The Scorned Luna-Chapter 115: His Fault
"Stop the car," Sofia commanded.
Alaric narrowed his eyes, recognizing his nephew. "What is he doing here?"
"He’s here to see me," Sofia replied, grabbing her bag. "And I don’t owe you any explanation."
She didn’t wait for him to unlock the doors; she hit the release herself, stepped out into the crisp morning air, and didn’t look back.
Alaric watched her walk straight toward Damien. He watched his nephew straighten up, his expression softening in a way it never did for anyone else. The sight was a knife to Alaric’s chest. He slammed the car into gear and roared away, the tires screeching against the asphalt.
He drove to the pack’s corporate factory headquarters in a blind haze. He bypassed the greeting of his assistant, ignored the concerned looks from the floor managers, and took the private elevator straight to the top floor.
The moment the office door clicked shut, the Alpha mask crumbled.
Alaric sank into his heavy leather chair, the silence of the room pressing in on him. He put his head in his hands, and for the first time in years, a single, hot tear rolled down his cheek. Then another.
"I love you," he whispered to the empty room, his voice breaking. "Dammit, Sofia, I love you."
He closed his eyes, picturing them side by side. It was true—the physical resemblance was there. The height, the hair, the haunting blue of the eyes. But the soul inside was entirely different.
Elizabeth had been like a calm lake—quiet, serene, always nodding, always following his lead. She had been a gentle Luna, a soft melody in the background of his life.
But Sofia? Sofia was a wildfire. She was sharp-tongued and stubborn. She fought him at every turn. She had a temper that could rival his own and a resilience that Elizabeth never possessed.
He didn’t love Sofia because she reminded him of the past; he loved her because she made him feel alive in the present.
But he had ruined everything. He had systematically dismantled their chance at a real future with the wreckage of his history. By obsessively keeping Elizabeth’s clothes—treating them like holy relics rather than old fabric—and by moaning that name in the heat of a moment that should have belonged only to Sofia, he had built a thick, impenetrable wall of glass between them. It was a barrier that allowed him to see her, to want her, but never truly to reach her. And now, as a direct consequence of his own blindness, she was looking for comfort in the arms of the boy who had broken her—the one person Alaric couldn’t stand to see her with.
Outside the factory, Sofia stood in front of Damien with raised brows and folded arms.
"What are you doing here?" Her tone wasn’t harsh or cold... it was just curious.
Damien shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.
"I couldn’t rest," he admitted. "I needed to see for myself that you’re okay."
His eyes quickly scanned her, searching for any sign that she had been hurt.
Sofia frowned slightly. "I’m fine."
"You don’t look fine," Damien countered, his voice dropping into a concerned tone as he stepped closer.
Sofia’s frown deepened, feeling irritated by his concern. "I said I’m fine," she spat.
He took a slow breath, clearly forcing himself to remain calm. "I’m not here to fight with you. I’m here because the mind link wasn’t enough. I needed to see that you were actually standing on your own two feet."
Sofia felt a strange tug in her chest. For years, Damien’s attention had been a source of pain or fear, but standing here in the morning sun, his concern felt... comforting.
"I have to go to work," Sofia whispered, glancing toward the glass doors of the office building.
Damien nodded and took a step closer, but before Sofia could step back, he leaned in, his scent surrounding her. He didn’t go for her lips; instead, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her cheek.
The contact sent a jolt through the mate bond that Sofia wasn’t prepared for. Her wolf, usually silent or snarling, let out a low, traitorous purr of satisfaction that vibrated in Sofia’s chest.
"I’ll see you again soon, Sofia," Damien whispered, his voice low and warm.
He pulled away, his eyes searching hers one last time before he turned, climbed into his car, and sped off into the morning traffic.
Sofia stood frozen on the sidewalk, the spot where his lips had touched her cheek tingling with a heat that refused to fade.
She stood there for a long minute, the city noise buzzing around her like a distant dream. Finally, she shook her head violently, her hands trembling as she clutched her bag.
"No," she hissed to herself, her voice sharp with self-rebuke. "Don’t fall for it, Sofia. Don’t you dare."
She took a shaky breath, forcing the image of the ’old’ Damien out of her mind. "Remember the cold nights in the cell. Remember the bruises. Remember he tortured you and threw you to the wolves just because he could. He isn’t your savior. None of them are."
Steeling her nerves, she turned and walked through the glass doors of the factory, her heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Alaric is watching the security footage of the sidewalk.
He rewinds the clip. He watches Damien lean in. He watches the way Sofia doesn’t pull away immediately. He sees her hand go to her cheek after Damien leaves.
Alaric closes his eyes, a dry, hollow sob escaping his throat. He reaches out and touches the screen, his finger tracing Sofia’s face.
"I’m losing her just like I feared."
He looks down at his desk, at a small red box he had intended to give her tonight. Inside is a simple silver bracelet—not Elizabeth’s, not an heirloom. Just something he saw in a shop that reminded him of her.
Without thinking, he grabbed the box and tossed it into the trash.
Then he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Feeling like the biggest fool alive.
