Luna Everleigh's POV
I woke up to the soft golden glow of morning light filtering through my curtains, painting delicate patterns on the ivory walls of my bedroom. Today was supposed to be the beginning of my forever—the day I became Luna Harrington in name and in bond.
My heart fluttered at the thought. This was what I had worked for, what I had been molded into believing was my destiny. A perfect marriage. A perfect future. A place where I belonged.
I sat up, inhaling deeply, trying to hold onto the fragile hope blossoming in my chest. The silk of my robe felt cool against my skin as I slid my feet onto the carpet. But before I could fully embrace the illusion of happiness, a sharp knock at the door shattered the peace.
"Luna." My stepmother's voice was clipped, lacking warmth. "Be downstairs in ten minutes. You don't want to keep everyone waiting."
I swallowed back the instinctual response rising in my throat. Instead, I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Yes, Mother."
The word tasted foreign. She had never truly been my mother, only the woman who took my father's name and his wealth after my real mother passed. To her, I was nothing more than an obligation, a reminder of the past she wished had stayed buried.
As the door clicked shut, I released a slow, shaky breath. It didn't matter. Today was my day. If I could just endure a few more hours, I would finally have a home of my own. A husband. A life that wasn't dictated by the cold expectations of the Harringtons.
***
A soft squeal yanked me from my thoughts as my best friend, Emilia—Emmy—burst through the door, her dark curls bouncing as she rushed toward me.
"You look like you're about to throw up," she teased, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. A hesitation.
I forced a smile. "Nerves, I guess."
"That's normal," she said, though her voice lacked its usual warmth. She busied herself with adjusting my veil, smoothing down invisible wrinkles in my dress. "Everything will be fine."
There it was again—that odd stiffness in her tone, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she fastened the delicate lace sleeves of my gown. Something was wrong.
"Emmy, is—"
A sharp knock interrupted me. "Miss Luna," a voice called. "It's time."
My heart lurched. This was it.
Emilia's grip tightened briefly on my wrist before she stepped back, plastering on a bright, artificial smile. "You look beautiful. Damian is lucky to have you."
But there was something unspoken in her gaze, something that made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I didn't have time to question it.
***
The moment I stepped into the grand hall, a hush rippled through the crowd. Rows of familiar faces lined the pews, but there was an energy in the air that felt wrong—charged, as if everyone was waiting for something to happen.
I forced my gaze forward, locking onto Damian standing at the altar. He looked handsome in his tailored suit, but his expression was unreadable. And then, as my father guided me down the aisle, I saw it—a flicker of discomfort in Damian's eyes, his jaw tightening as though he was bracing for impact.
A pit formed in my stomach.
Whispers slithered through the room, barely hushed.
"Did you hear what happened last night?"
"Poor girl… she doesn't know yet."
"Damian wouldn't—would he?"
My hands grew clammy, my breath shallow. My eyes darted toward Emmy, who stood among the bridesmaids, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. She knew. Whatever this was—whatever secret was hanging heavy in the air—she knew.
A deep sense of foreboding coiled in my chest.
Something was very, very wrong.
***