Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 96

< Alpha’s Discarded Luna

Chapter 94

Talia’s POV

Chapter: The Spill

In the backstage lounge, Electra’s eyes go wide as saucers,

spinning in slow circles to take it all in. “Okay, I knew this was a fancy kindergarten, but this is ridiculous. The space alone is bigger than my entire college campus. The performance hall could host actual concerts. And these private dressing

rooms? Better than what some celebrities get.”

She grins at Robin. “Don’t laugh at me for being so easily impressed.”

Robin giggles, delighted by her enthusiasm. “Ms. Parker, when I grow up, I’ll take you to see even more amazing things. I promise.”

Electra swoops down, wrapping him in a dramatic hug. “You adorable little genius. I love you to pieces!”

She straightens, eyeing Raymond with genuine curiosity. “Mr. Capaldi, how did you raise such a polite, thoughtful child? I need to take notes for my future kids.”

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< Chapter 94

I listen, equally interested. Aeson’s upbringing consumed

my every waking moment, yet he’s become a stranger who

chooses his enemies over me. What did I do wrong? Where

did I fail?

Raymond beams with paternal pride. “Perhaps it’s simply good genetics. I’m unfortunately too busy with work to properly supervise him.”

Electra and I exchange a knowing glance. Genetics. The

invisible force that makes Aeson exactly like his father–right

down to their shared taste in women.

A knock interrupts. The teacher pokes her head in. “The

performance order drawing is about to begin. Robin’s guardian, please follow me.”

I nod to the others. “I’ll be right back.”

I’ve barely stepped into the corridor when I encounter

Imema, also heading to draw lots. My gaze slides over her like she’s furniture. I keep walking.

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< Chapter 94

The drawing room buzzes with parents, chatting and

networking. I don’t recognize anyone. I find an empty seat

and settle in, ready to get this over with.

“Ms. Perseus.”

Imema appears beside me, coffee cup in hand, voice low and intimate. She sits too close, invading my space with practiced ease.

“No matter how hard you try to imitate me,” she murmurs,

“Aires will never want you. Save yourself the humiliation.”

I blink at her, genuinely bewildered. “Imitate you? Ms. Volkov, have you looked in a mirror lately? What exactly would I be trying to copy? Your tendency to faint at convenient moments? Your talent for crying on command?”

Something ugly flashes in her eyes–quickly masked, but I

catch it. Her smile stays sweet.

“Ms. Perseus, would you like some coffee?” She extends the

cup toward me, all innocence.

And then-

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< Chapter 94

“Ah!”

Her hand jerks. The cup tilts. Hot coffee cascades down the

front of my white dress.

The room goes quiet.

Imema’s face crumples into panic, the good kind—the kind that makes her look concerned rather than culpable. She fumbles in her bag for tissues, dabbing at the spreading

stain.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Perseus! Let me help-”

Each dab makes it worse. She’s not cleaning; she’s

spreading. Deliberately. I feel her hand pressing the liquid deeper into the fabric.

I grab her wrist and shove her away. “Enough.”

She stumbles, catching herself on a chair, then sinks

dramatically to the floor with a sharp cry.

Every parent in the room turns to stare.

Imema looks up at me, eyes glistening, lower lip trembling. 4/7

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< Chapter 94

“Ms. Perseus, I’m so sorry. It was an accident. Please believe

me.”

I look down at my ruined dress–the careful preparation, the

hours of practice, Robin’s hopeful face–and cold fury settles in my chest.

“That was no accident. You did this deliberately.”

She hangs her head, tears spilling. “I know you hate me. I know you don’t want me performing with Aeson. But this

competition matters for his grades. Please, for Aeson’s sake

||

There it is. The pivot. The victim narrative. The subtle accusation that I’m the one causing problems, that my

reaction to her attack is somehow hurting my son.

I’m so tired of this script.

“Your ruined my dress.” My voice cuts like ice. “What does

that have to do with Aeson? You’re remarkably skilled at

changing the subject when you’re caught.”

The teacher in charge of drawings approaches, drawn by the

commotion. “What’s happening here?”

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“This woman deliberately spilled coffee on me.” I gesture to the spreading stain. “I can’t perform like this.”

The teacher examines the damage, wincing. The brown mark covers half my chest, impossible to hide or clean quickly.

“Do you have another dress?”

“No.”

She sighs, genuinely distressed. “This is a serious problem. Performance outfits are tailored to each act. Substituting

something random could affect your scoring.”

Behind me, I sense Imema’s satisfaction. She doesn’t need to speak; I feel it radiating from her.

I turn, studying her with new eyes. Then I smile.

“Ms. Volkov.” My voice is pleasant, conversational. “Since you’ve so kindly ruined my dress, you can solve the problem.”

She blinks, wary. “I’ll compensate you, of course. Whatever it

costs-”

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“I don’t want money.” I let my gaze travel slowly over her

outfit. “I want your dress.”

She freezes.

“You’re wearing white. I was wearing white. Swap with me.

Problem solved.”

Imema’s composure cracks. “But… my performance! I can’t perform in a stained dress!”

“Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided to play games.” I keep my voice calm, reasonable. “The teacher witnessed the spill. Everyone here did. You

offered compensation. I’m simply naming my terms.”

The room watches, fascinated. This is better than the actual

competition.

Imema’s face cycles through emotions: fury, panic,

calculation. She can’t refuse without looking petty, and can’t

agree without sabotaging herself.