The Scorned Luna-Chapter 48: The Note

​Trembling, she stood up and walked toward the bed. Every step felt like she was walking toward a cliff. When she reached the edge, she sat down tentatively, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

​Damien watched her settle on the far edge of the mattress, her body as stiff as stone. He didn’t reach for her, much to her surprise and secret relief. The air between them was heavy, but he merely rolled onto his side, facing away from her. Sofia eventually collapsed into an uneasy sleep, her back pressed toward the edge while he remained a silent, looming heat behind her.

​As the first light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, Sofia’s body, seeking warmth in her sleep, had naturally drifted. She was now draped over Damien, her full, soft frame pressed against his muscular back, her arm thrown over his waist.

​Damien woke with a low, irritated groan. The feeling of her—soft, warm, and smelling of the soap she’d used to try and scrub him away—triggered a surge of unwanted protectiveness that he immediately crushed with anger. He didn’t wake her gently. With a rough shove of his shoulder, he bucked her off him.

​"Get off," he bit out.

​Sofia yelped as she rolled across the silk sheets and landed hard on the floor for the second time in twenty-four hours. She scrambled up, her blonde hair a wild mess, her eyes wide and disoriented. Damien was already standing, reaching for his robe, ignoring her completely as if she were a nuisance he’d stepped in.

​A soft knock at the door broke the tension.

​"Enter," Damien commanded.

​Two maids walked in, their heads bowed low. The first carried a silver tray laden with steak, eggs, and rich coffee—a meal fit for an Alpha. She placed it on the dining table near the window. The second maid approached Sofia. On her tray was a much humbler offering: a bowl of plain porridge, a piece of dry toast, and water. Sofia looked at the meager tray, then at the feast laid out for Damien.

​"Eat," Damien said, not looking at her as he cut into his steak.

​Sofia sat in the small vanity chair, picking up the spoon with trembling fingers. She felt the maids’ eyes on her—they saw the faint purple bruises on her arms and the dark, jagged mark on her shoulder where Damien had claimed her. They knew exactly what had happened behind those doors.

​One of the maids, while clearing a space for Sofia’s water, leaned in close. As she set the glass down, she subtly slid a small, folded piece of cream-colored parchment under the edge of Sofia’s tray.

​Sofia’s heart hammered against her ribs. She glanced at Damien; he was focused on his meal, his back turned to her. She quickly slid the note into the pocket of her maid uniform, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The maids bowed to Damien and left. As Sofia ate, her heart pounded in her chest for two reasons: one was the fear that Damien would catch her with the note, and the other was wondering who could have sent it.

​After breakfast, Damien went to take a shower. As she heard the water starting, she quickly took the note from her pocket and read:

​"Damien will attend a meeting at 9:00 AM. He won’t be able to come with you because it is a private meeting that will take close to two hours. Meet me at the rooftop at 9:15." At the end, it said: Alpha Alexander.

​Sofia stared at the elegant handwriting, her breath hitching in her throat. She quickly glanced toward the bathroom door. The steam was beginning to curl from the top of the doorframe, and the steady drum of the water told her she had only a few minutes. She crumpled the note into a tiny ball and shoved it deep into the pocket of her uniform, her mind racing.

​Is it a trap? She wondered, her fingers tracing the curve of her jaw where the bruises were beginning to darken. Alexander seemed kind, but in this world of wolves, kindness was often just a different kind of lure. Yet, curiosity got the best of her.

​The shower cut off abruptly.

​Sofia scrambled back to her vanity chair, shoving a piece of dry toast into her mouth to look busy. Damien stepped out, steam clinging to his broad, tattooed shoulders. He didn’t look at her as he moved to the closet, pulling out a sharp, charcoal-gray suit.

​"I have a private session with the High Council," Damien stated, sounding annoyed. "It’s a closed-door meeting. No staff, no slaves. You will stay here. The door will be guarded from the outside. If you so much as crack a window, I’ll know."

​He turned, his green eyes raking over her trembling frame in the servant’s uniform. He walked over, his presence overwhelming, and tilted her chin up. His thumb brushed over the mark on her shoulder, his touch lingering longer than it should have.

​"Do not test me today, Sofia," he warned, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous vibration. "I’m already on edge."

​He grabbed his watch and his phone, heading for the door. With a final, heavy click of the lock, he was gone.

​Sofia sat in the silence of the suite, her heart thumping like a caged bird. She looked at the clock. 9:03 AM.

​She knew the guards would be at the main door, but this was the penthouse of a luxury hotel designed for Alphas. There had to be a service entrance or a balcony connection. She began to pace the room, her full hips brushing against the furniture as she searched. Near the back of the walk-in closet, she found it—a small, inconspicuous door used by the housekeeping staff to restock the minibar from the service hallway.

​It wasn’t even locked. Damien’s arrogance was her only weapon; he didn’t think she had the courage to breathe without his permission.

​She slipped through the door, her heart in her throat, and navigated the narrow, dimly lit service stairs. By the time she reached the heavy metal door to the rooftop, she was gasping for air, her chest heaving under the stiff fabric of her uniform.

​She pushed the door open. The cold morning air hit her face. Standing by the edge of the roof, his back to her as he looked out over the mountains, was Alpha Alexander. He turned as the door creaked, a look of genuine relief washing over his handsome face.

​"You came," he whispered, stepping toward her. His eyes immediately fell on the bruise peeking out from her collar, and his jaw tightened. "He’s a monster for what he’s doing to you, Sofia."

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