The Alpha's Abandoned Luna

Seattle was finally clear in May, with golden bands of light slanting through the blinds from the setting sun. The office smelled of coffee and ink as colleagues wrapped up their work. In the distance, Puget Sound shimmered, and the mountain outlines were faintly visible against the sunset.

Elara sat at her desk, her eyes on the screen but her mind long gone. Her fingers traced unconscious circles on the table, and a smile she couldn't suppress tugged at the corners of her mouth. The claims documents spread out on her desk remained untouched; she couldn't read a single word.

She glanced at the time displayed in the lower left corner of her computer, took a deep breath, and quickly began tidying her desk. A small photo frame stood there with a picture of her and Damian, taken last year at Mount Rainier—one of the rare times he wasn't wearing a stern face.

Today was the "Contract Anniversary." Elara and Damian had been bound by their contract for three years. According to the agreement, they had to spend this day together every year—a rule set by the elders of the Darkwood.

On the day they signed the contract three years ago, Damian had said calmly, "I'll come back on this day every year." But she still treated this day as an anniversary, preparing meticulously, fantasizing that this year Damian would be different.

The corridor was carpeted in gray. Jason Ford's office door was half-open, and the sound of a phone call came from inside. His voice was loud—at that moment he was yelling at a client on the other end of the line. Elara's heart raced. She tiptoed past, slipping by like a cat, almost sprinting toward the elevator.

Last week, Elara had been scolded by Jason for leaving early. The man's spit flew everywhere when he yelled. But today, she didn't care. She had to go grab the limited afternoon strawberries—if she was late, they'd all be sold out.

Strawberries were the only fruit Damian would willingly eat. When she first discovered this, she'd been as excited as if she'd won the lottery—finally finding something that could make him show a happy expression.

The parking lot lights were dim, mixed with the smell of gasoline and dirt. Her car was an old one she had driven for six years, its body patched up more times than she could count. Elara sat in the driver's seat, started the engine, and played a playlist she had secretly made for their anniversary.

Elara gripped the steering wheel, her eyes flicking to the plain silver band on her ring finger. It was a token Damian had casually given her on the day they sealed their pact, saying the pack needed this formality. Elara could tell at a glance it wasn't anything valuable, but she still smiled like a fool.

The air in the supermarket was mixed with the scent of bread and the sweetness of flowers. There weren't many people. Elara pushed her shopping cart straight to the fruit section. She picked up a box, inspected it carefully—every piece was plump and bright—and finally selected two boxes she thought were the best.

She went to the meat section to buy beef, then picked out a bottle of red wine and ordered a strawberry cake. At the checkout, Elara glanced at the total on the receipt and sighed inwardly. It came to nearly two hundred dollars—this month's living expenses were going to be tight again.

But thinking of the smile on Damian's face when he ate strawberries, Elara felt it was all worth it. She mentally listed the evening's menu, picturing the lace tablecloth she had thrifted and the new candlesticks laid out on the table—everything came together perfectly in her mind.

Driving from the supermarket past the lake, the setting sun turned the water's surface into molten gold. Elara steered with one hand while turning on the radio with the other, and the music pulled her back to three years ago.

Back then, Elara had just been laid off from her previous company and couldn't even afford the rent. She was like a homeless girl wandering the streets on a rainy night, until Damian stopped beside her and said, "Get in." And she did.

Damian's appearance had felt like a random act of kindness bestowed by the gods in a sudden moment of mercy for Elara.

Werewolves always took mates from their own kind. A human who wasn't even a werewolf was probably considered a disgrace in the eyes of the pack. Elara knew she wasn't his choice, so she kept telling herself that this was merely a fair exchange where each got what they needed.

The car stopped in front of Greystone House. Elara stepped out with a hint of anticipation. The house sat by the lakeside, built in an extremely minimalist, cold style, with almost no personal traces—it was just an insignificant piece of Damian's family estate.

Elara walked barefoot across the floor and turned on the stereo. A deep, low melody slowly flowed out. Damian didn't like music that was too loud or noisy.

She trotted down the hallway to the kitchen, tied on her apron, and began preparing dinner. Steam rose from the stove, and the aroma of beef gradually spread. She took out the tableware from the cupboard, laid the tablecloth, and lit the candles—everything was almost ready.

Elara took out a black velvet box containing a pair of silver cufflinks engraved with the emblem of the Darkwood Pack. She had commissioned a craftsman to make them a month in advance, carefully confirming every detail. She placed the box beside Damian's dinner plate, adjusting the angle to ensure he would see it as soon as he returned.

To have a candlelit dinner ready the moment Damian came back, Elara had lit the candles early and left the lights off. Time slipped by for hours; the sun had long since slipped below the horizon, leaving only the dim shadows cast by the moonlight.

There were no new messages on her phone. She stood by the window and looked outside—the driveway was empty. Elara's heart began to pound. Damian had never been this late without letting her know.

