8
~Elara’s POV
The air outside felt cool and sharp against my skin when I stepped out.
Darlon turned to , his face calm, too calm. "Everything is fine," he said before I could even ask. His voice was low, deep, steady.
I just nodded. I didn’t know what to say.
He brushed invisible dust off his sleeve, then looked at again. "We’re leaving."
I followed his gaze. Lira was still sitting on the floor, her dress stained, her face twisted with embarrassnt and anger. For the first ti that day, I felt... sothing close to satisfaction. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. I had never seen her speechless before, and a tiny, guilty smile tugged at my lips.
Darlon stretched a hand toward . "Let’s go," he said quietly.
I hesitated for a second before slipping my hand into his. His palm was warm, his grip firm but careful. He led toward the car, his steps sure and slow, as if he didn’t care who watched.
When we reached the sleek black car parked outside, he opened the door for . I blinked in surprise. "Thank you," I murmured.
He didn’t reply, just gave a small nod before circling to the driver’s side.
The car purred to life, and as we started moving, I reached for the seatbelt. Before I could pull it properly, Darlon leaned over and clicked it into place for . His hand brushed against my shoulder. I froze, every part of tensed.
"Easy," he said, his voice soft this ti. "It’s just a seatbelt."
"I... I know," I whispered, trying to hide my shaking hands.
He sat back in his seat, eyes on the road. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
Was he pretending to care? Or was he really being kind? I couldn’t tell. People like him, n with power, money, control, they didn’t do anything for free. I had learned that long ago. So I sat still, eyes on the road, telling myself to play it safe.
The drive was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine. After a while, the tall buildings and glowing lights faded, replaced by trees, winding roads, and the dark edges of the city’s outskirts.
When the car finally stopped, my breath caught.
Before us stood a huge mansion, white walls glowing faintly under the moonlight, tall gates, trimd gardens, fountains that shimred in the dark. It didn’t look like a ho. It looked like sothing out of a dream, or a warning.
He stepped out, ca around, and opened my door.
I blinked up at him. "You... didn’t have to."
"I know," he said simply, offering his hand again. "But I wanted to."
Sothing in his tone made it impossible to argue. I placed my hand in his again, and he helped out.
The front doors opened before we even reached them. Several guards and maids stood in a neat line. They all bowed deeply.
"Welco ho, Alpha. Luna," they chorused together.
I froze, not sure what to do, so I bowed awkwardly.
Darlon chuckled under his breath. "You don’t have to bow, Elara," he murmured near my ear.
"Oh," I said quickly, straightening up, my face burning. "I... sorry."
He smiled a little. It wasn’t mocking, just soft, almost amused. "You’ll get used to it."
We walked through the grand hallway, marble floors, chandeliers, and walls so polished they reflected the light. I tried not to gawk, but it was hard not to. Everything here scread wealth and power, two things I had never truly had.
When the maids disappeared, and the doors shut quietly behind us, I felt the silence again, heavy and strange.
He turned to then, standing straight, his expression calm but firm. "This is where we will have our honeymoon," he said.
My fingers tightened around my dress. "Okay," I murmured, unsure of what else to say.
"There are rules," he continued, his tone all business now. "My staff answers to you as much as they answer to . If you need sothing, you ask. Do you understand?"
I nodded quickly, my voice small. "Yes."
He studied for a long second, eyes sweeping over , and I shifted nervously.
"You look uncomfortable," he said finally, stepping closer.
"I’m fine," I lied, looking down. The gown was heavy, the lace itching against my skin, the corset tight enough to make breathing difficult. But I didn’t want to seem weak.
He didn’t believe . Slowly, he unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off, laying it neatly on the couch. Then he loosened his tie, pulled it off, and began to undo the buttons of his crisp white shirt.
My eyes widened. "W-what are you doing?"
He didn’t answer until he was holding the shirt out toward . "Strip."
My heart stopped. "W-what?" I stamred, taking a step back.
"My shirt will be more comfortable than that gown," he said simply, his gaze calm but unreadable.
I blinked at him. "You an... right now?"
"Yes." He tilted his head slightly. "I’ll turn around if that helps."
Before I could say another word, he turned his back to , walking toward the window. "Change. I won’t look."
For a mont, I just stood there frozen, unsure if this was so sort of trick. But his voice ca again, lower now. "Elara. I’m not asking again."
Sothing in the way he said my na made obey. My fingers trembled as I reached for the ties of my dress. The heavy fabric slid down my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I quickly slipped into his shirt, soft, warm, and slling faintly like him, cedarwood and sothing darker, sothing I couldn’t na.
"I’m... done," I said quietly.
He turned slowly.
For a mont, he didn’t say anything. His eyes scanned over , the oversized shirt brushing my thighs, my hair loose around my face, my bare feet on the cold floor. His jaw tightened, but his expression stayed calm.
"Better," he said finally.
I swallowed, tugging the hem of the shirt lower. "Th-thank you."
Without answering, he moved past and pulled back the sheets of the massive bed. "Rest," he said. "We’ve had enough spectacle for one day."
I looked at the bed, then at him. "I’m... going to sleep here?"
He glanced at , the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No. There’s a room already prepared for you."
"Oh," I said softly.
"Co," he said.
I followed him down a hallway, my bare feet silent on the marble floor. When we reached the door, he pushed it open. The room inside was beautiful, not as large as his, but warm, soft, and elegant. A bed with white sheets, a dresser, a balcony overlooking the moonlit garden.
I turned to him. "It’s beautiful."
He nodded. "It’s yours."
"Thank you," I said sincerely, though my voice trembled.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against my arm. I tensed, but he didn’t move away. His eyes searched mine for a mont, quiet, intense.
"Goodnight, Elara," he said softly.
Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. His lips were warm, gentle, almost reverent.
My breath caught. I didn’t move, didn’t speak.
When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on for a second longer before he turned and walked away, closing the door behind him.
I stood there for a long ti, my hand pressed to the spot where he’d kissed .
What was this man doing? Why give a seperate room?
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