All Chapters of He Rejected Me for My Sis, Now I'm the Ruthless Alpha's Luna: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

Audrey"Audrey!” Lucille's shrill voice adds to the throbbing in my temples. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”"I know what time it—""The surgery was scheduled for seven thirty.""I know.""It is seven forty-three.""Lucille—""Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to act out? The governor’s son is already on my operating table," she says, and her voice drops to the specific low register she uses when she is promising mayhem. "If anything happens to him, I'll make sure to bury you alive.”"I'm four minutes out.""Three," she yells. "You'd better be three. I'm late for my spa treatment already!”She hangs up.I push the car to the next amber light and make it through. London at nearly eight in the morning is a living creature — buses and cyclists and delivery vans all breathing and surging and blocking every road I need — and I weave through it with the focus of someone who has been doing this long enough to know which shortcuts are real and which ones add five minutes and cost

AudreyHe opens his mouth. "Aud, I was going to tell—"The slap lands before I finish deciding to do it. Open palm. The exact same place he hit me this morning. He reels back.The room makes a noise — Nadia's sharp inhale, Lucille's outraged half-syllable.I am not finished.The second one lands before anyone can say anything — harder, the full force of the eight months of our bond and a *I can still smell him on you* — and this one snaps his head to the side and leaves us both breathing in the silence of my father's study with the amber lamp and the dark wood walls and the three people watching us."Audrey!" My father's voice cracks like a command.I ignore him.I look at Rhys.He is looking back at me now — finally, fully, the way he should have been looking at me all along — with his hand pressed to his jaw and his eyes wide and something in them that might be shame or might be shock and is probably both."I reject you," I say.His eyes grow wider. “Audrey—""I, Audrey Calloway," I

Audrey"Is that everything, ma'am?"The driver is standing at the boot of the car — black, expensive, sent from Ironhold without ceremony the way you'd send a van for furniture — and he is looking at the three terracotta pots I've just handed him with the expression of a man who was briefed on luggage and was not briefed on this."Carefully," I tell him. "The tall one is Napoleon. He tips."He adjusts his grip on Napoleon without comment. I appreciate that.The rest of my things are already loaded — two bags, a medical kit, my laptop case, and my mother's urn wrapped in the grey cashmere scarf I bought in Edinburgh two winters ago because it was the softest thing I'd ever touched and I decided I was allowed one expensive soft thing. I buckle the urn into the back seat first, then the cacti, arranged across the middle seat in the order they've always lived on my windowsill. Napoleon by the window. Julius in the centre. Cleopatra on the inside, nearest the urn, because she's the smalles

ZamirShe smells like green things.Not perfume. It's like flowers and earth but not a specific scent… it's faintly warm, the kind of thing you catch once and then your nose goes looking for it again without asking permission.‘Interesting,’ my wolf says, from wherever he sits when he's paying attention."Eyes on the road," I say, under my breath.‘I am not the one driving.’Audrey is in the passenger seat with the green dress folded across her lap and her gaze on the coastal road, and she has not attempted conversation once since we got in the car, which is — unusual.Every other woman tried to start some kind of conversation. She is sitting next to me, completely unbothered.‘She's not performing,’ my wolf observes.She's not. That is the thing. She is simply sitting there, looking out the window with those grey-green eyes, one hand resting open on her knee like she hasn't got a care in the world, which — given that she spent the afternoon in a holding room after knocking someone unc

Short Hair Lady has a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.Funny how I'm finally getting a good look at her tall, fair skinned frame."Luna, I'm Samantha Caine." She says through her teeth, even though we both know she wants nothing more than to take a swing at me. "You look beautiful.""Thank you," I say pleasantly. "So do you."Her smile stays exactly where it is.The five women behind her are quieter — watchful, taking their cues, the social mathematics of a group that has a leader and knows it. One of them — younger, brown-eyed, with the uncertain expression of someone who hasn't fully committed to the dynamic yet — gives me a small, genuine smile when Samantha turns to organise the procession.Samantha walks beside me, guiding me through a corridor, a turn, and then double doors that Mrs. Pelham holds open as we approach. In the fifteen steps between the turn and the doors, Samantha manages the following: a comment about the dress — “Such a bold choice, green, very brave” — a quest