Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 302

Chapter 299

Aires’ POV

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Weeks pass over the city like a slow, agonizing blur of grey mornings and sleepless, hollow nights. The legal execution of my vengeance is entirely complete. Imema is completely ruined, stripped of her status, and locked away in a high-security cell to await her final tribunal sentencing. Her name is a foul word in the streets, and the Nelson family empire has been thoroughly dismantled by the corporate courts.

But as I sit alone in my massive, silent study at the pack mansion, I find absolutely no peace. The purging of the vipers has done nothing to quiet the roaring, desperate storm tearing through my soul.

Every single hour of the day, the haunting phantom melody of Talia’s piano masterclass rings loudly inside my mind. It is a constant, agonizing reminder of the life-saving angel I systematically discarded for years. My wolf claws relentlessly at my chest from the inside, its instincts completely broken, howling into the empty dark because our true mate is no longer ours to protect. The guilt is a living, breathing monster in my throat, choking out my air until I can barely command 2

my own pack

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In a frantic, desperate bid to salvage a single shred of

her grace, I flood Talia’s independent estate with every luxury my Alpha status can command. I send fleets of

pristine delivery vehicles to her avenue, packing them to the brim with thousands of rare, midnight-blue roses

-the exact shade of the silk dress she wore when she

conquered the gala. I dispatch my personal assistants to

purchase priceless, antique silver metronomes, hand-bound

classical manuscripts from the capital’s oldest archives, and

diamond-encrusted jewelry that could buy a small town.

Along with every single gift, I place a heavy, cream-colored

envelope containing a handwritten letter. My fingers, which

once signed her exile without a second thought, now tremble violently as I spill my bleeding heart onto the paper, begging,

pleading, and crying over the text for a single, five-minute

conversation. I am entirely ready to crawl down her garden

path on my knees if it means she will let me hear her voice

just once.

“Did she take the letters, Bruno?” I ask, my voice a raw,

breathless whisper as my Beta steps into the study.

Bruno looks down at his boots, his posture heavy with a deep,

professional pity. “They didn’t even pass the perimeter line,

Alpha.”

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I drop my head into my hands, the terrifying, hollow truth hardening into a permanent fixture in my chest: I can destroy her enemies, I can buy the rarest treasures in the world, but my wealth and my tears are completely powerless against

the ice of her silence.

Talia’s POV

The bright morning sun floods my spacious, white-walled living room, illuminating the polished black wood of my new grand piano. The air inside my independent estate is entirely

clean, smelling of fresh mint tea, vanilla polish, and old

sheet music. From the hallway, I can hear the soft, cheerful laughter of Aeson and Robin as they work through their morning geometry lessons on the rug. My kingdom is finally peaceful, authentic, and completely secure.

I walk out onto my glass veranda, a porcelain mug cradled in my palms, and look down at the tall, reinforced iron security

gates at the edge of my property.

Outside the boundary line, a fleet of three sleek, black delivery vans is idling by the curb. A team of couriers dressed

in expensive corporate uniforms is currently scrambling

around the pavement, their arms completely overflowing with massive, exquisite arrangements of rare midnight-blue Poses, gold-wrapped gift boxes, and thick, cream-colored

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But they cannot take a single step forward.

Every single delivery is turned away at the gate by the heavy-set security guards standing on the threshold. The guards move with a rigid, completely unyielding precision, keeping their hands resting firmly on their tactical belts as they offer the frantic couriers a cold, definitive rejection. They don’t check the tags. They don’t look at the handwritten envelopes. Under my strict, permanent orders, absolutely nothing bearing the name or the signature of the Alpha mansion is permitted to cross my perimeter line.

I take a slow, calm sip of my hot tea, my expression remaining completely neutral as I watch the delivery vans slowly throw their gears into reverse, driving away down the avenue with their useless treasures.

I don’t feel a single spark of anger as I watch them go. I don’t feel a lingering sense of petty satisfaction or spite. There is only a profound, freezing numbness inside my chest whenever Aires tries to thrust his desperate remorse into my world. He thinks that by flooding my lawn with rare flowers and expensive jewelry, he can somehow buy a pathway back

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