Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 143

Chapter 139-1

Talia’s POV

In the hours that follow, I watch Imema swallow her rage and endure. She has no choice. She works alongside Robin, sorting through the medicinal materials, her movements stiff with barely contained fury.

The herbs were harvested from the mountains, and they are tangled with dry branches and thorny vines. Each time Imema gets scratched, she lets out a soft hiss and jerks her hand back, her face crumpling like she might

cry.

The first few times, I almost feel sorry for her… almost.

Robin works steadily beside her, his small hands moving with efficiency even though it’s his first day here. By the time the afternoon wears on, he has sorted three full

batches, and Imema has not finished one.

I keep my head down, grinding herbs into powder, but I’m watching. I see the way her eyes dart toward the door, waiting for someone to rescue her and the way her lip trembles when no one comes.

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We step out of the clinic, and I see Nick immediately. He leans against a sleek sports car, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. He has been waiting.

Imema spots him, and she runs. She dashes toward him like he is her long–awaited savior, her hands reaching out, her voice probably already spilling out every grievance, every scratch, every humiliation. I do not wait to hear it.

I glance at the two of them, then turn away. Robin takes my hand, and we walk in the opposite direction. Even without listening, I know what she is doing. She is lodging her complaint, painting herself as the victim, painting me as the villain. It is what she always does.

***

The next day, I arrive at the clinic. Robin is sitting inside with Jack, sorting through his bottles. I settle into my usual spot and begin grinding.

Imema is not here yet either.

I work in silence, the rhythm of the pestle against mortar steady and familiar. Half an hour passes before I hear 4:00 footsteps, raised voices and Imema’s sobs, loud and

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theatrical, carrying through the doorway like a herald announcing the arrival of royalty.

I set down the pestle and stand.

Nick’s voice booms through the clinic before he even appears. “I am telling you, that stinky old man knows her. Only a total idiot would buy that it has got nothing to do

with her.”

He storms in, his face contorted with rage. Imema follows behind him, her cheeks wet with tears, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She looks so fragile, so wounded and completely innocent.

Nick’s eyes land on me, and his fury focuses like a blade.

“Talia,” he snarls, his voice shaking with anger. “I am telling you, if you ever dare to put Imema on the spot again, I will make you pay.”

Jack looks up from his work, his brows knitting together. He does not seem surprised. He does not even seem concerned. “You are all riled up so damn early in the

morning.” His voice is dry, almost bored. “Got that stinky breath and plugged–up pipes again?”

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finger right at Jack’s nose. His face is twisted, veins standing out on his neck.

“You lousy old man.” His voice is low, dangerous. “I am warning you. If you have got the guts to hurt Imema, I will snap every single one of your bones.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Nick’s gaze swings toward Robin, who has just walked in through the open door, still wearing his backpack. The boy freezes, his eyes going wide.

“And you.” Nick’s lip curls. “You little brat. If you dare to humiliate her again, believe me, I will tear your mouth apart.”

Robin has never encountered anyone like this before. I see it in the way his body starts to tremble, the way his face goes pale. He stumbles backward, his instincts taking over, and hides behind me. His small hands grip the back of my shirt, and I can feel him shaking.

Nick sees the fear he has caused, and something ugly crosses his face. Satisfaction. Pride. He glares at Robin, his expression menacing, his mouth opening to hurl moge

475 threats.

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I do not think. I move.

The coffee cup is on the table beside me. It was brewed for Jack not long ago, and it is still piping hot. I grab it, and I throw it.

The scalding liquid splashes across Nick’s face. He screams, a raw, animal sound that echoes off the walls. “Ahhh! How dare you? You got a death wish?”

X

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