The Scorned Luna-Chapter 117: Suspect
Sofia couldn’t sleep the entire night.
Every time she closed her eyes, Jeremy’s words replayed in her mind.
She was terrified of Alaric now. Before, she had feared his temper or his obsession with his late wife, but this was different. This was the fear of a predator who didn’t just hunt, but one who built the entire forest just to trap his prey.
At the breakfast table the next morning, the silence was heavy enough to suffocate her. Sofia couldn’t eat. She only stared at her plate, pushing a piece of fruit back and forth with her fork.
Alaric sat across from her. He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink either; his eyes were bloodshot, and the shadows beneath them made him look hollow.
He watched her, his gaze intense and searching. He could tell something had shifted. It wasn’t just the lingering tension from his loss of control in her room or the moaning of his late wife’s name; it was something else. He could see the way she recoiled when his hand moved to reach for the coffee pot. He saw the way she looked at him—not with the spark of a "wildfire," but with the cold, sharp hatred of someone who felt handled.
"Sofia," Alaric said, his voice gravelly from disuse. "Is there something you want to tell me? You’ve been staring at me like I’m a ghost for the last ten minutes."
Sofia couldn’t hold it back anymore. The pressure in her chest was too much. She dropped her fork, the metal clattering loudly against the china.
"Tell me, Alaric," she said, her voice trembling but her eyes locked on his. "How were you able to find the real CCTV footage of Lola’s fall so easily? The footage was hidden. And yet, you—a stranger—walked in with the truth in your pocket."
Alaric’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened. "I told you before. I have connections. I hired a tech expert who broke into the encrypted records. It took time and a lot of money, Sofia."
"I don’t believe you," she snapped, leaning forward. "Why did you believe I was innocent so quickly? Everyone else saw me as a murderer. Even the man who was supposed to be my mate saw me as a killer. But you... you didn’t even blink. You were so sure I didn’t do it."
Alaric furrowed his brow, his emerald eyes darkening. "Sofia, your innocence was obvious to anyone who actually looked at you. You aren’t a killer. I saw that the moment I laid eyes on you."
Then, it seemed to click in his mind. He went deathly still, his hands flat on the table. "Are you suspecting me? Are you sitting there thinking I had something to do with your suffering?"
Sofia folded her arms across her chest, her brow raised. "Should I suspect you, Alaric? You’re an Alpha. You have the power to make an accident look like a murder, and you certainly have the power to ’fix’ it when it suits your needs. You benefited more from my pain than anyone else. Because of that footage, I ended up right here. Exactly where you wanted me."
Alaric looked at her, and for a moment, his heart shattered. He didn’t look angry. He looked devastated, as if she had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with a cold hand.
"You think I watched you live in a cell?" he whispered, his voice trembling with pain. "You think I watched you be treated like a slave for weeks just so I could play the hero? Sofia, if you believe I am capable of that... then I have already lost you."
"Then explain the timing!" she cried out. "Explain how you were the only person in the world who could find the truth!"
"Because I was the only person in the world who was actually looking for it!" Alaric roared, finally standing up, his chair flying backward. "Everyone else wanted someone to blame. I just wanted you."
Sofia looked away, still finding it difficult to believe him.
"You just want to be with him," Alaric rasped, his palms placed on the table. "You want to go back to Damien. That is why you are bringing this up now, isn’t it? You’re looking for a reason to make me the villain so you can run back to the man who actually threw you in that cell."
"This isn’t about Damien, Alaric! This is about the truth!" Sofia shouted back, but her voice wavered as she saw the raw agony in his eyes.
"I messed up, Sofia. I know that," he said, a single, heavy tear finally breaking free and trailing down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. "I moved too fast. I held onto a past that had nothing to do with you. I moaned a name that should have stayed buried. But what you are accusing me of... I didn’t do it. I would have died before letting you spend a single second in that cell if I had known."
"I can’t believe you," Sofia whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I want to, but the pieces... they fit too perfectly."
Alaric saw the way she looked at him—with a suspicion so deep it acted as a physical barrier between them. He drew back, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the entire world had just settled on him. He looked diminished, the fire of the Alpha extinguished by the cold realization that she would never trust him.
"Fine," he said quietly, his voice hollow. "You still need the job at the factory. You’re good at it, and you deserve a life of your own. You can keep working there. But you don’t have to live here anymore. I won’t force you to stay in a house with a man you think is a monster."
Sofia blinked, her confusion momentarily overriding her anger. She hadn’t expected him to give up so easily. She had expected a cage; instead, he was opening the door.
"Give me the day," Alaric continued, refusing to look her in the eye again. "I’ll arrange an apartment for you in the city. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from me. You’ll leave tomorrow."
Without another word, he turned and walked away. His footsteps didn’t have their usual confident, heavy ring; they sounded slow, dragging across the floor like those of a man walking toward his own execution.
Sofia stood alone in the dining room, the silence rushing back in to fill the space he had left. She should have felt victorious. She had her freedom. But as she looked at the chair Alaric had knocked over in his grief, a cold, nagging doubt began to itch at the back of her mind.
If he truly was the cold, calculating mastermind Jeremy described, why did he look like a man whose heart had just been shattered into a thousand pieces?
