The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152 

Trista’s POV 

Looking back at those days now–remembering how I’d spend half the morning just trying to get him to wear something I’d picked out–it actually hurt my chest. 

I worked so hard to leave even the tiniest mark on his world. I thought if I could just change the color of his collar, it would prove that I truly belonged by his side, within his scent and his territory. 

I picked out an outfit from the closet–suit, shirt, tic–aligning everything with clinical precision before handing it to him. 

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t give me much of a reaction either. 

He just changed right there in front of me, buttoning his shirt all the way to his Adam’s apple with steady, disciplined movements before methodically knotting his tie. 

His scent began to fill the small space–that base note of fire and iron. It was cold, hard, and carried that innate Alpha dominance, like a silent warning. 

I turned to leave the dressing room, but his arm suddenly hooked around my waist. 

I tried to keep walking, but he tightened his grip like an iron shackle, pulling me firmly back against his chest. In that instant, the mating bond yanked tight, like a wire cutting into my skin. It reminded me that we were still connected, still capable of feeling pain, but the connection wasn’t gentle anymore. It felt like a bowstring stretched to its absolute breaking point. 

His voice was a low rasp against my temple, like a night wind pressing down. “I’m heading out.” 

I looked up, our eyes meeting. 

I couldn’t read much in his gaze, but as he moved closer, the bond gave another tug, as if it refused to let go completely. 

I flattened my palms against his chest and pushed hard, feeling the solid heat of his body beneath the fabric and that immovable Alpha strength. “You go out, you come back–you do whatever you want. You don’t need to check in with me.” 

The harder I pushed, the tighter he held me, as if he were trying to press me back into the very center of his territory. 

But his voice remained dangerously soft–so soft it felt like a blade skating over a raw nerve. 

“Trista,” he murmured, looking down at me, “You’re the one who decided to come back.” His voice was low and clear, like he was reciting a rule from the pack laws. “If I have to remind you what to do and how to play your part every step of the way, this is going to get boring fast.” 

My hands slowly stopped pushing. 

From the first day I stepped into this house as his Luna, I’d been like a pup who’d just learned the way back to the den–clumsy and obsessed, constantly circling him. 

I used to pester him to kiss me every morning before he left and every evening when he came back. 

But in the end, I realized the one who was always “proactive” was only ever me. 

I looked into Cassian’s eyes, the bond tightening in my chest like a thread being pulled but never snapping. 

I finally forced the words out, my voice flat. “Cassian, you don’t have to do this.” 

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