Marked By the Pureblood Alpha (Deanna and Luis) novel Chapter 217

**The Heart I Buried for You by Serene Lockwood**

**Deanna’s POV:**

Perhaps I was gazing a bit too intently.

Luis, that enigmatic figure who always seemed to float above the rest of us, let his eyes meander lazily across the throng of people. And for a fleeting instant, those piercing green eyes settled on me.

Just a heartbeat—a mere handful of seconds. His gaze, unreadable and cool, slid past me as if I were a mere specter, someone wholly unconnected to his world. The look he cast was casual, almost indifferent. It was as if he didn’t even register my presence, and that realization struck me like a cold wave.

In that moment, I found myself at a loss for words, grappling with emotions I couldn’t even begin to articulate.

All I truly understood was that his gaze felt foreign, alien to me.

The palpable Alpha energy that surrounded him was like an impenetrable fortress of ice, isolating me from everything I once knew.

Luis, who had once felt so close, now seemed like a distant star, forever out of reach.

Violet, ever perceptive, leaned in closer, her voice a low hiss filled with barely contained outrage.

“Deanna, did you see that? That’s Mr. Eaton! And right next to him is Clarissa Davison. Look at her—she’s practically draping herself all over him!”

I stood there, paralyzed, unable to form a single coherent thought or response.

**Third-person POV:**

Violet quickly realized that Deanna was unresponsive.

Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of Deanna’s expression, pale and taut, a mask of suppressed emotion.

Violet’s instinct told her that Deanna’s silence stemmed from anger.

Driven by that assumption, she firmly grasped Deanna’s hand and propelled herself through the crowd, determined to reach Luis’s table.

Before Deanna could fully comprehend what was unfolding, they found themselves standing right in front of the table, mere feet from the stage.

The entire group—men and women of power—turned their heads in unison to regard the two unexpected intruders.

Violet’s eyes scanned the scene before her.

The people seated at that table exuded an aura of wealth and influence; their very presence radiated status. A single word from any of them could easily dismantle her career.

For a brief moment, doubt flickered in her mind.

But as she thought of Deanna, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin defiantly, and pressed forward.

Her gaze shifted from Clarissa to the man seated at the head of the table—Luis, who radiated elegance and authority.

“Well, well, this Alpha looks an awful lot like my best friend’s boyfriend,” Violet remarked, her tone laced with playful mockery.

Instantly, the atmosphere thickened with intrigue.

Despite the fact that Clarissa Davison—the celebrated actress—had arrived on Luis’s arm, he had introduced her merely as his “plus one,” not as his girlfriend.

Finally, Luis lifted his gaze, his expression cool and almost disinterested. His eyes swept over the two women, devoid of warmth, and his voice came out low and dismissive, tinged with just a hint of sarcasm.

After all, the Mooncrown Pack represented the last pureblood werewolf bloodline on the continent, an undeniable emblem of power and prestige.

Deanna’s steady gaze locked onto Luis, and then, without uttering a single word, shifted to the woman beside him.

Clarissa was even more breathtaking in reality than on the silver screen.

Deanna had never seen any of her films, but Maggie had often raved about Clarissa—how incredibly talented she was, how effortlessly elegant, and how magazines dubbed her every man’s dream girl.

Now, sitting beside Luis, Clarissa seemed perfectly suited for him.

Even though Deanna understood deep down that Luis’s future Luna would likely not be Clarissa—

Seeing them together, powerful and stunning, well-matched in every way, sent a sharp pang of anguish slicing through her heart.

Then came his words, “I don’t remember having a girlfriend.”

Deanna’s hands clenched into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms.

In that moment, the painful truth crystallized in her mind:

They had truly broken up.

She bit her lip, hard, as if trying to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to spill over.

Then, in a quiet, almost defeated whisper, she murmured, “Sorry, Violet, you were wrong. He’s not my boyfriend.”