Chapter 72

Agnes

Elijah’s words left my head reeling.

“You… sent them away?” I found myself asking. I wasn’t sure why exactly, but for some reason, I couldn’t quite bring myself to fully believe it. Maybe it was because no one in my life, not even my own parents, had ever bothered to go to such lengths for me.

He simply shrugged one shoulder and sipped his drink. “They deserved it. They were a couple of assholes.”

I almost snorted at that, but he wasn’t done.

“I’m proud of you,” he continued, setting aside his glass again. “You stood your ground back there. Those old men needed to hear it, and you didn’t back down. It’s an admirable quality in a Luna.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck at the unexpected praise. I thought I was going to be scolded for not holding my tongue, but Elijah just seemed glad for the entire incident.

“It wasn’t really a big deal,” I murmured with a wave of my hand, glancing down at my lap. “I dealt with tons of customers like that when I worked at the diner.” But the words felt hollow even as I said them. The truth was, it had been a big deal—to me, at least. And judging by the way Elijah’s gaze darkened, he wasn’t buying it, either.

“No, it was a big deal,” he countered coolly. “And I’m glad to have a Luna by my side who won’t take anyone’s shit.”

There was that word again: Luna.

It was just a title, but somehow, whenever he said it, it felt like so much more than that. That night at that charity gala, when I had run into my college ex-boyfriend, it had felt like a switch had been flipped, like the way he had said it had changed something in me. That had been the first time Elijah had publicly referred to me as his Luna, his partner, his other half.

And even now, all this time later, it set my chest blazing in more ways than I wanted to admit.

Maybe we weren’t in love, but he still viewed me as his equal counterpart—something not only worth protecting, but also being proud of. That was oddly comforting.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of my napkin. “I guess I just… didn’t like the way they dismissed me. Or how they thought they could order for me, like I wasn’t even there.”

He nodded. “That’s why I sent them away. I was already considering reducing my business dealings with them, but after that little display?” His jaw tightened, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand flexed briefly before he seemed to catch himself. “There’s no way I’m continuing a partnership with men like that. I cut them off entirely.”

“But you didn’t have to do that on my behalf,” I said softly. “I’d hate to see the pack suffer over it.”

His gaze snapped to mine, and this time, there was something even darker behind his eyes. “Yes, I did have to do it. The pack will be fine. And don’t ever say it wasn’t necessary again.”

The intensity in his voice made my breath hitch in my chest. He was looking at me so intensely, as if the very act of trying to claim that he didn’t have to do something like that for me, his Luna, was a personal insult. Not just to him, but to the pack.

My cheeks burned, and I dropped my gaze back to my lap.

“Thank you,” I finally managed after a moment.

Elijah let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “Are you alright?” he asked, his tone a little softer now. “What they said back there… It was cruel and sexist. If you want me to take more extreme measures against them, just say the word. I’ve already publicly humiliated one man for you. I’ll do it again.”

I shook my head quickly, recalling the interview with my college professor all too well. “That won’t be necessary,” I said, forcing a small, wry smile. “I think you’ve already made your point pretty clear.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. But his eyes remained steady on mine, searching, as if he were trying to read between the lines of what I’d just said. Truthfully, he wouldn’t find much else; I was grateful for what he had done, and I didn’t feel it necessary for him to do more.

“If you’re sure,” he finally murmured.

“I’m sure,” I replied, even though the warmth in my chest made it hard to form coherent sentences. The way he looked at me… it was like he could see every little crack, every little wound, and he was quietly, methodically, stitching them back together. Day by day, week by week, month by month.

We lapsed into silence after that, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. The waitress returned with our meals, setting the plates down with a smile before retreating back to the kitchen. I picked at my sandwich, but my appetite felt oddly subdued by now.

Maybe it was because he was watching me again. Maybe it was because when I dared to glance up at him, he was cutting his steak with methodical precision while his gaze lingered on me. And maybe it was because seeing that look in his eyes made my stomach twist and flutter and burn all at once, like I was consumed by the moth and flame at the same time.

The rest of the meal passed quietly, the silence broken by occasional conversation. The tension between us hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it had softened, morphed into something more intimate. The way his hand brushed mine briefly when he passed the salt. The way his voice dipped when he said my name. It was all there, simmering just beneath the surface, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he felt it too.

When we finally returned to work a little while later, I felt a strange and heady mixture of emotions swirling in my chest. Gratitude. Hope. And something deeper, something I didn’t want to name.

But the design department was unusually quiet when I stepped through the doors, save for the low sound of voices clustered near the far end of the room.

My brow furrowed as I approached the group of designers, who were huddled around a computer screen toward the back. They didn’t see me or hear me approaching.

“What’s going on?” I asked, stopping a few feet away from them with my half-eaten sandwich boxed up in my hands.

The group of designers jolted at the sound of my voice, spinning around to face me like children caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. One of them stammered, “Oh, Luna Agnes, we didn’t… We weren’t…”

I frowned, stepping closer. “What is it?”

Nobody answered. Instead, they parted slightly, revealing the computer screen they had been huddled around. My stomach dropped the moment I saw it.

There, plastered across the screen, was a grainy photo of Elijah and me in the car. The picture was unmistakable: me, sitting in my bra, fumbling with my blouse, and Elijah’s hand outstretched—cupped around my pink, lacy bra.

The incident had been photographed without my knowledge.

And now it was plastered all over the internet, for everyone to see.

The takeout box fell from my hands and clattered to the floor, forgotten.