“Alpha’s Fake Heiress: The Luna He Rejected”

The night I was meant to become Luna, I learned that love can burn brighter than fire and destroy twice as fast.

The ballroom sparkled like a thousand caught stars. Crystal lights shimmered above my head, throwing bits of gold over the gathered Alphas and nobles of Los Angeles. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the music. Tonight was supposed to be my crowning, the night my bond with Lorenzo DeLuca became forever.

I had thought of this moment since I was a girl: the mark, the vow, the feeling of joining. But as I stood before him on the marble dais, beneath the carved silver moon crest of the DeLuca Pack, something in his eyes made my breath pause.

He wasn’t laughing.

Lorenzo’s jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid beneath his formal black suit. The air around him hummed with power, but his eyes… those cold gray eyes that once softened for me were nothing but storms.

“Lorenzo,” I whispered, trying to smile through the stress. “You’re scaring me. Everyone’s watching.”

He didn’t answer. The whispers in the hall began to rise like the stirring of restless ghosts. Cameras flashed from the press box. I reached for his hand, but he stepped back like my touch burned him.

Then he spoke.

“You were never meant to wear my mark.”

For a heartbeat, I thought I heard him wrong. The words cracked through the silence like thunder. The crowd gasped as one. I froze, looking up at him, my pulse screaming in my ears.

“What… What do you mean? ” My voice trembled. “Lorenzo, this isn’t funny. Say you’re joking.”

He turned from me, his voice booming through the microphone for all to hear. “Aria Moretti is not the rightful heiress of the Moretti bloodline. She misled this pack, and me.”

The ground seemed to fall away beneath me.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. My knees felt weak, the smell of roses and champagne turning bitter in my throat. “That’s not true,” I managed to whisper. “You know me, Lorenzo. You know my blood, my family”

“Enough.” His order struck through me like a whip. His Beta stepped forward, a stack of papers in his hand. “The truth has been confirmed,” the Beta stated. “The real Moretti heiress has returned.”

And then, like a ghost rising from the ashes, she appeared.

Aurora.

Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, her silver gown sparkling like moonlight. My twin. My lost sister. The one who went years ago. She smiled, sweet and toxic, her eyes meeting mine with cruel joy.

“Hello, sister,” she purred, voice dripping with poison. “Or should I say… impostor? ”

Gasps spread through the crowd. I felt hundreds of eyes slice through me, blaming, judging, hungering for scandal. I wanted to speak, to scream that this was crazy, that I’d never lied but the words twisted in my throat.

Lorenzo’s hand reached for Aurora instead.

The same hand that once swore to