[Just in: Luna Odessa Montgomery has been attacked by an unknown sniper at the annual Rachael Simpson Memorial Horse Race]
[Luna Odessa is in good condition. Bullet allegedly grazes her shoulder]
Odessa frowned at the blogs and newspaper headlines flashing across the screen of the tablet before shifting her gaze to her husband, Darius, who lounged in his chair, idly sipping from his coffee cup. The steam curled upward, disappearing into the tense air between them.
"I do not need a bodyguard, Your Majesty," Odessa said, her voice tight but controlled as she set the tablet down with a deliberate click. She avoided his eyes, swallowing back the sharper words that threatened to spill out. It was a habit now—holding back, biting her tongue, anything to keep the fragile peace from shattering completely.
The sniper attack had only deepened the cracks in their marriage, and in less than forty-eight hours, Darius had seized it as another reason to tighten his grip. More security. More control. More ways to remind her that her freedom was an illusion.
"You don't have to be so stubborn, Odessa," Darius sighed, swirling his coffee before taking another sip. "My enemies are clearly trying to use you to get to me. You don't even have anyone who could be after your life."
The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. She had no enemies of her own—not because she was faultless, but because she existed in his shadow. A Luna without power, without purpose beyond standing at his side during public events, smiling when told to, speaking only when permitted. And now, even that hollow role had made her a target.
The attack hadn't felt like an attempt on her life. It had felt like a warning. A sharp, calculated reminder that she was being watched. That she was vulnerable.
"Or perhaps my enemies are within," she countered, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "You should be carrying out investigations. Michelle and Elizabeth seemed very pleased with the development."
Darius' expression darkened instantly, his grip tightening around the cup. "Don't you dare bring them into this."
Odessa scoffed, turning her face away before he could see the bitterness twisting her features. Michelle and Elizabeth—his favorite mistresses. The latter, her own younger sister, who had slithered into his bed while Odessa was still recovering from surgery.
Michelle, though, was more than just a seductress. She was cunning. Ambitious. And, if the whispers were to be believed, ruthless enough to orchestrate something like this.
Rowan Fedorov certainly seemed to think so as he strode through the castle corridors, ignoring the hushed admiration of the female staff trailing in his wake. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he followed the guard leading him to the Alpha's office.
"I'm stating facts," Odessa pressed, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I already have guards. A large number of them. I don't need more—"
"They only follow you around until you slip away to that animal pen of yours!" Darius snapped.
"It's a shelter," she corrected through gritted teeth, fingers curling into her palms beneath the table.
"Call it whatever you want," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You need someone who will actually stay with you. A personal bodyguard."
To Odessa, it wasn't about protection. It was about surveillance. Another leash. Another set of eyes reporting her every move back to him. The thought alone made her stomach churn.
"I don't need that."
"Shut up, damned wench!" Darius slammed his fist onto the table, the sharp crack of impact making her flinch. "You're getting loud-mouthed these days, and it's grating on my nerves." He exhaled sharply, leaning back as if the outburst had drained him.
Odessa stayed silent, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. She had no right to argue. No right to refuse. Her life had never truly been hers.
"Your life is your husband's. Do whatever he says, and the Goddess will be pleased with you. She will grant you a child."
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, the same words whispered to her on the eve of her wedding. Back then, they had sounded like guidance. Now, they felt like shackles.
She had carried those words with her on the eve of her wedding, the words sounding like a ton of bricks getting heavier with each year that passed. Seven years of marriage and she had fulfilled every demand. Seven years. Seven years of obedience, swallowing her pride, of playing the perfect docile Luna. And What had it gotten her?
In the space of four years, he had acquired thirteen mistresses. On the fifth year, while bled through hospital sheets after her fibroid removal surgery at twenty. Her sister had become his prized possession.
Odessa would never forget walking in on them.
The way Elizabeth's head had snapped up, not with guilt, but with a smirk of victory. The way Darius hadn't even bothered to cover himself.
"It's strategic," Her sister had the audacity to say later, pressing ice to Odessa's temples after she fainted from the shock. "You'll never give him an heir. I'm using my fertility to secure the Montgomery line."
As if betrayal could be dressed up as sacrifice..
And in the space of two years, Elizabeth had given him what Odessa couldn't—three children, all dubbed illegitimate because even a fertile mistress couldn't usurp the title of Luna. Not officially. But everyone knew the truth. The "barren wife" was a laughingstock, while her sister played mother to the Alpha's brood.
Her vision blurred briefly as she blinked back the sting of unshed tears. Three months ago, the old postman who delivered the her brown papers had paused before leaving, his weathered face unreadable as he smiled after receiving his tip,
"Your life is going to change when you least expect it. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will."
She hadn't asked for clarification. Either good or bad she hadn't dared to hope. But she had braced herself anyway. Because if the last seven years had taught her anything, it was that change was inevitable. Sometimes slow. Sometimes brutal. But always coming.
She was always prepared for change, even if it came through her husband's office doors
A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence.
"Come in," Darius called, finally tearing his gaze away from her.
The butler entered, posture stiff with formality. "The bodyguard is here to see you, Sire."
"Let him in."
Odessa's breath hitched. Darius had moved faster than she'd anticipated. Had this been planned? Had he been waiting for an excuse to tighten the noose around her neck? Her lips parted, protests rising, but no sound came out.
The butler stepped aside, and Rowan Fedorov entered.
He had to duck slightly to clear the doorframe, his tall, muscular frame moving with an effortless grace that made the room feel smaller. Odessa turned to look at him, and for a heartbeat, her mind went blank.
Deviously handsome didn't begin to cover it.
His presence was a living thing on its own—dark, dangerous, crackling with an energy that made her wolf stir in a way it never had before. His collar was slightly undone, revealing the edge of intricate ink curling up his neck. His features were sharp, framed by a trimmed beard and a faint stubble, but it was his eyes that held her—pale blue, like ice over a deep, unfathomable darkness.
"Good morning, Alpha," he greeted, bowing slightly before turning to her. "Luna."
His voice was deep, smooth, laced with the faintest trace of a Russian accent. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, her wolf twisting beneath her skin in a way that left her flushed and unsettled.
"Ah, you see?" Darius smirked, oblivious to the sudden shift in the room. "He's respectful too. How old did you say you are again?"
Odessa rolled her eyes, pushing back from the table before she could hear the answer. She wouldn't sit here and watch them negotiate her life like another one of Darius' transactions. Her wolf was restless, agitated, and the only way to quiet it was to get out.
She needed to drink another cup of tea or do anything to keep her from spiralling.
"Twenty-four," Rowan answered.
Odessa nearly stopped mid-step. Twenty-four? She was twenty-eight. And now she was going to be babysat by someone younger? Her grip tightened on the door handle, anger flaring hot beneath her ribs. She yanked it open, stepped through, and—
She almost slammed it. Almost.
At the last second, she caught herself, leaving it just slightly ajar, her ear tilted toward the voices inside.
"You see, she can be stubborn," Darius chuckled, as if her defiance were nothing more than an amusing quirk.
Rowan's response was low, confident. Unshaken.
"It's not a problem," he said. "I can tame her really well."