The three of us leave the room, and though my feet are moving, my mind feels detached from my body.
Thoughts swirl and collide in my head until they're nothing but noise, and I decide.. no, I force myself, not to think anymore.
If I let myself keep wondering what's happening, why it's happening, and what's coming next, I'll drown right here in the hallway.
So I let the people lead me, drag me, carry me forward through this strange current of events, hoping maybe at some point my brain will catch up and give me answers.
But just outside the door, Hillary stops. It's abrupt enough that my eyes instinctively flick to him, though I quickly drop my gaze.
His shoulders are tense, but his voice.. when it comes, tries to pretend otherwise.
"On second thought, I think it's nothing that no one else can handle," he says, the words clipped at the edges despite his effort to sound measured. "So you go ahead. You must be tired, she should help you settle in."
His tone is… restrained, but not entirely controlled. It's as though there's something sharp underneath he doesn't want anyone to hear.
"Are you sure?" Victoria asks, her voice as smooth as always, that soft sweetness that seems entirely hers.. natural, unforced. Not a crack, not a quiver. If she's faking it, then she's mastered it to perfection.
"Yes," Hillary replies. No warmth, no lingering glance, no smile. He just turns and walks away. A sprint that almost makes it look like he's escaping, fleeing before something bursts out of him.
I keep my head forward and my eyes on the other side, refusing to watch his back disappear down the corridor.
Victoria shifts her attention to the butler trailing behind us. "Shall we?" she says lightly, the words polite but carrying a quiet authority.
"Yes, yes," he answers, almost stumbling over the repetition as he moves quickly to lead the way. His footsteps echo faintly in the long corridor, and we follow him toward what is obviously meant to be Victoria's temporary room until the wedding.
The wedding.
The word pushes its way into my head like an uninvited guest, and even though I've been repeating it to myself all day, the sound of it, his wedding hasn't lost its sting.
By now, I'd have thought the ache would fade a little, that the pain might dull into something numb and harmless. But if anything, it's sharper. Each step toward that reality feels heavier than the last.
We arrive at the room. It's already arranged perfectly.. clean, fresh, and spacious. The air smells faintly of lavender polish.
The bed is large, inviting, draped in thick white linens that gleam faintly in the sunlight pouring through tall windows.
For a second, the sight knocks the breath from me, because it's almost exactly like Hillary's. Same bed size, same soft light, same airy openness.
It drags me backward in time. I see the nights I spent in his room curled in warmth, drifting in that illusion that we belonged to each other.
I see the days when I lingered there even after he'd left, the way his scent stayed in the air like an embrace I didn't have to ask for.
"Thank you," Victoria says suddenly, turning to the butler. Her voice is polite again, light. He bows, murmurs something, and leaves quietly, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
I stand there, unsure of my place in this room. I wait, hands loosely clasped, ready for her to tell me what she wants done. There's nothing to do here.. no sheets to straighten, no dust to sweep. Yet I don't move.
She doesn't speak. Instead, she walks past me to the window. She stands there, her back to me, her face turned toward the view outside.
For a brief second, I think I see her shoulders tremble, but I can't tell if it's from emotion or from holding emotion in.
"Is there something you want me to do?" I ask finally, keeping my voice low but steady. I choose my words carefully, giving her just the amount of respect she's owed.. not more, not less.
I don't use any title. I can't bring myself to call her "Luna." I mean, not when she isn't, even if she clearly will be.
And in that moment, the thought strikes me.. something I've never really let myself notice before.
All this time, when I pictured a life with Hillary, when I dreamt of him marrying me, I imagined being at his side for the rest of my days. But never once did I imagine myself as the Luna of this pack. Not once.
If he had chosen me, if we had married.. that's exactly what I would have been. So why didn't I ever see myself that way? Why didn't I fit that title in my mind? Maybe deep down, I knew. I was never meant to be.
The thought is bitter.
Victoria still hasn't answered my question. She stands motionless at the window, and I start to wonder what's holding her attention out there.
But then, a strange certainty creeps in... maybe she didn't ask for me as a servant for a practical reason. She asked for me for her reason. A reason that has nothing to do with service, and everything to do with what's boiling beneath her calm surface.
When she finally speaks, her voice slices through the silence.
"I was going to leave with my parents after that meeting earlier. It wasn't necessary for me to stay. Just like it wasn't necessary for me to ask the Luna to summon all the servants. It wasn't necessary for me to choose one for myself."
Her tone is unreadable, each word measured. I still can't see her face.
"But," she continues, "I thought… if I asked them to give me just any servant, then they might not give you. So I had to use other ways to make sure it was you."
Her voice doesn't rise, but it doesn't need to. The meaning lands hard enough without volume.
I don't even flinch. This day has already worn me down to the bone. Panic, dread, hurt.. they've all been chewing at me since morning, and now they've dulled into something almost numb.
My heart wants to race, but I hold it still.
She turns toward me at last. Her movements are calm, graceful, but her eyes.. her eyes are sharp and burning.
"You know why you're here, don't you?" she asks.
I meet her gaze and keep my voice even. "Yes. To serve you in any way you need."
She laughs softly, but there's no amusement in it. Only frustration, only quiet anger.
"Aria," she says slowly, "trust me… you don't want to see the side of me that is already resenting you. I'm asking for the last time, and don't play dumb with me. You know why you are here. Don't you?"
And just like that, my heart betrays me. After promising me moments ago it would stay steady, it begins to pound again... loud, fast, and uneven, each beat thudding against my ribs like a warning.