(Quinn's perspective)
The week leading up to the gala was a blur of hell disguised as preparation. Cale was on a power trip, pacing and plotting, going on about alliances and territories like he was a war general. Apparently, the gala was his grand re-entrance into the world of packs. He was at full strength now, his army of twenty wolves polished and lethal, and I—his broken, hollow Luna—was supposed to be the cherry on top.
"You'll act like the Luna I chose," he said one night, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Behave. Look the part. Be perfect."
Perfect. Right.
That's where Casey came in.
Casey, Cale's Beta. The woman I hated more than I hated him—if that was even possible.
She'd been my "trainer" for years, which was just a polite way of saying "torturer." Casey didn't hold back. Not with the physical drills. Not with the verbal abuse. And definitely not with the humiliation. She had full reins to mold me into Cale's version of a perfect Luna, and she relished every second of it.
"Shoulders back. Chin up. Try not to look like a half-dead mutt," Casey snapped, slapping the back of my head with a stick when I didn't walk straight enough.
I almost hit her. I wanted to hit her. My hand even twitched at my side, ready to swing. But I didn't. I knew better than to fight her. Casey would've made me regret it, and Cale would've doubled down on whatever punishment he thought I deserved.
She was jealous, of course. I wasn't stupid. I'd seen them together—him and Casey—sneaking off into the woods, the basement, wherever they thought I wouldn't notice. It wasn't like I cared. Hell, I wanted him to pick her instead of me. She wanted the title of Luna so bad; she could've had it.
But no. He chose me.
Lucky me.
Casey's resentment seeped into every grueling training session. From etiquette lessons to brutal combat drills, she pushed me to the brink and then further. I wasn't just learning how to act like a Luna—I was being reshaped into someone else entirely. The once-loose, practical clothing I wore was replaced by tighter, more form-fitting dresses. My meals were no longer quick bites scarfed down in exhaustion but dainty, measured affairs where Casey slapped my hands for using the wrong fork.
Cale watched the transformation closely.
Sometimes I'd catch him staring at me during training sessions, his eyes dark with hunger. It wasn't admiration; it was possessiveness. As I moved more gracefully, as my body changed into the perfect image he wanted, his gaze lingered longer, his satisfaction obvious.
"You're becoming everything I envisioned," he told me one night, his voice laced with pride.
I wanted to tell him to choke on his compliments.
The only sliver of humanity in this twisted world came from Derek, Cale's other beta. Derek was a quiet observer, keeping to himself most of the time. But every now and then, I'd catch him looking at me with something close to sympathy. It didn't last long; he was careful. In public, he played his role well, avoiding my gaze entirely. But in those fleeting moments of kindness, I almost felt seen.
The day of the gala, Cale presented me with a dress—a deep emerald gown that, if I'm honest, was breath-taking. For half a second, I almost smiled. Then he walked in unannounced, catching me in nothing but my underwear, hair, and makeup halfway done.
"Fuck off," I snapped, turning away.
Wrong move.
He was on me in a flash, his hand around my neck, shoving me forward until my face hit the bed. I didn't even flinch. This was routine by now. I heard the familiar sound of his zipper, felt his body press against mine, and then his hard shaft plummeting inside me.
It was rough, fast, and over quickly, thank God.
"When you disrespect me, it fuels my hunger for you," he said, his voice smug, like he thought he was teaching me some lesson I hadn't already learned a hundred times.
I wiped the smeared makeup from my cheek and spat back, "You fucked up my makeup, you prick."
He laughed, that cold, empty laugh that made my skin crawl. "You're lucky we're late, or I'd take my time. Fix yourself up. You're my Luna, and you'd better act like it."
I rolled my eyes, muttering something sarcastic under my breath that made his jaw tighten. A small, petty victory, but I'd take it.
The drive to the gala was two hours of suffocating silence. Cale sat beside me, brooding and controlling, while I stared out the window, wishing for the millionth time that I'd never come to this cursed place.
When we finally arrived, we were late, but Cale didn't care. Neither did I. He looped his arm through mine like we were some high-class power couple, and we strode into the grand hall, all eyes turning to us.
The room fell silent.
Everyone was staring—wolves from packs all over, some I recognized, most I didn't. Their expressions ranged from awe to curiosity to outright fear. Cale thrived on it, his smug grin plastered across his face as he soaked in the attention.
But I wasn't paying attention to them.
I was paying attention to the scent.
It hit me the moment we walked in—familiar, intoxicating, like a ghost from a life I'd tried to forget. My heart raced, my palms slick with sweat as I scanned the crowd.
No. It couldn't be.
I turned my head, slow and deliberate, my eyes cutting through the sea of faces like a blade. And then I saw him.
Luca.
My Luca.
Standing across the room, looking just as stunned as I felt.
Our eyes locked, and the world around me disappeared. The music, the chatter, even the suffocating weight of Cale beside me—it all faded. All I could see was him.
And the look on his face.
Anger. Shock. Pain.
And something else.
Hope.
My knees went weak, my breath hitching in my throat.
What the hell was he doing here?