Chapter 8: Vows in the Void
The moon hung low over Silver Lake, its silver light spilling across Luna Harper's tiny balcony like a cosmic spotlight. She stood barefoot, her auburn hair loose, her moonstone pendant glowing faintly against her chest. The air was cool, scented with jasmine and the distant hum of LA nightlife, but Luna's focus was inward. Her ancestor's journal lay open on the wrought-iron table, its pages fluttering in the breeze. The words she'd read a hundred times felt heavier tonight: The vow must be sealed under the stars, heart to heart, or the balance will break. The "star-crossed pact" wasn't just a marriage contract—it was a ritual, a binding of souls to protect their legacies. And according to the journal, Luna and Ethan had until the next new moon—two weeks—to complete it, or her gift would fade, and his empire would crumble.
Luna's fingers traced the faded ink, her heart racing. Ethan's trust was still fragile, forged in the fire of Samantha's betrayal but untested by the pact's deeper demands. Last night's confrontation in his penthouse had changed something, though. His touch, the way his hand had brushed hers, had felt like more than just the pact's pull. It was real, raw, and terrifying. Luna wasn't used to being terrified—not by skeptics, not by Twitter trolls, not even by the men in black SUVs chasing them at Echo Park. But Ethan Caldwell, with his sharp blue eyes and stubborn heart, was a different kind of danger.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. A text from Maya: You alive? Twitter's still a mess, and I heard Sam's out for blood. Luna sighed, typing back: Alive and kicking. Meet me at the shop tomorrow, 9 a.m. Need your witchy vibes. She'd spent the day dodging the #PsychicScam fallout, but Samantha's exposure as the traitor had shifted the narrative. Blogs were now buzzing with speculation about her motives, and Luna's Yelp page was flooded with new bookings—curious fans and skeptics alike. She'd turned a crisis into a spotlight, but the victory felt hollow. The pact's deadline loomed, and Samantha wasn't the type to slink away quietly.
Luna closed the journal, her gaze drifting to the stars. "Help me out here," she whispered. "I'm playing your game, but I need a sign." As if on cue, a shooting star streaked across the sky, bright and fleeting. Luna's lips curved into a smile. "Show-off," she muttered, but her resolve hardened. Tomorrow, she'd convince Ethan to face the pact head-on. No more dodging, no more skepticism. The stars were calling, and they were running out of time.
Ethan Caldwell sat in his office at Caldwell Innovations, the Pacific Ocean a restless gray beyond the windows. It was past midnight, and the building was quiet, the hum of servers the only sound in the empty halls. His laptop was open to the latest audit report, confirming what Noah had found: Samantha's account had been the source of the Orion leak, and the decoy file had sealed her fate. She'd been escorted out by security, her access revoked, but Ethan's relief was tinged with a gnawing ache. Sam was family—his cousin, his confidante through years of boardroom battles and family drama. Her betrayal cut deeper than he'd admit, even to himself.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. Luna's words kept circling in his head: The pact ties us together—your empire, my gift. He didn't believe in cosmic contracts or mystical vows, but he couldn't deny the evidence piling up. Luna had predicted the GreenWave crisis, called the leak, and outplayed Samantha at her own game. She wasn't just a quirky fortune-teller—she was sharp, strategic, and unnervingly accurate. And then there was the way she looked at him, like she saw through his walls to the man beneath. It was disarming, and Ethan Caldwell didn't do disarmed.
His phone buzzed with a text from Noah: Luna wants to meet tomorrow, 9 a.m. at her shop. Says it's about the pact. You going? Ethan's thumb hovered over the screen. He'd agreed to work with her, to trust her instincts, but this pact business was pushing his limits. A ritual? A vow? It sounded like something out of a fantasy novel, not his reality of algorithms and boardrooms. Still, he couldn't shake the spark he'd felt on his balcony last night—the way her hand in his had felt like a tether, grounding and electric all at once.
He typed back: I'll be there. Keep digging on Sam's contacts. She's not done. He set the phone down, his gaze drifting to the ocean. Luna Harper was trouble, but she was also the only one who'd seen this storm coming. And like it or not, he needed her.
The next morning, Stellar Insights was a haven of calm amidst the chaos of Melrose Avenue. The neon sign buzzed softly, casting a pink glow over the shelves of crystals and star charts. Luna stood behind the counter, her white blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans, her auburn hair pulled into a loose braid. Maya was already there, sprawled on a beanbag with a matcha latte, her phone buzzing with notifications. "You're trending again," she said, grinning. "Half the internet thinks you're a hero, half thinks you're a mastermind. Either way, you're killing it."
