Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 290

+2 Bonus

Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 287

Talia’s POV

The cold midnight air bites sharply against my skin the moment I step out of the independent recording studio. After forty-eight hours of continuous, exhausting practice, the silence of the empty streets feels heavy, almost oppressive. The city is completely asleep, the towering concrete buildings looming over the pavement like dark, quiet sentinels. I wrap my light woolen coat tighter around my shoulders, my silver heels clicking rhythmically against the asphalt, echoing through the desolate neighborhood.

My body is entirely drained, every muscle aching from the sheer physical toll of polishing my mother’s unreleased masterpiece. Yet, beneath the exhaustion, a deep sense of calm anchors my mind. The breakthrough concert is finally fully prepared.

I walk down the dim pavement, the pale glow of the flickering streetlamps casting long, swaying shadows ahead of me. The walk toward the main transit line is long, cutting through an isolated, quiet stretch of the city, but I don’t mind the solitude. It gives me time to let the remnants of the music settle in my soul.

As I approach the edge of the commercial district, I decide to call Electra to let her know I am finally heading home. I halt beneath a buzzing streetlamp and unzip my handbag, my fingers sweeping through the interior to pull out my device.

17:00

+2 Bonus

Chapter 287

My hand brushes against keys, a compact mirror, and loose papers. Nothing else.

A sudden, cold jolt of absolute panic surges straight through my chest, making my breath hitch. I open the bag wider, frantically digging through every small pocket, my heart beginning to hammer violently against my ribs.

No. No, please, not right now.

A vivid image flashes behind my eyelids, freezing my movements entirely. The phone is sitting right on top of the studio’s grand mixing console, right next to the printed lyric sheets, completely left behind in my haste to exit. I am entirely cut off. The soundproof studio door is locked from the inside, and the building is empty. There is no way to turn back, no way to call Raymond, and no way to page a driver to fetch me from

these dark streets.

I swallow hard, forcing down the rising wave of vulnerability that threatens to cloud my judgment. I pull my coat tighter and pick up my pace, my heels striking the pavement faster. I just need to reach the main transit intersection. Once I am in a well-lit area, I can easily hail a public cab or find a late-night shop to use a phone.

I push forward, my leaden legs forcing me into the gloomy, poorly lit industrial zone of the city. This area is notorious for its

2/6

1 17:00

+2 Bonus

Chapter 287

lack of municipal upkeep; the streetlamps here are completely broken, leaving massive stretches of the road cast in pitch-black shadows. The only illumination comes from the distant, dirty yellow haze of a nearby freeway overpass.

I enter the wide, empty expanse known as the 12th intersection. The air here feels different-colder, thicker, and dripping with an unsettling stillness that makes the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My instincts scream at me to run, to turn around and find another route, but there are no alternative pathways through this grid of abandoned warehouses.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening screech of tearing rubber tears through the quiet night.

Before I can even turn my head, a blinding, thunderous flash of high-beam headlamps explodes directly into my face, completely searing my retinas. I gasp, throwing my arm up to shield my eyes from the piercing, violent glare. The intense light leaves massive, swimming afterimages dancing across my vision, rendering me completely blind for several agonizing seconds.

The heavy, metallic roars of powerful engines echo off the concrete warehouse walls.

Three large, unmarked black cargo vans swerve violently onto the road from different side alleys, their frames cutting off all pathways with calculated, terrifying precision. The first van

gs onto the curb right in front of me, blocking my forward7:00

00 +2 Bonus

Chapter 287

path. The second and third vehicles slide horizontally across the asphalt behind me, completely sealing my escape routes and trapping me in a tight, inescapable triangle of steel and blinding light.

My breath traps painfully in my throat, a suffocating terror paralyzing my limbs.

The heavy sliding doors of all three vans are thrown open simultaneously with a harsh, metallic rattle. Instantly, a small army of large, imposing figures spills out into the blinding glare of the headlamps.

Twenty heavily armed, menacing mercenaries step out onto the asphalt, their movements synchronized and completely ruthless. They wear dark, unmarked tactical gear, their faces hidden behind grim balaclavas, their eyes reflecting the cold, predatory hunger of professional killers. They carry thick iron pipes, heavy hunting knives, and concealed firearms at their tactical belts. They don’t look like common street thugs or opportunistic thieves; they move like a disciplined unit executing a precise, paid contract.

“Well, well. Look what we have here,” a tall, heavily scarred mercenary grunts from the front line, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that makes my blood run dead cold. He slides a thick metal crowbar through his gloved palms, a disgusting, malicious. chuckle escaping his throat. “The boss wasn’t lying. She really is apretty little thing when she’s trapped.”

1 17:00

-2 Bonus

< Chapter 287

I take a frantic step backward, my silver heel catching on a crack in the broken concrete. stagger slightly, my hands flying out to catch my balance as I stare at the overwhelming wall of men closing the circle around me. The space is shrinking with every second, the twenty mercenaries stepping forward in perfect unison, cutting off any desperate illusion of flight.

“Please,” I force my voice to come out, though it sounds small, trembling, and entirely hollow against the massive concrete expanse. I raise my hands, keeping them visible, trying desperately to find a shred of leverage. “If you want money, my purse has corporate cards. Take the bag. Take whatever value you want, just let me walk away.”

The lead mercenary scoffs, a sharp, ugly sound of pure derision that cuts through the hum of the idling van engines. He steps directly into the center of the light, his eyes narrowing into cold, vicious slits as he looks me up and down with an explicit, stomach-turning entitlement.

“We don’t care about your little purse, Ms. Johnson,” he sneers, his voice dripping with an absolute, predatory malice that makes my heart drop straight into a freezing void. “The sum we are being paid to destroy you makes your little corporate cards look like pocket change. The client was very specific about the terms of this contract. You aren’t supposed to walk away from here with your spirit intact.”

5/6

7

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify