The Unwanted Luna's Defiant Second Chance

Alys POV:

A few days after Darius's departure, my mother decided I needed a distraction.

"Just a small garden party, darling," Catherine had said, her voice laced with a determined cheerfulness. "Fresh air and the company of your friends will do you good."

So here I was, standing by the ornamental lake in our family's sprawling gardens, a glass of untouched lemonade in my hand. The party was in full swing behind me—the light chatter of young noblewomen, the clink of glasses, the soft strains of a string quartet.

My best friend, Isabelle Beaumont, stood beside me, her brow furrowed with worry. Her fiery red hair was a stark contrast to my own pale blonde.

"He's an absolute brute, Alys," she muttered, her voice low and furious. "An Alpha he may be, but he has the manners of a rogue. To treat you like that... in your own home!"

I managed a weak, bitter smile. "It's just his way, Izzy."

"Well, his way is appalling," she huffed, fiercely loyal.

I knew she meant well, but her anger couldn't touch the deep, cold numbness inside me. The rejection still stung, raw and fresh, and I had no idea what to do about it.

The whispers started. A small group of girls, huddled near a rose bush, cast furtive glances in my direction. Their voices were low, but in the still afternoon air, words drifted.

"...heard he has a woman in the North..."

"...a commoner, some say, but he's utterly devoted..."

"...that's why he never brings Lady Alys to the Vanderbilt estate. Can you imagine the scandal?"

Each word was a poisoned dart. I had heard such rumors before, but I never knew if they were true. Still, they cut deep—because deep down, I feared they might be. The thought of Darius caring for another woman while I remained a duty-bound stranger to him was almost unbearable.

The air grew thick, unbreathable. My lungs felt tight, my stomach churning with a sick mix of old pain and fresh humiliation.

"I need some air," I murmured to Isabelle, setting my glass down.

I escaped the main party, walking down a secluded stone-paved path that wound along the edge of the lake. It led to a small, elevated stone platform, a sort of private balcony overlooking the deepest part of the water. The late autumn sun glittered on the surface, deceptively peaceful.

I gripped the cold stone balustrade, my knuckles white. The whispers, the crushing weight of my fate—it was all too much. A wave of dizziness washed over me.

"Lady Kensington?"

The voice behind me was soft, deferential. "You look pale. May I fetch you a glass of water?"

I turned. A young woman in a servant's uniform stood there, her face a mask of gentle concern. I vaguely recognized her—Brandi Hicks, a distant cousin on my mother's side, taken in by the family and given a position in the household. Something about her face made me uneasy, a flicker of discomfort I couldn't place, but I dismissed it as nerves.

"Thank you, Brandi," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm quite alright." I needed to leave. Now.

I turned to walk past her, back toward the safety of the party. But she stepped into my path, her smile never wavering.

"It's a shame what they're saying," she said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Those gossiping hens. The Alpha is a great man. He would never be unfaithful to you."

Her eyes, however, held a glint of something sharp and malicious. She was enjoying this. She was twisting the knife.

I just gave her a cold look and tried to move around her.

As I brushed past, her body "stumbled." It was a clumsy, theatrical movement, but the hand that shot out was anything but accidental. It slammed into the center of my back with brutal, shocking force.

My breath left me in a whoosh. My feet left the ground. For a horrifying, weightless second, I was airborne, my body tipping backward over the low balustrade.

The last thing I saw was Brandi's face. The mask of concern had vanished, replaced by a triumphant, ugly sneer.

Then the world became a rush of green and blue before the icy shock of the water hit me.

It was a physical blow, knocking the last bit of air from my lungs. The cold was a living thing, seeping into my bones, paralyzing me. My heavy dress dragged me down, a silken shroud pulling me into the dark, silent depths.

I thrashed, but my limbs were sluggish, useless. Panic clawed at my throat. Water filled my mouth, my nose. My vision blurred. The cheerful music of the party became a distorted, underwater thrum.

And then, the memories came—not vague premonitions, but a complete, brutal flood. I saw it all: this was not my first life. I had already lived this exact timeline once before. I had drowned in this very lake, been pulled out half-dead, then sent away to Rosewood Cottage on the Vanderbilt estate. Darius had visited me only once, his eyes cold with annoyance at the trouble I had caused. I had wasted away for years, lonely and forgotten, until I died at twenty-four with no one by my side.

I remembered every tear, every humiliation, every slow, bitter year of my exile. And suddenly, I understood why I had felt so unsettled all along— that nagging sense that I had heard those whispers before, were not imagination.

They were echoes of a life I had already lived.

The Moon Goddess had sent me back, but the memories had been locked away until the very moment I nearly drowned again. Now they were mine, sharp and unshakeable.

Darkness consumed me.

A violent cough wracked my body.

I gasped, spitting out a lungful of foul lake water. I was on my back, on the grass, the sky a dizzying blue above me.I saw a blurry figure swaying in front of me. The impact of falling into the water made it impossible for me to make out who it was; I could only make out that it was a man's figure. Then, my father pushed the blurry figure aside.

"Alys! Alys, thank the Goddess!"

My father's face swam into view, his features tight with terror. He was patting my back, his movements frantic. People were screaming. Isabelle was sobbing my name.

My mind was a maelstrom. Two lives, two timelines crashed together. The full memory of my death, and the full memory of my life leading up to this exact moment. They weren't separate anymore. They were one. I was whole—and I now knew that I had been reborn from the start of this life, though I had not understood it until this moment.

A shudder went through me, so violent it felt like my bones were rattling. It wasn't from the cold. It was from the sheer, terrifying power of the knowledge I now possessed.

The Moon Goddess hadn't just given me a second chance. She had waited until the moment of my first death to unlock the memories I needed to avert my second one.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, my wet hair plastered to my face. My gaze swept through the panicked crowd, past my crying mother, past my terrified friends.

My eyes locked onto a single figure.

Brandi Hicks. Standing there, her hands pressed to her mouth in a perfect pantomime of shock, her face pale with feigned horror.

But I could see the flicker of fury and fear in her eyes. Her plan had failed. I was alive.

This time, I knew who my enemy was. I knew her motive—I had accidentally stumbled upon her affair with a married groundskeepers, and she had silenced me. And this time, I knew exactly what I had to do. I would not repeat the same steps. I would expose her here, in front of everyone, before she could twist the story.

Ignoring my mother's frantic cries, I lifted a trembling, water-logged hand. I pointed directly at Brandi.

My voice was a raw, ragged whisper, but in the sudden hush, it carried across the lawn like a death sentence.

"It was her," I choked out. "She pushed me."