Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 74

Chapter 72

Talia’s POV

I step out of the restroom and freeze.

A crowd has gathered near our table–no, near Aeson. My heart lurches into my throat. I push forward, shoving past strangers, my eyes fixed on the small figure crumpled on the

floor.

Aeson. Unconscious. Face covered in red welts. Lips swelling,

turning blue. His small body twitches sporadically, a terrifying sight that makes my blood run cold.

A man is crouched over him, preparing to start CPR.

“No!” The word rips from my throat, raw and desperate. I surge forward, but Imema’s voice cuts through the chaos like

a blade.

“Ms. Perseus, thank God you’re here! Aeson’s condition

is critical–he needs immediate intervention! He might

not survive until the ambulance arrives! Please, let this

professional save him!”

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I ignore her completely, my focus locked on my son. “Stop!

You cannot perform CPR on him–his condition won’t tolerate

chest compressions! You’ll make it worse!”

The man glares at me, resentment and greed warring in his

expression. “I’m a licensed physician. I know exactly what I’m doing. Who are you to interfere with a medical emergency?”

“I’m his mother!” I try to push past him, but Aires’s hand closes around my wrist like a vice–unyielding, painful,

absolute.

“Talia.” His voice is ice, sharp enough to cut. “Stop causing

trouble. Now.”

“Aires, if we wait any longer, he could die!” I’m shaking violently, adrenaline flooding my system, making my voice

tremble. “You have to listen to me–I know his condition

better than anyone!”

Imema steps between us, positioning herself as a barrier. Her voice trembles with manufactured concern, perfectly calibrated to sound desperate rather than manipulative. “Ms. Perseus, I know you’re scared. We’re all terrified. But you’re not a doctor. We can’t risk making things worse through amateur intervention. Please, for Aeson’s sake, let

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the professional handle this.”

“Professional?” I laugh, the sound sharp and desperate, bordering on hysterical. “A real professional would know that CPR is contraindicated for anaphylactic shock! Chest

compressions won’t help him breathe–they could rupture

something, make everything worse!”

The man’s face flushes an ugly red. “The boy can’t breathe- he’s clearly at risk of cardiac arrest! CPR stabilizes him until

emergency services arrive. What’s wrong with that?” His eyes

narrow with sudden suspicion, calculating. “Or maybe you’re just trying to cut in on that hundred million reward. Heard the offer and decided to play expert for a payday.”

Imema’s eyes fill with tears–on cue, always perfectly on cue

-and she presses both hands to her chest in a gesture of

wounded concern. “Ms. Perseus, if this is about the money,

we can give it to you after this man saves Aeson. Please,

don’t let greed cost Aeson his life. He’s just a little boy. He

doesn’t deserve to pay for adult conflicts.”

Aires’s grip tightens painfully, his fingers digging into my flesh. His eyes burn with anger and something else- disappointment? Betrayal? The sickening certainty that I’ve

confirmed his worst beliefs about me. “You abandoned him

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for money. You’ve been caring for another child for payment

while our son waited at home. And now, when he’s dying,

you’re still thinking about money? About what you can gain?”

The crowd turns on me like wolves scenting blood.

“Unbelievable! Blocking a rescue for cash?”

“Lady, every second counts! Let the doctor work!”

“If that boy dies, it’s on you! You’ll be responsible!”

“I’ve never seen such a heartless woman–her own child and

she’s haggling over price!”

Tears blur my vision–not from their accusations, though they

sting, but from fear. Primal, overwhelming fear for my son.

My baby. The child I carried for nine months, nursed through

endless fevers, held during nightmares, loved with every

fiber of my being despite everything.

“Aires, please.” My voice cracks, splinters, breaks. “If that

man touches Aeson, he could kill him. I’m his mother—I know

his condition better than anyone alive! I’ve managed his allergies since he was an infant. Please!”

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He hesitates. I see it–a flicker of uncertainty crossing those

cold features. A crack in the ice.

Imema clutches his arm, sobbing dramatically against

his sleeve. “Aires, please! Aeson’s dying! Look at him—he’s

turning blue! We have to do something, anything! We can’t

just stand here!”

The man waits, torn between greed and the sudden realization that the screaming woman might actually be

telling the truth about being the boy’s mother.

Aires’s jaw tightens. He makes his choice.

“Save my son. Now.”

The man’s hesitation vanishes. A hundred million dollars is

too tempting, too life–changing to resist. He moves toward Aeson with renewed purpose.

“NO!” I scream, lunging forward with every ounce of strength

I possess. “Check his pockets! He carries emergency

medication–an inhaler, a spray! Use it on his nose and

mouth! Two puffs, maybe three! It will stabilize him until the

ambulance arrives! PLEASE!”

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The man pauses. Reaches into Aeson’s pockets.

Empty.

He looks up at me, contempt twisting his features into

something ugly. “There’s nothing here. You’re lying–probably hoping I’d waste precious minutes searching while you figure

out how to position yourself for that reward money.”

Imema’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, quickly masked by

more tears, more sobs, more performance. “Ms. Perseus, I’m begging you on my knees. Please stop this. Aeson doesn’t have much time left. Look at him–he’s not breathing!”

Aires’s grip on my wrist is iron, unbreakable. Imema blocks

my path, a human shield. I’m trapped, screaming inside, while my son turns blue before my eyes.

Something in me snaps.

I shove Imema with all my strength, channeling every ounce of terror and rage into that single motion. She staggers backward, arms flailing, and crashes to the floor with a satisfying cry.

“Imema!” Aires releases me instinctively, reaching for her as 6/8

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she falls.

I sprint to Aeson, shoving the stunned man aside. But hands

grab me–rough hands, determined hands, belonging to

people who smell reward money. The crowd, promised

compensation, has chosen its side.

“Let me go!” I struggle wildly, but there are too many of them.

Three people, four, five–pinning my arms, holding me back.

“I have medicine! His bag–his school bag is under the table!

Let me reach him! PLEASE!”

Imema’s voice rises over the chaos, tearful and commanding,

the perfect blend of victim and authority figure. “Someone stop her! Please! Save the boy–there will be a generous reward for anyone who helps! The man who saves Aeson will

be richly compensated!”

More hands. More bodies blocking me. I’m pinned, helpless, watching a stranger prepare to hurt my son while the woman

who’s destroyed my life orchestrates the tragedy.

“Aeson keeps emergency medication in his bag!” I scream, my voice raw and cracking, tears streaming down my face.

“His blue backpack, it’s under the table! Someone just look!

One person…just check! Please, I’m begging you!” 7/8

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No one listens. The crowd has decided thay I’m the villain, the

greedy wife, the neglectful mother. They’ve heard Imema’s

version, seen her tears, and made their judgment.

Imema stands in front of Aires, a shield between us, her body

language protective and wounded. “Ms. Perseus, when you didn’t come home for weeks, when you ignored Aeson’s calls, when you chose another child over your own son at that kindergarten… did you think about being his mother then? Did you consider his feelings even once?”

The words are knives, perfectly aimed, surgically precise.

They find every crack in my armor.

Aires’s eyes meet mine across the chaos, cold and distant.

Unreachable. He looks at me like I’m a stranger… worse,

like I’m an enemy to the child I have poured every ounce of

myself into.

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