Luna By Mistake

Phoebe's POV

"Where are you, Simon?" I hissed into the phone, pacing the length of the glasshouse until the heels of my shoes clicked a nervous rhythm against the glass floor.

"Seriously, Simon. How long are you going to keep doing this to me?"

"I'm sorry, babe. I'll be right there, I promise. Two minutes." His voice crackled through the speaker, breathless, like he was already running.

"You said that twenty minutes ago."

"Phoebe—"

"No, don't. Just — get here." I hung up before he could answer, before the soft, practiced apology in his voice could do what it always did and melt the anger right out of me.

I sat back down at the table, staring at the candles burning low, the food going cold in its gold dishes. Five years ago tonight, Simon built this glasshouse with his own hands and bonded me under a full moon, in front of the entire BlackAsh and Starlight pack. I remembered every second of it — the roar of the pack howling their approval, his teeth at my throat, the way the moonlight had turned the glass walls to silver. Tonight marked our bond-mate anniversary. I should have been glowing. Instead I sat alone, watching wax drip onto the tablecloth, feeling the first cold thread of doubt curl in my chest.

I told myself it was nothing. Alphas were busy. Pack business didn't wait for anniversaries, even this one. But the thought sat wrong in my stomach, the way a lie always does even when you're the one telling it to yourself.

The door burst open twenty minutes later. Simon strode in, arms already spread for a hug, that easy grin on his face like the last half hour hadn't happened at all.

"I'm sorry, my Luna."

"You keep doing this, Simon. Every year. How could you?"

"Chillax." He said it like it was nothing, like my anger was an inconvenience he'd already decided to ignore. "I wasn't going to forget our anniversary. I got you something."

He held out a small gift bag, and against every instinct telling me to stay angry, I reached for it. I hated how easily he could still do that to me — disarm me with a box and a smile, like the last five years hadn't taught me anything at all.

I opened it and my breath caught. "The moon amulet. Simon — how did you even get this?"

"I made someone kneel in front of the moon at the sacred mounting for three years just to earn it." He straightened, chest puffing the way it always did when he talked about his own power. "I'm Alpha Simon, after all. Nothing's out of reach for me."

I hugged him before I could stop myself, the amulet cool against my palm. "I made your favorite. Wolf soup, simmered under moonlight, just how you like it."

"You always remember." He kissed my temple, and for a moment — just a moment — the doubt in my chest went quiet.

We sat. We ate. We talked the way bonded mates were supposed to talk on their anniversary — soft words, old memories, his hand finding mine across the table. He told the story of the night he'd first shifted in front of me, exaggerating the size of the buck he'd taken down that night until I laughed despite myself. But every few minutes, his eyes flicked to the phone sitting face-down beside his plate. Each time, something in his jaw tightened, and the warmth in his voice thinned just a little more.

"Is everything okay?" I finally asked.

He startled, like he hadn't expected me to notice. "Uhm — yeah. Don't worry about it."

I studied him a second longer, the candlelight catching the tension in his jaw, and let it go. Five years of marriage teaches you which doors not to push on — or it teaches you to be afraid of what's behind them.

"Well, I wanted to ask you something. How you've been handling my pack members, the Starlight pack"

His phone buzzed against the table, and he was on his feet before I finished the sentence.

"Excuse me. I have to take this."

He walked out fast, phone already pressed to his ear before he cleared the doorway, and something about the set of his shoulders made my stomach drop. He never left a call for later. He never looked at me like that — like he was bracing for something.

I sat there a moment, my soup going cold for the second time that night, and told myself again that it was nothing. Alpha business. Pack business. Nothing to do with me.

Then my eyes landed on the table where he'd been sitting.

The second the door shut behind him, I saw it. A piece of paper, folded neatly, tucked half under his plate like he'd forgotten it was there — or like he hadn't meant for me to be alone with it long enough to notice.

I told myself not to touch it.

I told myself whatever it was, it wasn't mine to see, and that a good Luna trusted her Alpha, and that five years of loyalty should count for something.

I touched it anyway.

My fingers weren't quite steady as I unfolded it, the paper crackling too loud in the quiet glasshouse. My eyes moved down the page, and by the time I reached the second line, my whole body had gone cold. My jaw dropped. The candlelight seemed to dim around the edges of my vision, the words on the page burning brighter than anything else in the room, brighter than the amulet still warm from his hand.

I read it again. And again. Willing it to say something different the third time.

It didn't.

The door opened. Simon froze in the threshold, phone still in his hand, taking in my face — the paper trembling in my fist, the look I knew must have been carved into my expression, somewhere between heartbreak and murder.

"It's not what it looks like, Phoebe—"

"Not what it looks like?" My voice came out low, shaking, nothing like the woman who'd laughed at his stories ten minutes ago. "Then tell me what it is, Simon. Tell me exactly what this is."

He took a step toward me, hand out like he was approaching something wounded and unpredictable. Maybe he was.

"Just let me explain—"

He didn't get to finish.

A sound tore through the glasshouse — glass shattering, sharp and sudden, raining down in bright shards that caught the candlelight like falling stars. Someone had walked straight through the wall of the glasshouse. No one walked into this place. Not without Simon's permission. Not ever. Not even members of his own pack or mine.

I turned, the paper still crushed in my fist, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat.

"Oh — hi, Phoebe."

I knew that voice. I'd know it anywhere.

I turned toward her slowly, still half-blind with fury, still not understanding — not yet — how deep this betrayal actually ran, or what my mate had already done behind my back while I sat here polishing an amulet like a fool.

It was Stella.