Chapter 4 The Banquet

In the early days of her marriage, Mona found herself settling into something that resembled normalcy at least on the surface. The estate, sprawling and intimidating, became more familiar with each passing day. Every hallway, every gilded door, every silence was imprinted into her bones. But she refused to let it swallow her.

She was Luna now. And a Luna had responsibilities.

Each morning, she dressed not only with Modesty & beauty but purpose. Her calendar was full meetings with hospital directors, visits to the orphanages, oversight of food and shelter allocation to struggling families on the outskirts of the pack lands. She held court with pack officials, worked with the education board on improving the village schools, and met quietly with healers about recent cases of abuse or neglect.

She didn't twiddle her thumbs. She worked.

Mona was a Luna who walked the territory in heels and carried her pain like a diamond blade. Children adored her. Nurses smiled at her. Omegas whispered blessings behind her back. Wherever she went, she left the faint scent of jasmine and strength.

"She's... different," an elder muttered during one of the first pack council meetings. "There's something regal about her."

"She listens," someone else said. "Actually listens."

Still, the weight of the mansion remained. No matter how many visits she made, how much good she tried to do, Mona returned each evening to the silence of luxury and the cold absence of love.

Alex, when he appeared, remained respectful distant and calculated. Every few nights, he returned after dinner and requested her company. Mona, ever graceful, never refused. But the intimacy was shallow, always rushed. No foreplay. No passion. Five minutes, maybe less. Then a soft kiss to her forehead and the familiar zip of his trousers.

He would leave, always to "go back to work."

She never asked questions. But the hurt, like clockwork, returned the moment the door shut.

She would cry into her silk pillows, clutching the warmth that was never hers.

Unbeknownst to her, Alex never finished with her. He faked his release, zipped up, kissed her out of politeness, and walked away only to head to the first floor where his true mate. There, he would complete what he had only pretended to begin. There, his passion was real.

But soon Mona would find out.

Some months later Lisa Hobbs and Angie Leroy the wives of Beta John Hobbs and Gamma George Leroy swept into her room with coordinated dresses and urgent energy.

"Tonight's the banquet," Lisa said, tossing a shimmery gold dress onto Mona's bed. "You're going to need to wear this."

"It's from that boutique in SoHo," Angie added. "We had it altered to fit exactly."

The three of them had been spending time together. Angie and Lisa, both from a northern pack, had found mates in the Beta and Gamma during a political summit. Their friendship with Mona had become her only safe place in the house.

That afternoon, they'd stolen her away for a full day out. Shopping. Cinema. Moroccan lunch. She laughed, actually laughed not while watching a silly romantic comedy. She tried on silk scarves, teased Lisa about her shoe addiction, and held Angie's hand when a homeless child asked Mona to bless his drawing.

"You're glowing," Lisa said as they got ready. "Honestly."

Mona smiled faintly. "You're both good for me."

In private, while Mona changed, Lisa whispered, "I want to tell her. About Nicci. About everything."

Angie hesitated. "We're not supposed to-"

"She deserves to know," Lisa snapped. "If you were in her place, wouldn't you want someone to tell you?"

Angie looked down. "Of course I would."

"Then maybe... tonight."

The banquet was everything opulent. Gold chandeliers. Live orchestra. Alphas and Lunas from every region in attendance. Mona's dress was silk gold with a modest neckline and a dramatic slit up the side. It shimmered as she moved. Her hair was swept up. Her lips painted in soft rose.

She was grace itself.

"Look at her," someone murmured. "She's born for this."

"She's powerful."

"She's his Luna now."

At the head table, Mona sat beside Alex. He barely touched her. Beta John Hobbs and Gamma George Leroy sat nearby with their wives. Conversation was lively art, fashion, AI developments, cinema trends in Upper East Manhattan. The women praised the paintings in the banquet hall.

"You know," Lisa said over her wine, "they remind me of a mysterious artist I follow. Their initials are just M.S."

Mona smiled. "Interesting."

Lisa studied her. "Ever painted?"

"A little. In school."

Angie smirked. "I think you've got secrets."

Mona just sipped her wine.

By the second course, she needed air.

"I'll be right back," she said softly.

The hallway outside the restrooms was hushed and gleaming. Gold sconces cast a warm glow on the marble floors.

As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with him.

He was stepping out of the men's restroom, tall and striking in a black suit, no tie. Dark eyes, brooding. Controlled. Ancient power rolled off of him like heat.

She gasped softly, brushing his arm by accident.

The jolt hit her like a thunderclap.

Mate.

She froze.

He didn't.

Alpha Greyson's eyes met hers calmly, knowingly.

"Luna Mona," he said. "Forgive me. I didn't see you there."

Her breath caught. Her wolf stirred violently, clawing to the surface.

"I... it's alright. And you are...?"

"Alpha Greyson of the Black Summit Pack," he said, his voice like silk-wrapped steel. "Here on council business."

A beat of silence passed.

"I see," she whispered.

He stepped aside politely. "You look radiant."

She nodded, still stunned. "Thank you."

Their eyes met for one more moment longer than appropriate.

Then he walked past her, his scent lingering.

Mona stood still in the hall, shaken to her soul.

She didn't yet understand it.

But she would.

Because now, the real story had begun.