The contract had been signed under the witness of the Wolf Elder, possessing both legal and supernatural binding force. The annual contract day had to be spent together; it was a necessary condition for maintaining the partnership.

The Elder hadn't even looked at her when saying this, which once made Elara feel as if she were signing a livestock sale contract. Damian had sat beside her the entire time with a stern face, not speaking, only signing at the very end.

Over these three years, Damian had indeed kept his word—sometimes early, sometimes late, but never absent. So today he would definitely come back. But... why wasn't he answering the phone?

Elara sat on the sofa, the TV on but muted. She repeatedly opened her phone to check for messages; there were none. Scrolling up, the last message was from three days ago: "On a business trip, back Monday." It was as brief as a handover between two colleagues.

Her fingers began to tremble. She pressed the phone under a throw pillow, forcing herself to think positively: "Damian is the Alpha heir, so being busy is normal. Maybe he's already on the road, and that's why he can't answer the phone..."

The clock ticked around once more. Elara couldn't hold back any longer and dialed Damian's number again. The receiver rang for several minutes before finally being picked up at the last moment. Before she could even speak, she heard music and the clinking of glasses.

"Damian, where are you? It's already eight o'clock—"

Someone was heckling on the other end of the line. Damian's voice came through, as if he were speaking to someone beside him.

"Hold on, let me take this call."

"Is it that human of yours again? Damian, haven't you had enough of her today?"

Lucas's voice came through the phone. She had met this Beta a few times, and every time he'd looked at her as if appraising goods.

"Got scolded by your father just this morning, and now you have to coax your little pet? Hahaha..."

Laughter erupted from the other end of the line, and someone mimicked her voice in a shrill tone.

"Cut it out."

Damian's voice sounded again, tinged with drunkenness, but Lucas wouldn't let it go.

"I'm serious, what are you even after? A human who can't even extend her claws. Every time you bring her to the Full-Moon Gala, the way those Omegas look at you makes me embarrassed for you."

"Honestly, dealing with this kind of contract partner is more exhausting than working overtime, right?"

Damian was silent for two seconds, then said, "It's just once a year."

Lucas laughed loudly: "Right, right, right, just once a year, like turning in homework for the pack. Alright, alright, go back and deal with your—"

Elara didn't finish listening. She hung up the phone, her heart feeling as if it were gripped by a hand, aching so much she couldn't breathe. Then came the shame, burning fiercely through her entire body.

So this was what she was to him—a troublesome obligation he had to deal with. Everything she gave was just "turning in homework." Their conversation looped endlessly in her mind, each repetition like a slap to the face.

In the pack, Omegas had keen senses and great strength, but she was just an ordinary human who couldn't even truss a chicken. Lucas was right—her presence among the pack was like that of a little pet.

Elara recalled how, three years ago, Damian's pen had paused when signing the contract. She had thought he was hesitating, but now she realized he might have been regretting it. Those tender moments were perhaps just her own wishful thinking; his world had never intended to open its door to her.

Elara shoved the cufflinks into the deepest corner of the drawer, then returned to sit on the sofa. She sat there, not knowing how much time had passed.

Suddenly, she felt very hungry—a hollow hunger rising from her stomach. Elara finally stood up from the floor, her feet feeling as if they were stepping on cotton. The carefully prepared dinner had long gone cold. She didn't want to wait any longer.

Elara blew out the candles, leaving only one. She ladled a bowl of beef soup and sat down at the dining table.

The sound of the door lock turning came from the living room, and the door opened. Damian strode into the room, bringing with him the cold wind and the smell of alcohol, dragging muddy prints across the floor. He wasn't wearing a coat, his collar was open, and the corners of his eyes were red.

Besides the smell of alcohol, there was a strange scent on him—the sweet smell unique to an Omega, which she had smelled at the banquet. This meant Damian had been in close contact with that Omega, perhaps just a few hours ago.

"What are you doing?"

He stood there, glanced at Elara, and frowned, displeasure clear in his tone.

Elara looked up at Damian for a moment, but didn't stop.

"Eating."

"I haven't come back yet."

"I know. I thought you weren't coming back."

Damian's frown deepened. This was the precursor to his anger.

"The contract is very clear. Every year on this day, I spend it with you. If I haven't come back, you can't eat first!"

Elara fell silent, recalling the words Damian had said.

"Where did you go?"

"Pack gathering."

Elara breathed in the sweet Omega scent emanating from him, and seeing his expression that showed not a hint of apology, she instantly felt exhausted.

"When I was on the phone, you had it on speaker. I heard what Lucas said. He said you were just humoring me, and your friends were all laughing at me."

Damian paused in his movements, not denying it. He just stood there, looking into Elara's eyes.

After a few seconds, Damian said, "That's just how they talk. You shouldn't mind it."

"What about you? Do you think the same way?"

Damian didn't answer. He ladled a bowl of soup and sat down across from Elara to eat.