a plan falling perfectly into place.

"Oh, my brave girl," Catherine whispered, pulling me into a fierce hug. "To think... under our own roof. I will never let anyone harm you again. Never."

I heard later that my mother and father had a terrible argument. She blamed his lax security. He was furious at the insult to his authority. But their fight had a singular focus: my protection. My mother's attention was now a laser beam fixed on my well-being.

The news of Brandi's confession and swift punishment-the details of which were kept grimly quiet, as is pack law-spread through the household like wildfire.

The narrative shifted. I was no longer the hysterical girl who made a wild accusation. I was the girl who, in a moment of crisis, had been granted a vision of the truth.

My lady's maid, Eliza, a quiet girl with big eyes, reported the whispers to me as she brought me my evening broth.

"They're saying the Moon Goddess herself must have warned you, my lady," she said, her voice full of awe. "To see the truth so clearly..."

I lay back against the pillows, the warm soup soothing my raw throat.

It was the first step. The next target was Darius.