Luna laughed, but her eyes were on the door. "As long as Ethan shows, I don't care what Twitter thinks." She'd spent the morning preparing, her ancestor's journal open on the counter, a fresh tarot spread laid out: The Star, The Lovers, The Wheel of Fortune. Hope, connection, and change. The cards were clear, but her heart was a tangle of nerves and hope. Convincing Ethan to embrace the pact's ritual would be her biggest challenge yet.
The door chimed, and Ethan walked in, his black sweater and jeans a departure from his usual suits. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man wrestling with something bigger than himself. Noah trailed behind, clutching a coffee and his ever-present tablet. "Morning," Ethan said, his voice low but warm. His eyes met Luna's, and that spark flared again, making her breath catch.
"Morning," Luna said, her smile steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "Ready to dive into the cosmic deep end?"
Ethan's lips twitched. "Not sure I'll ever be ready for that. But I'm here. Talk."
Luna gestured to the small table in the corner, where the journal and tarot cards waited. "The pact," she said, her voice firm. "It's not just about marriage. It's a ritual—a vow under the stars, to balance our legacies. My gift, your empire, they're tied together. If we don't seal it by the new moon, we lose everything." She opened the journal, pointing to a passage. "Celeste and William performed it in 1890, under a lunar eclipse. It bound their families, kept the balance. We have to do the same."
Ethan's brow furrowed as he read, his fingers brushing the page. "This is… a lot," he said. "You're saying we have to do some kind of ceremony? What, like a wedding?"
Luna's laugh was soft, but her eyes were serious. "Not exactly. It's a vow of partnership—heart to heart, not just a ring. It's about trust, Ethan. You trusting me, me trusting you. The stars don't care about paperwork." She paused, her voice softening. "I know it sounds crazy, but you felt it, didn't you? That pull between us?"
Ethan's gaze locked on hers, and for a moment, the room faded away. "I felt something," he admitted, his voice low. "But I don't know if it's fate or just… you." The words hung between them, heavy with possibility. Luna's heart raced, but she kept her composure, her Gemini moon keeping her playful even as her Aquarius sun burned with purpose.
"Then let's find out," she said, sliding a tarot card across the table: The Lovers. "This is us, Ethan. A choice. We do this together, or we lose it all."
Before he could respond, Noah's tablet pinged, his face paling as he read the screen. "Uh, boss? We've got a problem. TechTrend just posted a teaser for a new AI—looks like Orion, but they're claiming it's theirs. And… there's an email circulating. It's got Luna's name on it, saying she sold them the specs."
Luna's blood ran cold. "That's impossible," she said, her voice sharp. "Samantha's framing me again." She grabbed Noah's tablet, scanning the email. It was forged, but convincing—her name, her shop's email domain, even a fake signature. Samantha hadn't just slunk away; she'd doubled down.
Ethan's eyes darkened, but he didn't pull away. "This ends now," he said, his voice steel. "Noah, trace that email. Luna, you're with me. We're going to find Sam."
Samantha Caldwell sat in a dimly lit bar in Downtown LA, the kind of place where nobody asked questions. Her contact, "T," sat across from her, a wiry man in a hoodie who smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. "The email's live," he said, his voice low. "It's pinned to Harper's IP. Caldwell's team will eat it up."
Samantha's smile was cold, her manicured nails tapping her martini glass. "Good. She's done. And Ethan will come crawling back." She'd lost her access to Caldwell Innovations, but she wasn't out of moves. The forged email was her final play, a way to bury Luna and reclaim her place in Ethan's world. She'd always been the one he turned to—until that psychic showed up.
T leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You sure about this? If Caldwell digs deeper, he'll find the real trail. It leads back to you."
Samantha's smile didn't waver. "He won't dig. He's too busy chasing his destiny." She sipped her martini, her confidence unshaken. But deep down, a flicker of doubt stirred. Luna Harper wasn't going down easy.
Luna and Ethan stood in the parking lot of Caldwell Innovations, the night air cool against their skin. Noah was inside, working with the IT team to trace the forged email, but Luna's intuition was screaming. She pulled her tarot deck from her bag, shuffling on instinct. "One card," she said, her voice steady. "For clarity." She drew The Tower—upheaval, sudden truth. "Samantha's not alone," she said, her eyes meeting Ethan's. "There's someone else pulling strings. Someone bigger."
Ethan's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Then we find them. Together." He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, and the spark between them flared, brighter than ever. Luna felt it—the pact, the stars, their hearts aligning. But The Tower warned of a price, and she wasn't sure they were ready to pay it.
They climbed into his Tesla, speeding toward Downtown LA, where Noah's trace had pinged Samantha's last known location. The city blurred past, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. Luna clutched the journal, her mind racing. The pact's ritual was their only hope, but it required trust—complete, unflinching trust. And with Samantha's final play unfolding, that trust was about to be tested.