Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 77

Talia’s POV

Imema lowers her head, shoulders trembling with manufactured guilt. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea there were nuts in the cake filling. I would never have ordered it if I’d

known.”

Aires’s voice cuts in, impatient, defensive. “Talia, stop

targeting her. She didn’t know. Aeson saw what you were

eating and insisted on ordering the same. This isn’t Imema’s

fault.”

I turn to stare at him, letting him see the full weight of my

contempt. “She didn’t know. Fine. But you–Aeson’s father- did you know?”

He avoids my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the ambulance

floor. “I don’t eat desserts. I didn’t realize nuts could be in

cakes.”

“Desserts.” The word drips with disbelief. “Aeson is lactose

intolerant. Cream, milk, anything dairy–off limits. Even if you didn’t know about nuts, you knew about the cream. You knew he shouldn’t have any of it.”

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His jaw tightens with annoyance.

Imema rushes to his defense, her voice soft and reasonable.

“Ms. Perseus, children always want what they can’t have.

Especially sweets. The more you restrict Aeson, the more

he’ll crave them. He might even eat them secretly, behind

your backs. Isn’t it better to let him have a tiny taste under supervision than to risk him sneaking dangerous foods

alone?”

I cut her off, my voice sharp. “Is that the nonsense you use to

manipulate Aires and Aeson? Wrapped in pretty lies about caring for him?”

Her face crumples into wounded innocence. “I didn’t–you’ve

misunderstood me—”

Aires steps in, unable to bear her distress. “Imema has a

point. It’s better he eats with us watching than hiding it.”

I laugh, short and bitter. “He had an anaphylactic reaction

and nearly died. This is your definition of ‘better‘?”

Silence. Finally, Aires mutters, “It was an accident.”

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Robin’s small voice pipes up from beside me. “Ms. Perseus, something doesn’t make sense.”

I look down at him. “What, sweetheart?”

He frowns, working through it with childlike logic. “Mr.

Perseus and Ms. Volkov said they were being good to Aeson.

But they didn’t even know he was allergic to nuts. They knew

he couldn’t eat desserts, but they let him eat things that

would hurt him anyway. And they still say it was for his good.

That’s weird.”

One of the paramedics overhears and can’t help

commenting. “Look, letting a child have treats occasionally isn’t usually a problem–if they’re healthy. But from what you’re describing, this boy has multiple severe allergies and a weak constitution. Desserts are high–risk for him. Feeding him those things knowingly? That’s not care. That’s negligence.”

Imema’s face burns with humiliation. She ducks her head,

voice trembling. “I’m sorry. Truly. I’ll be more careful from

now on. I promise this will never happen again.”

Her quick apology, her apparent remorse, softens the

paramedic’s expression. No one presses further. 3/9

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I watch her with something close to admiration. She’s

remarkable, really. When the victim act fails, she pivots

instantly to contrition. When cornered, she admits fault so

readily that people forgive her out of sheer relief. She’s made

a career of weaponizing remorse.

The ambulance arrives. Aeson is rushed into emergency.

I sit on hard plastic chairs in the corridor, Robin pressed

against my side. He’s quiet, watchful, taking everything in.

Imema paces frantically outside the operating room, hands

clasped, tears streaming. “Please let Aeson be okay. Please.

I’ll do anything-”

Aires comforts her, hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.

You didn’t know.”

She sobs against him. “If anything happens to him, I’ll never

forgive myself.”

I watch them coldly, nausea churning in my stomach.

Robin tugs my sleeve. “Ms. Perseus? The doctor already said Aeson would be okay. Why is Ms. Volkov still crying so much?”

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I look down at this perceptive child, this boy who sees

through performances that fool everyone else.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” My voice is gentle. “Why don’t you

ask her?”

Imema’s POV

Robin glances back at Talia, then walks toward me. His small

hand tugs at my sleeve, those innocent eyes looking up at

1. me.

“Ms. Volkov, why are you crying so much?”

Annoyance flickers through me. This child keeps ruining everything: the rescue, the story, the sympathy I’ve carefully cultivated. But Aires is watching, and I must contain the urge

to slap him across the face.

I force patience into my voice. “I’m worried about Aeson,

sweetheart. Very worried.”

“But Aeson is okay now.” Robin tilts his head, confused. “The

doctors said he’s fine. You’re crying so hard that people

might think someone died.”

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I clap my hand over his mouth, panic surging. “Don’t say things like that! It’s bad luck!”

I pull him aside, away from the others. I need to fix this, to

make him understand-

Robin drops to the floor.

Just… drops. Like I pushed him.

He looks up at me with those huge eyes, face crumpled in

hurt, and I realize–too late–what’s happening.

“I didn’t!” The words burst out before I can stop them. “I didn’t

push him!”

Talia is there instantly, lifting Robin, checking him over. “Are

you hurt? Are you okay?”

Robin’s lip quivers. “I’m sorry, Ms. Perseus. I said something

wrong. I’m sorry.”

Talia examines his arm–the scrape from earlier, when I pushed him at the restaurant. The wound I caused when I stopped him from saving Aeson.

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Her eyes freeze over. She looks at me, and there’s nothing

soft there anymore.

“Apologize to him.”

Before I can respond, Robin speaks up, brave little soldier.

“Ms. Perseus, I just fell. It wasn’t Ms. Volkov’s fault. I wasn’t

standing steady.”

Talia doesn’t soften. “Robin, don’t protect her. I saw what

happened.” Her gaze bores into me. “You pushed him at the

restaurant. You pushed him just now. Apologize. Now.”

I turn to Aires, letting tears fill my eyes. “Aires, I swear I didn’t

push him. He just fell—”

Robin’s small voice cuts through my defense. “Ms. Perseus,

please don’t fight because of me. I don’t want to cause

problems between you and Mr. Perseus and Ms. Volkov.”

He looks so sincere, so heartbreakingly noble.

“I chose to save Aeson. Even if I got hurt, that’s my choice. My dad says you can’t save someone and then blame them for

your injuries. Ms. Volkov is an adult. Adults don’t have to

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apologize to children.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

A five–year–old child, more mature than any adult in this hallway. More gracious than the woman who claims to love Aeson like a son. More forgiving than the man who should be thanking him.

Aires shifts uncomfortably. Even he can’t ignore this. Can’t twist it to protect me.

“Imema.” His voice is quiet but firm. “Apologize to Robin.”

I stare at him, disbelief cutting through my performance. He’s

never asked me to apologize. Never. Not once.

“Aires, I really didn’t-”

He cuts me off. “Imema. Robin saved Aeson’s life. The least

we can do is thank him–or apologize, if we’ve wronged him. Can you not do that? For Aeson?”

The trap closes around me.

I look at the three of them–Talia, cold and triumphant. Robin, 8/9

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innocent and victorious. Aires, waiting, judging.

This is my move. The one I’ve used on Talia countless times.

The one that always worked.

Now it’s being used on me.

Robin looks up at Talia with those huge eyes. “Please, Ms. Perseus. Let it go. I’m okay. Really.”

The words are forgiveness, but their effect is condemnation.

He’s so good. So pure. So perfectly, devastatingly kind.

I finally understand what Talia has felt all these months.

The helplessness. The frustration. The rage of being outmaneuvered by someone playing a game you thought you invented.

I force myself to meet Robin’s eyes. To form the words.

“Robin, I’m sorry.” Each syllable burns. “I was upset and I

pushed you. Please don’t be angry with me.”

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< Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 76