Elara sat at the far end of the obsidian dining table, untouched coffee cooling in her mug. Morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, golden and warm, but the penthouse still felt cold. Dominic entered the room like a shadow wrapped in a silk suit—commanding, sharp, and unreadable. His scent preceded him, all pine and storm.
He took his place at the opposite end of the table, his laptop open, fingers tapping like a ticking clock.
"We need to talk," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, amused by the irony. "You mean, actually talk? Not scowl in silence and disappear behind locked doors?"
Dominic didn't smile. His tone was all business. "We need to set boundaries. Establish rules."
She leaned back in her chair. "What kind of rules?"
"The Luna Clause."
The name rolled off his tongue like a contract. Heavy. Final.
"Sounds romantic," she muttered.
He looked her dead in the eye. "It's not. That's the point."
She folded her arms. "Let me guess. No looking at you too long? No sneaking into your office? No asking about your past?"
He ignored her sarcasm and pulled a folder from the side of the table. Sliding it across the polished surface, he said, "Read it. Every word. Then we talk."
Elara opened the folder and scanned the thick packet inside. It wasn't just legalese. It was a structured arrangement outlining their public appearances, privacy terms, and most notably, a highlighted section in bold:
Clause 17.2: Emotional Boundaries.
Both parties agree that romantic feelings or entanglements are forbidden. This is a contract of convenience, not affection. The emergence of love, obsession, or emotional attachment shall nullify the agreement and incur penalties.
She looked up slowly. "You actually included a 'no falling in love' clause?"
"I had it drafted the moment I knew I needed a Luna," Dominic replied. "The mark appearing changes nothing."
Elara slammed the folder shut. "You're terrified."
"I'm prepared," he corrected.
"No," she said, rising from her seat, her voice rising with her. "You're scared that this bond is real. That it might force you to feel something."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "You think you know me?"
"No," she snapped. "I think you don't know yourself anymore."
The air crackled between them, thick with tension. The mating mark on her collarbone throbbed like a warning.
"This isn't a romance novel, Elara," Dominic said. "This is politics. Power. You're here because I needed a shield. A Luna makes the Alpha appear whole. Strong. And that strength keeps enemies at bay."
"And what do I get in return?" she asked.
"Protection. Resources. A place in the pack hierarchy."
"I never asked for that."
"You needed an escape. I gave you one."
"And in return, I become your shadow-wife," she said bitterly. "A pretty thing to wear to council meetings and moon festivals."
He softened, just for a moment. "You are not just a pretty thing."
Elara blinked. There was something beneath his voice—something wounded.
She sat back down. "Then why are you doing this? Why risk letting me into your life if you plan to keep me at arm's length?"
Dominic stood and paced toward the window. "Because the wolves are circling. The council suspects I'm losing strength. The mark appearing gives us credibility, but it also raises questions."
"Like how a human barista became your mate overnight?"
He nodded. "Exactly."
She stared down at the document. "And if I break this clause? If I catch feelings—" she made a mocking face "—do I get exiled? Executed?"
"The contract dissolves. The pack disbands.
My position as Alpha is challenged."
"So the cost of love is war?"
Dominic didn't respond. He didn't need to.
That night, Elara stood alone on the penthouse balcony. The wind tugged at her robe. The city lights shimmered like distant stars. Inside, Dominic remained in his study, silent.
She held the contract in her hands.
Something inside her wanted to rip it up, throw it into the night air. But logic kept her still.
The Luna Clause wasn't just about him. It was about her, too.
She didn't trust herself.
She'd seen the way he touched her hand the night before, how his fingers lingered. She'd felt her heart skip a beat when he said he'd protect her.
And the mark.
That damned mating mark that pulsed whenever he was near. It didn't care about clauses or contracts. It only knew the pull.
She whispered to the wind, "What happens when a rule is made to be broken?"
The wind didn't answer.
But something deep inside her did.
Later, she found him in the music room. His fingers ghosted over the piano keys, not pressing them, just hovering like they were made of glass.
"You play?" she asked.
He looked up, startled. "Not in a long time."
She walked toward him. "So the mighty Alpha has a soft side."
"Everyone has ghosts."
"And you think rules keep them at bay?"
He looked at her then, and for the first time, Elara saw past the Alpha. She saw the man.
Tired. Haunted. Lonely.
"The Luna Clause," he said, voice soft, "is for your protection too."
"From what?"
He hesitated.
"From me."
She took a deep breath. "Then we follow the rules. But only if we write one more together."
"Which is?"
"No lies."
He hesitated. Then nodded. "No lies."
Their hands brushed as they sat side by side. The mark between them burned.
And in that fragile silence, something unspoken bloomed.
Not love.
Not yet.
But the promise of something that might one day break every rule.