Chapter 6: The Lipstick Stain

Daniel's POV

"Daniel, what happened?"

Della stared at my face, dark enough to suggest murder, and shrank back against the headboard. Her eyes filled with terror and concern.

"Something went wrong at the press conference." I ground out the words through clenched teeth, a vein pulsing violently at my temple. "Someone projected a video onto the main screen—footage shot in this room. We were caught on camera."

"What?!"

Della's scream pierced the air as her face turned deathly pale. In the next instant, her previously stabilized condition erupted into chaos again.

She clutched at her chest in agony as patches of gray wolf fur surged across her neck—the same fur that had only just receded. A pained whimper tore from her throat.

"Damn it!" I swore under my breath and pinned her down with both hands.

The private physician beside us broke into a panicked sweat, shouting desperately, "Mr. Sterling! Miss Della cannot handle any more stress right now! The serum in her system is extremely unstable—one more shock and she'll lose her human form completely and regress into a feral state!"

Lose her human form completely. What difference would that be from death?

"I know!" I drew a deep breath, forcing down the rage boiling in my chest, and pulled Della tightly against me. I flooded her senses with my Alpha pheromones, trying desperately to calm her down.

"Della, don't be afraid. Look at me! I'm here, and no one can hurt you. Listen—I have a way to fix this. I promise you won't suffer any harm."

I patted her back while simultaneously pulling out my phone with my free hand and dialing Alyia's number.

The call connected, and immediately I could hear the cacophony on her end—camera flashes popping, reporters shouting questions.

The thought of her usual composure, that rational, flawless professional mask she always wore, made me instinctively place all my chips on her.

"Don't panic," I commanded coldly, my tone as calm as if I were commenting on pleasant weather. "Admit that the woman in the video is you. After the press conference ends, submit your resignation voluntarily. I'll handle the rest."

The photo was too blurry to make out the woman's face—only her slender silhouette and my hand resting on her waist were visible.

As long as someone claimed responsibility, this storm would blow over quickly. And she was the only person who wouldn't suffer real damage from this.

Because she was already my Luna.

Once this mess ended, I would publicly announce her identity. Then everyone would know she wasn't some Omega social climber, but the future and only mistress of Sterling Corporation.

As for now—I couldn't let Della get dragged into this. Her health was fragile, and she'd only just returned to the country. If the public branded her as the homewrecker who destroyed my marriage, the gossip alone would destroy her.

Della was Lucy's younger sister. And Lucy had died because of me.

Years ago, traitors within my own pack hired assassins to take my life. They left me gravely wounded, bleeding into the mud on a night of driving rain. A girl found me and pulled me back from the edge — then took an assassin's blade meant for me and died for it. I never even got to bury her. My family's men dragged me away before I could, and the image of her lying in that rain-soaked mud became a guilt I carried for years with nowhere to put it.

Then Della appeared, told me the girl's name was Lucy, and described that night in details no one else could have known. I believed her without hesitation. From that moment, I swore I would protect Della with everything I had — the only way left to honor what Lucy had given me.

I had sworn an oath that I would never allow Della to suffer a single moment of grievance — because if I did, I would have no right to call myself worthy of Lucy's sacrifice.

Besides, an Alpha being intimate with his own Luna was perfectly natural. So from the very beginning, this should have been Alyia's responsibility to acknowledge.

But my commanding tone—the one I was so accustomed to using—was met with deathly silence on the other end.

All I could hear through the receiver was the harsh clamor of reporters and her extremely soft, shallow breathing. She didn't question me. She didn't argue. She simply maintained that prolonged silence.

I waited for her response, but Della's pained groans in my arms started up again. Irritation prickling at me, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tossed the still-connected phone onto the nightstand beside the bed.

"Daniel, what's this solution you mentioned?" Della's breathing gradually steadied in my arms. Perhaps hearing my plan had calmed her, because the wolf features on her body receded once more. Still, her beautiful eyes flickered with emotions too complex to decipher.

I looked down at her.

"I've already told Alyia to claim the video first. Once the scandal dies down, I'll announce to the family and the media that Alyia and I have been secretly married for the past two years."

Della's expression shifted noticeably. Her fingers twisted together with visible tension as she spoke in a small, fragile voice. "But Daniel, you two chose to keep the marriage secret for a reason. Won't suddenly going public be unfair to Alyia? Will she blame me?"

"Whether it's public or private, she won't care either way."

I shook my head coldly and turned to walk to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the torrential rain hammering the glass. A self-mocking smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

No one knew that Alyia and I were fated mates — bound together by the Moon Goddess herself.

