The walk home was long and cold. Luna's legs barely carried her, and her fingers were numb by the time she reached the crumbling gate of what used to be her father's house.
She paused at the edge of the driveway, staring at the dark windows. It didn't feel like home anymore. Not since the laughter died. Not since Miranda claimed every inch of it.
The moment she stepped through the door, Miranda's voice lashed out from the kitchen.
"You're late."
"I walked," Luna murmured.
Miranda turned the corner, drying her hands on a linen towel. Her lips curled in disgust as she looked Luna up and down.
"You reek of bleach."
"I was cleaning offices," Luna said, too tired to lie.
"Good. That's all you're good for now."
Brandon appeared behind her, munching on a bag of chips. "Should've stayed out longer. House is quieter without you."
Luna brushed past him, heading for the attic stairs, but Miranda grabbed her arm—tight enough to leave a mark.
"I want that pay," she said. "Now."
Luna flinched. "It's not even enough to—"
"You live under my roof, you hand it over. I'll decide how it's spent."
With shaking fingers, Luna pulled the envelope from her pocket. Miranda snatched it before she could blink, tearing it open and thumbing through the cash.
"All this, and not even one thank-you," Miranda sneered. "You're lucky I haven't kicked you out. And next time that ghetto friend of yours comes around, I'll call the cops. This isn't a shelter."
"She's not—" Luna started.
"Don't talk back."
The slap came fast.
Luna's cheek stung. She staggered back, biting the inside of her lip to hold in the scream. She wouldn't give them that. Not now.
She turned and climbed the stairs in silence, every step heavier than the last. The attic room was colder than usual, the heater barely working. The window leaked wind, and the blankets smelled like dust and old memories.
She curled up on the mattress with her arms around her knees, the single photo of her and her father clutched to her chest. His warm eyes smiled at her through the frame.
"Keep shining," he had written. "No matter how dark it gets."
But darkness was swallowing everything.
Still, she made a silent promise in that moment:
She would survive.
For her father.
For herself.
Even if the world turned to stone around her.
---
The Next Day..
The second day at Valemont Tower was colder.
Luna arrived early. Not because she wanted to, but because sleep had abandoned her hours before dawn. The slap still echoed on her skin, the ache still lived in her chest.
She wrapped her arms around her uniform as she rode the service elevator to the upper floors, her eyes heavy, her stomach empty. But she didn't complain. Complaining never changed anything.
By noon, she was cleaning the executive hallway again. Gleaming marble. Expensive silence. The kind of luxury that made people forget others existed.
She crouched near the elevator, scrubbing the polished baseboards, when the doors dinged behind her. Footsteps clicked across the marble—measured, confident, controlled.
She didn't look up. She didn't dare.
But she felt him.
The air shifted. Heavy. Electric.
Damian Nightborne didn't speak as he passed her. He didn't need to. His presence demanded attention, even when silent. She caught the faint scent of his cologne—something sharp, cool, and strange, like winter woods after rain.
For a heartbeat, he paused.
Luna kept her eyes on the floor, breath tight in her chest.
Then he moved on.
The hallway returned to stillness, but Luna's pulse didn't.
---
Meanwhile…
From behind tinted glass, Damian watched her.
He told himself he was merely curious. He'd seen hundreds of employees come and go—none of them left any impression. But this girl… there was something unusual about her.
The way she moved. The quiet in her eyes. The sadness wrapped around her like a second skin.
He should've dismissed it.
But something inside him growled.
A forgotten instinct.
An old hunger.
One he had buried long ago—beneath blood, betrayal, and the curse of his nature.
She wasn't like the others.
And she had no idea who—or what—was watching her.
---
---
The Alpha in the Tower (continued)
That evening, Luna walked home slower than usual, the ache in her bones dull and constant. Her hands were chapped. Her uniform smelled like chemicals. Her feet dragged along the cracked pavement leading back to the house that no longer felt like hers.
The porch light was off. Of course it was.
She was halfway to the front steps when a soft whistle caught her attention from the side of the house.
"Psst! Luna!"
She turned, startled.
Mira stood near the side fence, a backpack slung over her shoulder, a knit beanie pulled low over her braids. She grinned like a thief on a secret mission.
"What are you—?"
"Shhh. Before your evil stepmother comes out and sprays me with holy water."
Luna rushed over to her, heart pounding—not just from fear of getting caught, but from the sheer relief of seeing someone who cared. Mira opened the backpack and pulled out a container.
"Chicken and rice. Mom's leftovers. Still warm. And these." She handed Luna a second bag filled with bread rolls, juice, and a wrapped bar of chocolate. "Don't ask how I smuggled that out. Just eat it."
Luna blinked, her throat tightening. "Mira…"
"Don't start crying. I'll cry too, and I'm not in the mood to be soft." Mira's voice wobbled, but her smile held strong. "You're going to eat all of this, and I don't care if you have to hide it in your attic behind a box of dust bunnies."
"I don't deserve you," Luna whispered.
"Shut up. You deserve better than all of this."
They stood in silence for a moment, under the darkening sky. Luna clutched the food close to her chest like it was gold.
Then Mira glanced toward the front door. "I can't stay. I saw Brandon through the window. You good?"
"No," Luna said truthfully. "But I will be."
Mira gave her one more look—the kind that said I'm not giving up on you—before slipping back into the shadows.
Luna returned to the attic unseen.
Upstairs, in the cold quiet, she ate every bite in silence. Tears fell freely now, but not from pain. From the fragile warmth she still had left.
She didn't know that far across the city, a man with golden eyes and a haunted heart had spent the evening staring out his window, wondering why the scent of sadness had followed him home.
---