Destiny's Game* Chapter 3: When the Moon Chose Us

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Louis’s POV

My life couldn’t have beco more complicated — but maybe that was for the best. For both of us. For Charles and .

Charles had always been at the center of my world. Since the day I t him at the orphanage. He was four. I was seven. I still rember how loud the place was — children laughing, crying, running barefoot across cold tiles — and yet, sohow, I only saw him.

He was sitting alone, playing with this broken wooden toy, humming to himself like the world didn’t exist. And sothing in ... shifted. I didn’t understand it then, but I felt it. Like a string had tied itself between us.

My parents and I had gone there for donations, as all rich families do when they want to feel charitable for an afternoon. I was supposed to smile politely, hand over the gifts, and leave. But I couldn’t.

I rember crawling on the floor, tugging at my mother’s skirt, begging her to let Charles co ho with us. She looked at like I’d lost my mind. But then she saw him — really saw him — and she smiled. For once, they actually agreed.

That was the day everything started. The day I thought I’d found sothing pure — soone I could protect.

Maybe... maybe I was wrong.

I found myself addicted to his presence. Charles. He was supposed to be just a child — innocent, wild, untad — but he beca sothing else entirely. An enigma. The kind you can’t solve, only orbit.

He laughed too loudly, dread too boldly, lived too freely. And the rest of the family — the Alvaras — never let him forget he didn’t belong. They whispered it behind porcelain smiles, compared his rough edges to my clean lines. But I was always there. Always standing between him and their eyes, shielding him from the quiet cruelty that ca wrapped in politeness.

I didn’t want anyone to prey on him. Not them. Not the world.

But the worst part? It was .

It was always .

Every ti our parents compared us — their perfect son and their charity case — I saw it in his eyes. That hurt. That silent question of why am I never enough? And I hated it. Hated that I was the reason his shoulders slumped, the reason his laughter dimd.

I wanted him to be free. I wanted him to be happy.

I wanted... too much.

And maybe that’s where everything went wrong.

Maybe that’s why I rember that day so vividly.

One of the rare afternoons when things between us still felt simple.

"Louis," Charles had said, his voice breaking my focus from the book I was pretending to read. "Do you rember that girl, Cynthia—the one I was dating a while back?"

I looked up, already sensing trouble. "Yeah. What about her?"

"She cheated on ," he said bluntly, "with that guy—Blimley."

"It’s Brian," I corrected automatically.

He frowned. "Right. Brian. That guy. Your classmate."

I closed my book with a sigh. "He’s also our cousin."

Charles made a face. "Yeah, I know. His mom’s awful. She told I was adopted before I even knew what the word ant."

That stung—more than I wanted to admit.

I’d forgotten how casually he could drop words that cut deep, even when he didn’t an to.

"Even if Aunt is unpleasant," I said, trying to sound steady, "you shouldn’t treat her son badly."

Charles crossed his arms. "But her son stole my girlfriend."

I almost laughed. "You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t even be having girlfriends."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you always babying ?"

"Because I care."

And it was true. I cared too much.

He was chaos and I was control—two halves of a life that never fit right.

Charles’s tone softened. "I know. It’s good that you care."

I looked at him, saw that fragile spark of trust in his eyes.

"I just don’t want you getting into any trouble or ss," I told him quietly. "That’s why I try to protect and guide you."

He smiled, mischievous again. "I understand. And when you beco successful, I’ll be sure to freeload off you."

I rember laughing.

Back then, it was easier to believe that our bond could survive anything.

If only I’d known what was coming.

My feelings for Charles beca... blurry.

I didn’t know if I loved him as a brother or sothing else entirely. Every day, the bond between us deepened, tangled into sothing I couldn’t na. The way he looked at — it wasn’t innocent. It mirrored the sa confusion twisting in .

But I was scared.

Scared of what our family would say.

Scared of what I had beco.

Maybe that’s why I gave him both red and green lights — pulling him close, then pushing him away. I didn’t want to be judged by the world, but at so point... I stopped caring.

We crossed the line. Stolen kisses. Quiet monts. Fingers brushing where they shouldn’t. For a while, it felt like the only thing that made sense in my life was him — Charles.

Then he turned eighteen. I was twenty-one. The heir of the Alvara family — young, successful, and already drowning in expectations. The comparisons never stopped. Brian and his mother, the rest of the family — always whispering, always trying to remind Charles of his place. Their cruelty was poison, and I could never protect him enough.

I loved him. I still loved him.

And I knew he loved back — in his own reckless, unfiltered way.

But fate had its own cruel sense of humor. When he ca of age, I realized sothing that shattered — Charles was my fated mate. An alpha, like . In a family where alpha–alpha bonds were unthinkable.

My parents had my whole life planned out — marriage to an oga, an heir, a future worthy of the Veil na. Even my grandfather — that cold, rigid man — would appear just to remind us how we didn’t asure up.

I’ll never forget the day he humiliated Charles.

He made him scrub the floors, lift heavy boxes until his hands bled. And when Charles faltered, he struck him with a whip — right there, in front of everyone. In front of .

Brian laughed. His mother watched. I stood there, frozen, my chest burning with sha.

Charles didn’t cry. He never did. He just looked up at — that look — as if to ask why I didn’t stop it.

Maybe that was the mont I knew how broken I’d beco.

I could say Charles’ coming-of-age ceremony was both the best and worst day of my life.

The best—because it was the day I found my fated mate. Mine. The one ant for and alone.

But it was also the worst—because I knew I couldn’t be with him. Not when my family despised him so deeply.

Except for my parents and , no one wanted Charles to be there. Still, to maintain appearances, they held the ceremony anyway. After all, he was already part of our family... even if no one wished to admit it.

The hall was decorated in his favorite colors—black and red. Black, because it was his armor. Red, because it reminded him of vampires. He’d once told he admired them: powerful, immortal, untad. He said he wanted to be like . I always thought that was cute.

When he entered the hall, dressed in black and adorned with silver jewelry, he owned the room. His eyes weren’t pure—they were full of mischief, daring anyone to challenge him. Especially .

I couldn’t stop staring. The mont our gazes t, sothing inside shifted. I felt a pull—an electric, undeniable current—that told this was it. He was my mate. My other half.

But I couldn’t show it. Not with Grandfather watching, his gaze sharp enough to slice through any illusion of innocence. I could almost feel his hatred burn holes into Charles’ skin.

So I walked away. Pretending I didn’t feel anything. Pretending I didn’t hear my heart screaming his na.

He looked hurt—I knew he was—but I had to protect him. Even if it ant breaking both our hearts.