The moment I first laid eyes on her, I was gone. She stood quietly in a corner of that dinner party — cool, composed, achingly gentle — and pulled every ounce of my attention without trying. I had never lost my heart to anyone before. I told myself she was the Moon Goddess's gift, my one and only Luna.

I rushed to secure the engagement, impatient to begin the rest of my life with her. Then our wedding night arrived, and every one of those dreams shattered at once. I walked into the bedroom to find her sitting alone with a journal open in her hands, her back to the door, her lips moving in a barely audible whisper — the kind of voice a person uses when they believe no one is listening. I couldn't make out every word, but I heard enough. Whoever filled those pages had also filled her heart, and had been living there for a very long time. Those words lodged in my chest like a poisoned thorn and stayed buried there for two years, impossible to remove.

So it had always been one-sided. My heart laid bare, my certainty that she was my fated one — all of it nothing more than my own delusion. The man who had long since claimed her heart was someone else entirely, and there had never been any room in it for me.

Hearing my words, Della seemed to relax. She climbed down from the bed barefoot and pressed herself obediently against my back.

"Then... if I keep having episodes and need to find you, if I can only recover by being surrounded by your scent, Alyia really won't misunderstand? She is your Luna, after all—"

"She won't."

My voice came out flat, flat to the point of lifelessness. Yet inside my trouser pocket, my hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist, and a sharp, stinging pain I deliberately tried to ignore flared in my chest.

Luna? The Moon Goddess's oracle? What laughable terms.

Over these past two years, I'd tested her countless times, trying to see if there was anything beneath that perpetually calm, perfect professional facade—any trace of me at all. I deliberately neglected her, ignored her, and even after our marriage, I let countless casual affairs and scandals spread like wildfire.

I wanted to see her jealous. Wanted to see her lose control. Wanted to see her grab my collar like a real Luna and demand answers.

But what did she do?

Every single time, she simply straightened my tie with perfect composure and used flawless PR tactics to smooth over every scandal. The way she looked at me was always like she was looking at a distinguished superior she needed to serve well.

She didn't love me at all. So why would she care whose scent I gave away, or whose bed I spent the night in?

She remained exactly as before, handling my work, signing contracts on my behalf, cleaning up the messes I left behind when I had to leave early.

She never asked where I'd gone. Never asked if I'd been with Della again.

Sometimes I would deliberately mention Della in front of her, but all she ever did was nod.

"I understand."

Nothing more. As if she simply didn't care. Thinking about it now, I gave a bitter smile.

Perhaps from the very beginning, I'd been the only one who cared about this marriage.

Outside the car window, heavy rain pounded against the glass.

"Alpha, we've arrived."

My Beta's voice yanked me back to reality. I lifted my head and looked out the window, my body suddenly going rigid.

What came into view was that familiar villa.

I frowned. I'd actually come back here.

Ever since I'd confirmed that Alyia had no feelings for me, I hadn't returned to this place in ages. More often than not, I stayed at the office or at one of my other properties.

To me, this place had become nothing more than a house wearing the label of "marriage." Yet unexpectedly, in my moment of deepest exhaustion, my body had instinctively directed the driver here.

I glanced up at the building. The villa was completely dark. She must already be asleep. That made sense—it was past one in the morning.

I rubbed my temples.

"You can head back. Pick me up again tomorrow morning."

My Beta hesitated for a moment, then quickly nodded. After the car pulled away, I pushed open the door.

I'd expected to be greeted by total darkness, but when I changed my shoes and walked into the living room, I froze mid-step.

A single dim wall lamp illuminated the room. Alyia sat quietly on the sofa, watching me.

I was completely taken aback.

"Alyia? Why aren't you asleep yet?"

She gave a faint "mm" in response, her face devoid of any emotional ripple. She didn't even move.

My brows drew together tightly, and an inexplicable discomfort stirred in my chest.

In the past, no matter how late I came home, she would always rush over the moment I stepped through the door, take my suit jacket, and carefully undo my tie.

But now, she looked at me like I was a stranger.

I forced down the disappointment and irritation rising in my chest and reached up to remove my suit jacket, draping it over a nearby chair. As I unbuttoned the collar of my shirt and walked toward her, her gaze suddenly fixed on me.

Puzzled, I followed her line of sight and looked down.

There was a pale pink smudge on my shirt.

It was a lipstick mark—left when Della had buried herself against my chest seeking comfort during her episode, accidentally smearing it onto the fabric.

This shirt was ruined.

And I hadn't kept any spare clothes in this villa for a long time now.

I pinched the bridge of my nose wearily, about to ask her how I could quickly remove the stain, when Alyia suddenly lifted her head.

She spoke slowly, her voice so calm it seemed to freeze the air in the entire living room.

"Daniel, If we get divorced, will you agree?"