Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Respect

Olivia's POV

It has been a week since I got the news of my father's death. My mother claimed she kept it from me because she knew I wouldn't be able to handle it, and maybe she was right. But that didn't make the betrayal any easier to swallow.

She also told me that the triplets had no knowledge of my father's death—that it was their father, the former Alpha, who had given the order. And deep within my heart, I hated him. I hated him for condemning my father to death. How could he order the execution of a man who had been his closest ally? His strongest and most loyal warrior?

For the past week, I had locked myself away in my room, drowning in grief, mourning the man who had been my protector, my guide—my father.

I had not seen the triplets in all that time. Not Anita either. And I was grateful for it. But my solitude had come to an end. Today, I had to resume my duties as Luna, even though the pack refused to see me as one.

Standing before the mirror, dressed in a simple black gown, I stared at my reflection and inhaled deeply. My once-bright eyes were dull, swollen from the countless tears I had shed. My cheeks were hollow from the days I had spent barely eating. But I couldn't afford to appear weak today.

"Are you nervous?" my wolf asked.

I exhaled slowly. "Not really."

Smoothing down my dress, I forced myself to look into my own eyes, finding the strength I needed within them. Enough hiding. Enough mourning. I had already spent a week grieving alone in my room, mourning the loss of my father—the man who had given everything to this pack, only to be killed on the Alpha's orders.

My chest tightened with anger and pain, but I couldn't stay locked away forever. My mother had practically dragged me out of bed this morning, reminding me of my duties as Luna—even if the pack didn't regard me as one. They still expected me to show up and maintain some semblance of leadership, no matter how broken I felt.

Straightening my shoulders, I wiped the stray tear that escaped and headed for the door.

The walk to the pack hall was suffocating. Every step felt like trudging through quicksand, my feet heavy with reluctance. When I finally reached the grand doors, I hesitated, swallowing down the tightness in my throat. Taking another deep breath, I pushed the doors open and walked inside.

The chatter in the hall quieted immediately, and countless eyes turned to me—some filled with disdain, others with indifference. The room was filled with she-wolves, but one face caught my attention almost instantly, and that was Anita. She sat in the front row, her posture regal and confident, dressed in an extravagant emerald green gown that hugged her curves like a queen flaunting her power. Beside her sat a few of her friends, snickering behind their hands.

I bit back the urge to glare at her. Of course, she would be front and center—acting like she was the Luna. I forced myself to hold my head high and moved further inside, ignoring the whispers and murmurs that followed me.

As I made my way to the seat reserved for me on the stage, I caught Anita's mocking smirk and heard her whisper to one of her friends, loud enough for me to hear, "I guess the fake Luna finally decided to show her face."

I ignored her, keeping my expression blank.