He Chose Glass Over His Diamond Luna

Katarina POV:

Aria blinked. "What?"

"I said no."

"I'll ruin you!" she shrieked. "Everyone will see you begging!"

"Let them see," I said, my voice trembling not with fear, but with rage. "Let them see what kind of man films his suffering wife instead of holding her."

I didn't wait for her response. I raised my hand and slapped her.

It wasn't a polite slap. It was a Luna's strike. My palm connected with her cheekbone with a crack that echoed over the gentle string quartet music.

Aria flew backward, crashing into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne. Glass shattered. Liquid sprayed everywhere.

The music stopped. The room went dead silent.

Aria lay on the floor, clutching her face. Blood trickled from her lip.

"She hit me!" Aria screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "The Luna is crazy! She attacked me!"

Alessandro came running. Of course he did.

He pushed through the crowd, looking from me to the weeping Rogue on the floor.

"Katarina!" he roared, his Alpha voice booming. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Ask her what she showed me, Alessandro," I said, my voice cold steel. "Ask her about the video."

Alessandro paled. He knew exactly what I meant. For a second, I saw shame in his eyes.

But then he looked at Aria, sobbing on the floor, looking small and broken. The Savior Complex took over.

"You are out of control," he spat at me. "Apologize."

"Never."

Suddenly, the massive screen behind the main stage flickered. The logo of the Summit disappeared.

Static buzzed through the speakers.

"Oh no," Aria whispered, her eyes widening. She hadn't sent it. She was still holding her phone.

But someone else had.

The video played.

It was massive. Ten feet high. My face, twisted in the agony of Heat, filled the room. My voice, begging for my husband, echoed off the walls.

Please... Alessandro... it hurts...

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Wolves covered their mouths. This was taboo. This was like broadcasting a surgery or a prayer. It was deeply, violently private.

I stood frozen. I felt naked. I felt the eyes of three hundred wolves stripping me bare.

Alessandro stood there, watching the screen. He didn't move to cut the power. He didn't roar in anger. He just watched, a flicker of twisted satisfaction on his face. See? his expression said. Now you are humble.

I couldn't breathe. The shame was a physical weight, crushing my lungs.

Then, the air changed.

A scent hit me. It wasn't vanilla or musk. It was ozone. Rain on hot asphalt. The smell of a hurricane making landfall.

CRASH.

A heavy oak chair sailed through the air. It smashed into the center of the LED screen, shattering the panels.

The video died in a shower of sparks and broken plastic.

A growl erupted from the back of the room. It was so deep, so primal, that the glass in the windows rattled.

A man stormed onto the stage.

He was huge. Taller than Alessandro. Broader. He wore a black suit that strained against his muscles. His hair was dark, his eyes the color of molten amber.

Julian Moreau. The Alpha of the Northern Pack. Our enemy.

He stood in front of me, placing his massive body between me and the crowd. He faced the room, his lips pulled back to reveal elongated canines.

"If anyone," Julian roared, his voice layered with a power that made the floorboards vibrate, "looks at her again, I will gouge their eyes out!"

The silence was absolute. Even the other Alphas shrank back. This was a threat from a predator who had no leash.

Julian turned to me.

For the first time, our eyes met.

ZAP.

It wasn't a spark. It was a lightning strike. The moment I looked into his amber eyes, the world tilted. My heart slammed against my ribs-thump-thump-thump-so hard it hurt.

My wolf, Winter, lunged against my ribcage. MATE! she howled. MATE!

I gasped, staggering back. It couldn't be. I was married. I was bonded.

But the scent... the storm and sandalwood... it flooded my senses, drowning out the shame, drowning out the pain. It felt like coming home.

Julian didn't touch me. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm and smelled like him.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice rough but incredibly gentle.

I nodded, mute.

He wrapped an arm around my waist-not touching skin, just the fabric-and practically lifted me off the ground.

"We are leaving," he announced to the room.

He walked me through the crowd. People parted like the Red Sea.

Alessandro stood in our path, his mouth open, his face a mask of shock.

Julian didn't even slow down. He shouldered Alessandro aside with enough force to make my husband stumble.

We walked out into the cool night air, leaving the wreckage of my reputation behind.