The Discarded Luna’s Second Chance

POV Harper

The bruises on my arms throbbed beneath the black silk of my dress, five perfect fingerprints where Weston had gripped me last night.

"You will not embarrass me again, Harper."

His words still echoed as I pressed myself deeper into the corner of the Silvercrest ballroom, watching the pack celebration swirl around me like I was drowning in slow motion.

I got so used to that kind of invisibility over the years, of making myself smaller and silent, of learning that defending myself gives nothing but more cruelty back…

That is what years of hatred do to you, perhaps. Make you feel more like a filthy shadow than a person.

"Mama, up?" Ava's small voice broke through my haze.

My three-year-old daughter raised her arms, and I lifted her despite the sharp protest from my ribs. She was the only one in this entire room who looked at me without disgust or pity threading through their eyes.

"Stay close to Mama, baby," I whispered into her dark curls that matched mine exactly.

"Such a shame," Mrs. Henderson's voice carried deliberately over the string quartet. "Years passed and she still doesn't know how to act like a proper Luna. Failing at everything she got assigned to."

The woman beside her, one of the newer pack transfers, leaned in with practiced interest. "Oh?"

"Some she-wolves have no self-respect, really," Mrs. Hayes, my mother-in-law, announced as she glided past, her voice pitched to carry. "Poor Weston had such a bright future before..."

She let the sentence dangle, her meaning crystal clear as her gaze raked over me.

Stay silent. Do nothing. Don’t provoke. They’ll go away eventually.

It’s a mantra I’m living with now, but even repeating it over and over in my head doesn’t erase the damage everyone’s cruelty does.

Swallowing all of it is hard and tastes bitter like a bile yet still better than facing Weston’s anger and irritation of “my poor behavior” after.

"Harper, darling!" Gamma James's wife, Patricia, materialized with her circle of followers. "We were just telling Sarah here about how you and Weston met. Such a... dramatic story."

Sarah's eyes gleamed with the hunger of fresh gossip. "I've heard pieces, but—"

"Oh, you simply must know the whole tragedy," Patricia continued, her voice syrupy sweet. "Our poor Celeste and Weston had been inseparable since childhood. Everyone thought they were meant to be mated. They were perfect together."

My sister chose that moment to float past in pristine white. She always wore white, the perpetual virgin saint, and her green eyes wide as Patricia continued.

"But Harper's first heat hit at one of the summer festivals and Weston couldn’t help himself, helped her go through it. She ended up pregnant after that night."

I heard this story from someone else’s mouth countless times. And I know the hidden thoughts behind it when they rarely try to be noble and not criticize their Luna openly.

That I knew exactly what I was doing. That I specifically have thrown myself at Weston when he was vulnerable to any female's pheromones. That I wanted to take away any of my sister’s chances to mate with our Alpha.

That I'm a pathetic, jealous and cruel older sister.

Patricia's lips pursed in disapproval. "Celeste was so gracious about it, stepping aside for her sister even though it broke her heart."

"That's not…" I started, but the words died as twelve sets of eyes turned to me with identical expressions of disdain.

"Still making excuses?" My mother's voice cut through like a blade. She approached with grace, but her eyes when they found mine were ice. "Give me Ava. You're too unstable to watch her properly."

"Mom, she's fine."

"Like last month when you forgot her at daycare?" her perfectly manicured nails dug into my wrist as she pulled Ava from my arms. "Three hours, Harper. She was there for three hours after closing."

I wanted to scream, to remind that Weston was supposed to pick her up. That he'd been so busy with his afternoon "meeting" that he didn’t have time to tell me he can’t pick his own daughter up.

But the words would only be twisted into another failure, another excuse. As always.

"Come to Grandma, sweetheart," my mother cooed to Ava, her voice warm and loving.

My wine glass trembled slightly when I took it back, but I forced my hand steady.

"Mama, I need a potty!" Ava suddenly announced, squirming in grandmother's arms.

"I'll take her," I reached out, desperate for any excuse to escape.

"Let me." Celeste appeared like a golden ghost, her smile beatific. "You look like you need a break, sister. I'll take our precious girl, don’t worry."

She lifted Ava with practiced ease, and my daughter went willingly—why wouldn't she? Aunt Celeste always had candy, always played games, always smiled.

"Such a wonderful aunt," someone murmured. "She'd make such a perfect mother."

"If only..." another voice added meaningfully.

The implications hung in the air like poison as Celeste carried my daughter away.

When my father then appeared at my shoulder, his Beta presence commanding attention, I wasn’t prepared for another insult.

"Here you are, Harper. I was just talking about the Riverside Pack alliance," he said, not looking at me directly. "How your latest failure cost us one year of negotiations."

"Father, I didn't…"

"Perhaps if you were more like your sister," he continued, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Celeste would never have insulted an Alpha's mate by suggesting her pups looked 'tired.' Do you have any idea what that implies in their culture?"

I knew exactly what it implied—nothing. It was a manufactured offense, but my protests would only make things worse.