I AM THE LUNA QUEEN
went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Hazel's POV
For a full five seconds, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.
No. No way. That couldn't be him.
I blinked once. Twice. My eyes didn't lie.
Standing before me-half-naked, skin lit by candlelight, muscles shifting under smooth golden skin-was my psychology professor.
"Professor Nicholas?" I whispered again, my voice barely a breath.
He turned fully now, blue eyes piercing into mine with a look so sharp it felt like a blade. But it wasn't the gentle, kind professor who used to smile when I answered a question in class. This man's gaze was cold. Hard. The same eyes, but with something cruel swimming behind them.
My knees wobbled. "What the hell..." I muttered, staring at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Nothing made sense. My heart pounded so fast it almost hurt. The man I'd secretly crushed on for a year-the one who told me once that I "had potential"-was standing here, shirtless, in a king's chamber, looking like sin and damnation rolled into one.
His lips curved slightly, but it wasn't a smile. It was mockery. "Let's get this over with," he said flatly, taking a step toward me.
My breath hitched. "Get... this over with?"
And then it hit me.
The look in his eyes. The palace. The women preparing me.
No.
This wasn't Professor Nicholas.
This was the King.
The Alpha King I was supposed to-oh, God.
I threw my hands up. "Hold your horses!"
He stopped, brows furrowing slightly as if I'd spoken another language.
"What now?" His tone dripped irritation. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
His eyes darkened, voice low and cruel. "You tried to kill yourself to get my attention. You wanted me to touch you, didn't you? You wanted to bear my child."
I stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then the shock burned away-and anger took its place.
"What I want," I snapped, "is for you to stop being a jerk and keep your fucking hands to yourself."
The King froze.
For a heartbeat, his expression was pure disbelief. Then, just as quickly, it vanished-buried under that same cold mask.
I could tell he wasn't used to being spoken to like that. Maybe the real queen never dared.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "What game are you playing now, Hazel?"
My stomach dropped.
Hazel.
That's my name. I don't remember telling anyone my name here.
For a second, my brain short-circuited. Wait-the real queen's name was Hazel too? What the hell kind of twisted joke was this?
I didn't even have time to think because the next thing I knew, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.
I crashed into his chest.
Hard.
The air whooshed out of my lungs as I stared up at him-his jaw tense, his eyes inches from mine. His skin was hot, muscles hard beneath my palms. The scent of him-smoke, forest, and something darker-wrapped around me, dizzying.
For a terrifying second, I forgot everything. The anger. The fear. The reason I was here.
I just... stared.
His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back to my face. "The sooner we do this," he said coldly, "the sooner you can get the hell out of my sight."
And just like that, the spell shattered.
Right. He wasn't my professor. He was a jerk. A King who hated his queen.
I shoved against him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step.
"What makes you think you deserve me?" I demanded, my voice shaking but loud. "What makes you think you deserve to touch me?"
His jaw clenched.
I didn't stop. "Why don't you go to your mistress instead?"
The air in the room changed.
His blue eyes turned to ice. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at me, like he couldn't believe I'd just said that.
"Don't test me," he said, voice dropping an octave, low and dangerous.
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. "Oh, I'm not testing you."
He blinked.
I let my eyes roam over him slowly-from his sharp jaw to his sculpted chest, down to the V line that disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Then I looked back up and said, "I'm just saying it's such a pity. You've got a handsome face and a nice body-but absolutely no brain. What a shame."
For a moment, the room went silent.
Then his expression turned murderous.
The look on his face could have frozen lava. Good thing I wasn't lava.
His voice came out like thunder. "How dare you interrupt me when I speak to you-"
I cut him off, smirking. "Did you forget? I'm your queen. Which means I'm your equal."
The shock on his face was almost funny.
Almost.
He looked at me like I'd just grown a second head. Like he was trying to figure out who the hell was standing in front of him.
"When," he asked slowly, his voice dripping suspicion, "did you get so bold?"
I shrugged. "The moment I realized the King would rather protect his mistress than his Queen."
That hit him. I could see it in the flicker of his eyes.
He scoffed, stepping closer again. The heat coming off his body was unbearable. "I don't care what rubbish is going through your head," he said coldly. "But we're going to consummate this marriage whether you like it or not."
I smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "I'd like to see you try."
Something in his expression shifted-just slightly. His jaw tightened, and the vein in his neck pulsed.
He took another step forward. His voice dropped, darker now. "Get on the fucking bed, Hazel."
I didn't move.
I looked him straight in the eyes.
And then, slowly, deliberately, I said;
"In your dreams."
You may also like
9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
8.7
My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
"I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
9.1
I walked into the wrong hotel room...
To a naked man fresh out of the shower.
Now, I'm pregnant with his baby.
I should've left as soon as I saw him.
He was too beautiful to be real.
I got halfway to the door...
And then he saw exactly what I was trying to hide.
"Who hurt you?" he said when he glimpsed the bruises. "Let me fix it."
I should've said no.
But honestly? I deserve a little luck from the universe.
And if it wants to provide that luck in the form of a gorgeous, six-foot angel of darkness...
Well, I won't turn my nose up at that.
But nothing in this life comes without strings attached.
My angel gives me a night from heaven...
When morning comes, though, he turns into a devil.
And not just any devil.
This devil knows where I'm from.
Who I am.
What I've done.
And he's determined to make me pay for all of it.