Have you ever heard of a dog that could sing?
Or a werewolf who became a global superstar?
Silver-gray eyes, luminous and unblinking, fixed on the stage at the edge of the park. The towering LED screen above blazed in vibrant colors, casting neon streaks of red, blue, and gold across the singer below. The world seemed to tilt around him as his voice resonated through the chilly New Year's Eve air, a siren song pulling the crowd into its thrall.
Beneath the swirling lights, a young woman stood, her porcelain skin glowing with a ghostly sheen, like a fragile doll caught between shadow and brilliance. Her beauty wasn't of this world—untouched by makeup, yet possessing a purity that made her seem carved from moonlight itself. In the chaotic swell of revelers, she stood like a lone, steady flame amid the storm.
She was mesmerized, her eyes locked on the figure on the stage. Not just his voice, but everything about him drew her in—like gravity itself had bent to his will.
It was New Year's Eve, and like so many others, she had come to the Champ-Élysées Park, yearning for a new beginning. For one night, she wanted to lose herself—to forget the memories that had haunted her for months, chasing her into the darkest corners of her mind.
The crowd around her roared with excitement, their cheers and laughter a melody of celebration. Strangers clinked glasses, exchanged hugs, and huddled together against the cold. But she stood alone, cloaked in the heavy silence of her thoughts.
Her escape to France was a desperate attempt to find solace, to erase the lingering pain of her husband's death. Five years of marriage had ended in a brutal car accident, but the tragedy had only been the beginning. The truth she had uncovered afterward—the secret he had taken to the grave—was what truly broke her. It left her doubting everything she thought she knew, even her own worth.
And yet, despite the cacophony around her, she could hear only him.
"It's been a hundred years since the prophecy was told,
It says you will appear, to redeem my wretched soul.
I've been waiting here, with no plans to resist,
Hoping that you'd come home and make me whole again.
Oh, the loneliness creeps under the moonlight,
Sometimes I fear you're just a dream.
Oh, the emptiness swallows me up at night,
Hoping that somewhere out there, you'll hear me scream…"
The deep, velvet tones of his baritone swept over the park, enveloping every corner, every heart. His voice was rich, magnetic, and impossible to ignore—a sound that seemed to resonate not in the ears but in the very core of the soul. It carried an aching yearning, a longing so profound that it pulled even the most stoic into its spell.
He was more than just a singer; he was a phenomenon.
Known to the world as K, the man on the stage was a figure of contradictions. His golden skin seemed to glow beneath the floodlights, while his tousled black hair curled wild and untamed, a dark halo framing his angular face. His features were striking, almost sculptural, with sharp cheekbones and full, sinfully curved lips that gave him an edge of danger. But it was his eyes—those mismatched orbs—that truly made him unforgettable.
One eye was molten gold, like a shard of sunlight trapped in amber. The other was a piercing ice blue, as cold and unyielding as a glacier. Together, they seemed to see straight through the crowd, to pierce hearts, to bare souls.
But it wasn't just his physicality or his voice that captivated the world. K carried a rugged, mysterious aura about him, one that sparked whispers and rumors that had become part of his legend. Many of his fans embraced the fantasy of him being a werewolf, a notion fueled by his electrifying presence and primal charisma. They called themselves Luna, an ever-growing fanbase that saw K as their "alpha wolf," claiming him as their own, their destined mate.
The woman had always found the idea absurd, an overindulgence of romantic fantasy. But standing there in the park, watching him perform with a raw, untamed intensity that felt almost otherworldly, she couldn't help but wonder if they were right. Seeing him in person made her understand—no, believe—their fascination. There was something wild, something undeniably predatory in the way he carried himself, as though he were a creature too dangerous and too alluring for the ordinary world.
Tonight, K sang In the Moonlight, a rock ballad that had already taken the world by storm. Like all his songs, it was drenched in yearning, a desperate cry for a love he had never met but believed was out there. The lyrics were intimate, almost confessional, as though he was revealing his innermost desires to the audience. It made everyone believe they were the one—the love he was waiting for, the missing piece of his heart.
As his voice climbed into a heart-stopping crescendo, the crowd was utterly transfixed, their gazes locked on him as though under a spell.
But then, something happened.
In the midst of his performance, K's gaze shifted. His bicolored eyes scanned the sea of faces until, suddenly, they stopped—on her.
Time seemed to freeze.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as their eyes met. The intensity of his mismatched stare was like a bolt of lightning, leaving her breathless. Gold and blue bore into her, unflinching, as though he could see straight through her walls, into the depths of her soul.
For a moment, she forgot everything. The crowd, the music, even the pain that had been her constant companion—it all disappeared, leaving only the two of them. Her pulse quickened, a warmth spreading through her chest that she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity.
And then, like a cruel joke, reality came crashing back as she recalled what he had been singing about.
Love…
The words of his song echoed mockingly in her mind as the memory of her past surged forward. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she tore her gaze away from the stage.
What a cruel, bitter irony.
Not only was her husband—the man she had loved—gone forever, but she had discovered after his death that the love she thought they shared had been a lie.
Sister.
The word slashed through her thoughts like a blade, dredging up memories she had tried to bury. All those years of marriage, and Pablo had never truly seen her as a wife. The man she had devoted herself to had only ever regarded her as a sister, a truth that left her hollow and adrift.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips, so soft it was swallowed by the noise of the crowd. The ache wasn't physical, but something deeper—a pain that gnawed at her very soul.
Her arms wrapped around herself, an instinctive attempt to hold the pieces of her shattered heart together. But it was no use. The weight of grief and betrayal was too much.
She didn't belong here—not in this crowd, not in this city, and certainly not in this life.
Without another thought, she turned and walked away, her steps quickening as she sought to escape the music, the lights, and the haunting memory of gold and blue eyes that had pierced through her defenses.
She didn't know where to go. She hadn't thought it through.
Originally, she had planned to retreat to her hotel, a modest place barely 200 meters from the park, tucked just far enough to avoid the noise. But in her haze of emotion, she hadn't considered the practicalities. All she had wanted was to escape—the deafening roar of laughter, the cheering crowd, and the mocking brilliance of their joy. She had walked blindly, her feet carrying her wherever there was space to breathe.