Abandoned Luna: Claimed by Two

Aria's POV

The jewelry store smelled of money and power.

Gold and glass glittered under the lights, showing quiet luxury. It was a place where people traded secrets as easily as they used their credit cards.

I'd been coming here for three months now, stopping by the same counter every day. Of course, my purpose wasn't just shopping.

I was looking for someone.

"Miss Graves, you've looked at so many pieces already. Haven't you found anything to your liking?"

"Miss Graves?"

My wolf, Lily, nudged me back to reality. Most pack members knew me as Luna Green, but for the sake of this little act, I had registered in the VIP directory under my former last name.

I blinked, pointing at a simple diamond necklace on display.

"I'll take this one. Please wrap it up."

The saleswoman released a subtle sigh of relief. "Of course. It would be my honor."

She still called me MISS, even though she knew I was married. My name on their records had never changed, and I didn't bother to correct her.

"Your husband must really adore you," another customer whispered with envy. "Buying jewelry like it's candy."

"He must think you're his whole world!" her friend added.

I smiled the way women smiled when they no longer had the energy to explain the ruins under the silk.

Then I looked at the young clerk behind the counter.

Belinda White.

She moved carefully, almost delicately, her slim fingers wrapping the necklace with a neatness that might have looked charming if I had not spent the last three months teaching myself to hate the sight of her. At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about her. She was not dazzling. She was not intimidating. She was the sort of girl a room forgot the moment she left it-until, somehow, she became the one thing a man could not forget.

And her hands.

That was what I noticed every single time.

Soft, pale, unmarked hands, the kind that had never scrubbed blood from stone floors after pack training, never kneaded dough for fifty guests because a Luna's table had to be perfect, never cracked from cold or split from labor. Hands that had not earned anything, and yet had still managed to curl around what was mine.

I glanced down at my own fingers, at the faint roughness still there beneath careful grooming, at the hands that had worked, bled, carried, steadied, served. I had not been born Stephen's Luna. I had fought my way into that role, and then I had fought even harder to remain worthy of it.

Belinda was human. She knew nothing of wolves, of mate bonds, of the Moon Goddess, of the quiet weight that came with standing beside an Alpha and pretending strength even when your bones ached from holding up his world. Stephen had hidden everything from her-his wolf, his rank, his responsibilities, the truth of who he really was.

And yet she had still taken from me.

That was