Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 275

Chapter 273

Talia’s POV

The flashbulbs are blinding. Each burst of light sears against my retinas, leaving afterimages that dance across my vision like fireflies. The questions come at me in waves, relentless and cruel, each one designed to cut deeper than the last.

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“Ms. Johnson, who is the man who stayed with you all night?”

“Are you already hunting for a new wealthy sponsor now that you have been discarded?”

“Is this how you plan to support yourself? By latching onto powerful men?”

Discarded. The word echoes in my skull, sharp and venomous. I feel the sting of it, the way it digs into old wounds I thought had healed. Wounds I buried beneath layers of hard work and determination.

But I am not that woman anymore. I am not the quiet housewife who accepted every insult in silence. I am not the woman who bowed her head and let the world walk over her.

And yet, here I am. Surrounded. Trapped. Powerless.

16ßen my mouth to speak, to push back, to defend myself. But57

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no sound comes out. The fever has left me hollow, emptied of strength. My throat is raw, my voice stolen by the illness that still clings to my bones.

My legs tremble beneath me. The world tilts sideways, and I reach out to steady myself against Electra. She wraps her arm around my waist, trying to hold me up, but the reporters push closer, shoving her back.

“Back off!” Electra’s voice is sharp, desperate. “Can’t you see she’s sick?”

But they do not listen. They never listen. They only smell blood.

“Ms. Johnson, is it true you are using your ex–husband’s connections to climb the social ladder?”

“Does your son know you are already dating someone new?”

“Who is this mysterious man? Is he married? Does he have children?”

The questions blur together, a cacophony of cruelty. I cannot breathe. The air is too thick, too hot. The cameras press in from all sides, their lenses like unblinking eyes.

I feel the walls closing in. My vision narrows to a pinpoint of light and noise.

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Chapter 273

I am trapped. Cornered. Powerless.

Then I feel it.

A shift in the air. A drop in pressure, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. The reporters‘ voices falter, their questions dying in their throats. A few of them stumble back, their faces pale, their instincts screaming at them to flee.

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I turn my head, and I see him.

A sleek black SUV has screeched to a halt at the curb. The door

is thrown open, and Aires steps out.

His expression is thunderous. His jaw is tight, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. His presence fills the space like a storm rolling in, dark and unstoppable.

His eyes find mine across the crowd, and something in his gaze makes my breath catch. It is not the cold indifference I have grown used to. It is not the calculated distance he always keeps between us.

It is something else. Something primal.

Protectiveness.

Aires strides toward me, his steps measured, deliberate. The growd parts before him like water before a blade. His Ipha12:57

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Chapter 273

aura pours off him in waves, suffocating and absolute. The reporters shrink back, their cameras dipping, their hands trembling.

He reaches me, and his hand wraps around my wrist. His fingers are warm, unyielding. The heat of his touch seeps through my skin, grounding me in the chaos.

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“Enough.” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “That is already enough.”

The journalists do not move. They cannot. His aura holds them in place, their instincts screaming at them to flee, but their bodies frozen in primal fear.

Aires turns to face them, his eyes cold and unforgiving. “Raymond and Talia’s families are old friends.” His voice is quiet, but it carries absolute authority, “Raymond was merely rendering aid to a patient. Nothing more.”

He lets his gaze sweep across the crowd, and one by one, the reporters drop their gazes. They cannot meet his eyes. They cannot hold his gaze.

“If I see a single line about this in the press, I will personally ensure that every one of you never works in this industry again.”

He does not raise his voice. He does not need to. The threat hangs in the air, absolute and unassailable.

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The reporters scatter. They retreat like shadows fleeing the dawn, their cameras tucked under their arms, their questions forgotten. Within moments, the street is empty.

The silence they leave behind is deafening.

I stand there, trembling, my wrist still caught in Aires’s grip. The world swims around me, slow and unsteady. The fever is still there, burning beneath my skin, but I barely feel it.

I look at him, confusion and grievances warring in my eyes. Why is he here? Why did he help me? After everything he has done, everything he has taken from me, why does he stand here now like a shield?

His thumb brushes against my wrist, a gentle pressure. “Are you alright?”

I do not answer. I cannot. My throat is too tight.

He searches my face, and for a moment, his mask slips. Something flickers in his eyes. Vulnerability, maybe. Or regret.

“Talia.”

The sound of my name on his lips breaks something inside me. The tears I have been holding back want to spill, but I manage to blink them away somehow.

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