Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 99

Chapter 97

Talia’s POV

Before Nick can respond, Diana’s face contorts with fury. Her carefully cultivated mask of aristocratic elegance cracks completely, revealing the shrew beneath.

“Enough! You ill–mannered, uneducated wretch! How dare

you call me a dog?” She whirls on Aires, her voice rising to a screech that echoes off the lounge walls. “Aires, if you don’t teach this woman a lesson right now, I’ll never acknowledge you as my son again! Do you hear me? Never!”

I blink at her, genuine surprise flickering across my features.

“Diana, did someone call you a dog? How strange–why

would you voluntarily identify as one?” I tilt my head,

considering. “Oh, I see. You’re asking Aires to discipline me.

That’s different.”

I turn to Electra beside me, my expression shifting to

exaggerated concern. “Electra, quick–get your phone out.

We need to document the domestic abuse that’s about to

happen. Evidence is crucial for the divorce proceedings.”

Electra’s eyes light up with wicked glee. She whips out her 4:45

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phone with practiced ease, adjusts the lens, and adopts the

theatrical tone of a carnival barker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, don’t miss this exclusive footage! The

most scandalous wealthy family drama of the year unfolding

right before your eyes!” She pans slowly across the room,

capturing every shocked expression, every open mouth, every parent suddenly riveted by the spectacle. “We’ve got infidelity, mistresses, generational conflict, attempted assault

-all the trending elements guaranteed to go viral! This is the

real deal, folks, not some staged reality show!”

Her voice carries, drawing more attention. Parents who were previously absorbed in their own conversations now

cluster near our door, phones raised, whispers spreading like

wildfire.

Whispers erupt around us.

“I thought that was Aires Perseus. So it is him. The famous Alpha.”

“And that woman—is that Diana Perseus? The elegant society

matron who hosts those charity galas?”

“Elegant? She looks like a fishwife having a meltdown in

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public. Look at her face.”

“All that refinement is just for show. Underneath, they’re all

the same. Money doesn’t buy class.”

The words slice through the air like knives. Diana’s face

cycles through shades of crimson and white, her hands

trembling with barely contained rage. I’ve never seen her so

completely undone.

She wants to strike me. I see it in her eyes–the same fury

that made her throw that medicine bottle at my face. But the

crowd watches, phones raised, recording everything. One wrong move and her reputation–carefully cultivated over

decades–crumbles to dust in an instant.

She forces herself to breathe. Deep, controlled breaths. The

effort is visible in the twitching of her jaw, the white–knuckled

grip on her designer handbag.

When she speaks again, her voice is strained but measured,

each word dragged through gritted teeth. “Talia, Aeson has

prepared for this competition for months. He’s worked so hard, sacrificed so much. Even if you wouldn’t accompany him yourself, must you actively sabotage his chances?”

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She pauses, letting the words land, painting herself as the concerned grandmother.

“You come from a humble background. Your education

is lacking. You have no talents to speak of. Surely you

understand that you couldn’t have stood on that stage with

Aeson without embarrassing him–and embarrassing this

family. We have a reputation to maintain.”

The implication is clear. She’s not just attacking me–she’s

educating the audience, reminding them of my place

in the social hierarchy. In wealthy circles, lineage and

accomplishment are everything. Even those who marry in

must bring something–beauty, talent, education, fame,

connections. Preferably all five.

I have nothing, by their standards. No family name,

no degree from a prestigious university, no career accomplishments, no social standing. I’m at the bottom of the contempt chain, fair game for anyone’s cruelty.

The whispers shift. Now they look at me with disdain, not sympathy. Calculating eyes assess my worth and find it

wanting.

How did she marry into the Perseus family? their expressions 4/8

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ask. Tricks, probably. Manipulation. She must have trapped him somehow. Women like that are everywhere, preying on

wealthy men.

I meet their gazes without flinching, without shame, without

apology.

“Diana, let’s be absolutely clear about what actually

happened here today.” My voice carries, calm and steady. “I

didn’t sabotage Aeson’s competition. Ms. Volkov did.”

I gesture to my stained dress, the brown mark spreading like

a wound across white fabric. “She deliberately spilled coffee

on me. Multiple witnesses saw it happen. I can’t perform in

this. Since she ruined my outfit, it’s only fair she provides a

replacement. That’s basic accountability.”

I pause, letting that sink in.

“As for my education and talents–who told you I have none?

Have you ever asked? Have you ever cared to know anything about me beyond your own prejudices?”

Diana’s jaw tightens. She wants to explode, to unleash the

full force of her fury, but the cameras hold her back like

invisible chains.

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“If you need a dress, ask for any other. Any dress in the

world, and I’ll buy it for you. But why must it be the one she’s

wearing?” Her voice trembles with manufactured concern.

“You know she can’t compete if she changes clothes. What

about Aeson? Can you bear to see your own son fail because

of a petty dispute over fabric?”

She presses a hand to her chest, the picture of wounded

grandmotherhood. “How can you be so cruel to your own

child?”

The old Talia would have crumbled under this. Would have

felt guilty, apologetic, wrong. Would have apologized just to

make the discomfort stop.

This Talia feels nothing but cold clarity.

“Diana, you’re confused about who caused this situation.” I speak slowly, as if explaining to a child. “She stained my dress. Not the other way around. Aeson’s competition matters–I agree completely. But so does Robin’s. Imema can’t perform in a stained dress, but somehow I’m supposed to? Is my performance less important because my son isn’t biologically mine?”

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Diana sputters, words failing her completely. Her mouth

opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

Nick steps in, ever the loyal attack dog, eager to prove his worth. “Look, let’s be realistic here. You weren’t going

to accomplish anything in this competition anyway. You’d

just embarrass yourself and everyone associated with you. At least now you’re spared that humiliation. Consider it a

blessing.”

He puffs up, convinced of his own wisdom and generosity.

“This whole event is being recorded. It’ll be posted online,

shared everywhere. You don’t want everyone seeing you fail on a public stage, do you? Think of the memes. The

mockery.” He shakes his head with false pity. “Honestly, you

should thank Imema. Without her intervention, you’d be the

laughingstock of the entire kindergarten circuit for years to

come. She did you a favor.”

I study him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch.

Then I smile–thin, sharp, utterly without warmth.

“Nick, you’re so confident I’d fail. What if I told you I won’t?”

He snorts, disbelief written across his features. “What, you’re 7/8

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going to magically become a pianist between now and showtime? Please. Stick to what you know: cooking and cleaning.”

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8/8