Violet’s delighted orders were met with unwavering compliance from Ronan. Not once did he object as she dictated my every move, her tone oozing mockery. My mind wandered to the countless times I had timidly asked Ronan if I could move into the Alpha’s quarters, hoping to solidify our bond. He had always refused, claiming it was “necessary for the Alpha to maintain his space and discipline.”
Instead, he would summon me when it suited him. If I dared to leave anything personal behind in his quarters, he would scold me, reminding me that boundaries were crucial. At the time, I thought it was just Ronan’s stoic nature as an Alpha—firm, disciplined, and reserved. Now, I understood the cruel truth: in his heart, I was never meant to be his Luna.
As Violet sauntered off to explore, Ronan sat down, his wolf-like eyes watching me intently. He held up his phone, flashing a message he had sent just moments earlier:
[Ayla, my union with Violet is purely political. You know you’re the one who has my heart. Don’t overthink this.]