For the next two hours, Luna played her part. She smiled until her face ached. She made small talk with pack leaders and Council members. She accepted compliments on the gala's decorations, the catering, the live orchestra. She pretended not to notice when Damon and Celeste disappeared together for twenty minutes, returning with her lipstick slightly smudged and his tie askew.
She was the perfect Luna. The perfect prisoner.
At exactly nine o'clock, Damon took the stage at the front of the ballroom and the orchestra fell silent.
Hundreds of wolves turned their attention to the man who'd spent three years destroying Luna while building his political empire.
"Distinguished guests, pack leaders, Council members, friends." Damon's voice carried effortlessly through the room. "Thank you for joining us tonight for this important cause. The Lunar Children's Fund has been my mate's passion project, and I'm proud to say we've raised over two million dollars tonight for wolves in need."
Applause erupted.
Luna stood at the side of the stage, her hands clasped in front of her and her smile fixed in place.
"But tonight isn't just about charity." Damon continued. "Tonight, I'm here to announce my candidacy for the Northern Council. For too long, our territories have been divided, our packs weakened by infighting and outdated traditions. It's time for new leadership. Strong leadership. Leadership that understands the challenges facing modern wolf society."
More applause followed his statement.
Luna watched the crowd, seeing the calculation in their eyes. Damon was young for a Council candidate. Only thirty-two. But he was ruthless, connected, and now mated to a royal bloodline. The Ashford name carried weight, even if the Ashford daughter carrying it was broken.
"My mate, Princess Luna Ashford, has been my greatest supporter in this endeavor." Damon extended his hand toward her. "Luna, join me."
Luna moved forward on autopilot, taking his hand as cameras flashed.
Damon's grip was crushing, a reminder of what would happen if she failed him now.
"Luna comes from one of the most prestigious bloodlines in our history." Damon pulled her close. "Her father, the late Alpha King Theron, was a visionary leader. Her brothers continue that legacy today. And Luna herself embodies the grace, strength, and dedication that our territories need in leadership."
Lies. All lies. But the crowd ate it up, applauding as Damon pressed a kiss to her temple that looked loving but allowed him to whisper: "Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare show weakness. Smile, or I'll make you regret it!"
So, Luna smiled as the rest of the announcement blurred together.
Damon's vision for the Council, his promises of unity and strength, his carefully crafted image of a modern Alpha ready to lead the territories into a new era. Through it all, Luna stood beside him, the perfect accessory, the royal bloodline that legitimized his ambition.
When it was finally over, when the applause died down and Damon released her to accept congratulations from the crowd, she slipped away.
She needed air. She needed space. She needed to remember how to breathe without his hand around her throat.
The estate's gardens were empty, the winter air sharp and clean after the ballroom's oppressive heat.
Luna walked until she reached the fountain at the garden's center, her breath misting in the cold.
Three years. Three years since she'd defied her brothers and chosen Damon Treuman. Three years since Lucien had gripped her shoulders, his eyes pleading, begging her not to do this.
Three years since Luka had investigated Damon's background and found inconsistencies, red flags, warnings she'd refused to hear.
Three years since Rowan had tried to reason with her, explaining that Damon's ambition was dangerous, that his interest in her was too calculated.
Three years since Asher had raised his voice, telling her she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
But she'd been so sure. So certain that what she and Damon had was real, that the connection between them was genuine, that her brothers were just being overprotective.
She'd been twenty-two and in love. Or what she'd thought was love.
Damon had been charming, attentive, everything she'd dreamed of in a mate. He'd courted her properly, brought her flowers, whispered promises of the life they'd build together.
And when her brothers had refused to give their blessing, when they'd tried to forbid the mating, she'd made the worst decision of her life.
She'd cut ties with them.
She'd stood tall and told her brothers they had no right to control her life, that she was choosing Damon, that if they couldn't accept her decision, she didn't need them.
She'd watched Lucien's face crumble, seen the betrayal in Luka's eyes, heard Rowan's voice crack as he'd begged her one last time to reconsider. Asher had been the only one who'd hugged her goodbye, whispering that he loved her and would be there when she needed him.
When, not if.
He'd known. They'd all known.
And she'd been too blinded by what she'd thought was love to see the truth.
Damon had waited exactly three months after their mating ceremony. Long enough to make sure the bond was permanent, long enough to isolate her completely from her family.
Then he'd shown his true nature. The first time he'd hit her, he'd apologized so much, blamed it on stress, promised it would never happen again. She'd believed him because she'd needed to believe him, because admitting the truth meant admitting her brothers had been right.
The second time, there were no apologies.
By the sixth month, she'd realized the horrifying truth. Damon had never loved her. He'd courted the Ashford princess, seduced the royal bloodline, trapped the key to political power.
Every sweet word had been calculated. Every romantic gesture had been manipulation. Every promise had been a lie.
And she'd given up everything for him. Her family, her home, her brothers' protection. All for a man who saw her as nothing more than a stepping stone to the Council.