Kaya
The dining hall falls into a hushed silence as the Luna of the pack makes her entrance. Dozens of eyes snap toward her, following her every step as she glides through the gathered crowd with an air of quiet authority.
She wasn’t invited to tonight’s celebration, and judging by the storm brewing in her erald gaze, she isn’t pleased about it.
Pausing beside a standing oga maid, she plucks a champagne flute from the tray with effortless grace, her movents fluid—like a swan gliding across the surface of a still lake.
Despite the deep furrow of disapproval between her brows, Camilla is as breathtaking as ever.
Her sleek black hair is pulled into a high, unforgiving ponytail, the long strands cascading down her exposed back, visible through the sheer sh of her silk-green dress. A thin leather belt cinches her waist, accentuating the graceful curves of her slender fra.
She lifts the glass to her red lips, her sharp green eyes sweeping across the hall. A slight downturn of her mouth betrays her distaste as she takes in every female oga in the room.
Then, at last, her gaze lands on .
A tight, invisible hand seems to squeeze my lungs, forcing the air from them. The weight of her hatred settles over like a suffocating fog. She loathes . Oh, how she loathes . And that bitter, burning hatred seeps into my skin like acid, corroding from the inside out.
Without breaking eye contact, Camilla tosses the now-empty champagne flute back at the maid. The poor girl fumbles, barely managing to catch it before it shatters against the marble floor.
Then, she moves—stalking toward with slow, deliberate steps.
The corners of her lips twitch ever so slightly, a movent so faint most wouldn’t notice.
But I do.
She’s itching to bare her fangs at .
"What are you doing?" Luna finally asks, her voice laced with feigned confusion as she arches a perfectly sculpted brow. "All the ogas in this house serve, yet here you are, standing around, sipping your masters’ champagne?"
A prickle of unease runs down my spine. I shift nervously in my seat, my fingers tightening around the empty flute as my gaze flickers toward Damien. His jaw is clenched, thick black brows drawn together in quiet frustration.
She knows why I’m here.
When I’m with Damien, I’m not a servant—I’m a guest. But Camilla needs this. She needs to remind everyone of her place, to reassert her dominance in front of this crowd. And what better way to do that than by putting soone else down?
"Well?" she presses, folding her arms across her chest, her erald eyes glinting with impatience."Look at when I’m talking to you!"
Her voice sharpens just enough to make flinch, a deliberate sting ant to unsettle . I swallow hard, my pulse hamring as I turn back to face her. My hands are clammy, trembling slightly as I force my silver eyes to et hers.
"Camilla."
Damien’s voice cuts through the tension, smooth yet firm. He rises from his seat at last, his steps slow and asured as he approaches us. "This is a party. Let’s not ruin the mood."
Camilla doesn’t move, her expression unreadable as she waits for him to draw closer. Whatever she wants to say next isn’t ant for prying ears.
Her lips barely part, but her words strike like a blade, whispered just low enough for only Damien and to hear.
"A party at my pack house. The one I wasn’t invited to. But your whore was."
The music continues to play, the soft lody of strings masking the venom in her voice.
Damien’s expression darkens—just for a second—before he smooths it over with practiced indifference. But I see it.
And so does she.
I watch them, my heartbeat pounding in my throat, every nerve in my body set ablaze with anxiety. I despise this silent war they wage against each other, because the rest of us are forced to suffer its consequences every single day.
"Watch your tongue," Damien warns in a low, asured voice.
Camilla smirks, unbothered. Her glare swings back to , but her next words are aid at her husband, each syllable dripping with nace.
"I will not be disrespected like this. I am the Luna of this pack. Your official mate."
She tilts her head just enough to expose the mark on her neck, a blatant reminder of her position. Damien grunts but says nothing, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
Then, without sparing a second glance, she steps closer, her gaze sweeping over my evening dress with barely concealed disdain. "Go back to your quarters, change your clothes, and get to work."
I freeze. My body urges to obey, but my mind falters. Damien was the one who invited as a guest tonight. I shouldn’t have to leave.
Desperation tightens my chest as I glance at him, silently pleading for him to intervene.
He exhales, the weight of the situation pressing down on him, and then—subtly, almost imperceptibly—he nods.
I swallow hard.
"Kaya."
His voice finally addresses directly, but it offers no solace.
"Follow the orders of your Luna."
The air leaves my lungs in a quiet sigh of defeat. Shoulders heavy with disappointnt, I lower my gaze and nod obediently before rising from my seat. As I walk away, the weight of Alpha Steven’s greedy stare lingers on my back like an unwelco touch.
I reach the doors just as Camilla’s voice drifts through the hall.
"May I steal you from your party? There’s sothing important I need to discuss with you."
Damien sighs—loudly this ti, his frustration evident even over the music and my hurried steps. His reply is thick with resignation.
"Very well. Let’s talk."
The sound of their footsteps echoes behind , asured and deliberate. They’re following toward the exit.
Panic flares in my chest. I quicken my pace, nearly storming out of the dining hall.
Whatever happens, I do not want to get in trouble with her.
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