The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155 

Third Person’s POV 

Whether it was Howard or Wilmot, their eyes were only ever on Cassian and the Ironthorn pack. 

To them, Trista was just a pawn on a board. 

If she had value, she stayed on the board to keep up the family’s image. 

If she lost that value, she’d be cleared away in silence, as if she had never existed. 

Halfway through dinner, Trista excused herself. 

She rose with a steady poise, her back straight–the perfect picture of a Luna. 

But the moment she left the table, the mating bond yanked at her chest, a flash of pain so sharp she could barely catch her breath. 

She hadn’t been able to swallow a single bite; she didn’t have the energy left to keep performing in this carefully choreographed “perfect family” drama. 

Her stomach was hollow with an aching hunger, but her chest felt so blocked that even breathing felt like a chore. 

Alaina followed her out, pulling her into a secluded side hall. 

“Trista,” Alaina whispered, her voice tight with the anxiety of someone who had lived through this before. “Think about what I told you. Don’t just try to endure this by sheer force of will.” 

Trista tried to soothe her instead. Her expression was disturbingly calm, as if she’d packed every raw emotion deep into her marrow. “I’ve worked it out,” she said. “Life is only a few decades long. No matter where you’re standing, you just have to find a way to keep living.” 

She knew she wasn’t truly alone. 

She had parents who loved her enough to hurt for her; friends who stood by her at her lowest; a career that was just starting to take root; and allies ready to fight by her side. 

As long as she kept moving–as long as she didn’t let these rules crush her–she could still make something of this life. 

Footsteps approached from the hallway. 

Cassian walked over and pressed a warm glass of milk into her hand. 

The heat from the glass seeped into her fingertips, but it couldn’t reach the chill inside her. 

“What are you two talking about?” he asked, his tone level, like a casual inquiry. 

Trista tightened her grip on the glass. “Nothing much,” she replied quietly. 

Cassian nodded, then turned to Alaina. “Mom, I’m taking Trista home now.” 

After a brief goodbye to the elders, they left. 

As night fell, the black sedan pulled away, the lights of the villa fading behind them like the final curtain on a suffocating ceremony. 

Around 8 PM, they arrived back at the villa. 

He didn’t say anything. He led her to the vanity, picked up the dryer, and began to dry her hair. 

The warm air swirled in the small space as his long, disciplined fingers ran through her strands. He was surprisingly gentle and patient, as if he were simply performing a necessary daily task. 

Trista reached for the dryer. “I can do it.” 

Cassian handed it to her, but a split second later, he leaned down. In a move that bordered on violent, he pulled her into a crushing embrace, pinning her against the edge of the vanity. 

The sudden loss of balance made her heart lurch; the dryer slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a sharp clank. 

“Cassian, let me go!” For the first time, her voice cracked with genuine panic. 

Cassian leaned down, his lips ghosting over the corner of her lips. 
His voice was right against her car–low, calm, and carrying an immovable aura. “Do I need to recite the terms of that agreement for you again?” 

This wasn’t an impulsive urge. It was a primal drive. 

The mating bond was tightening in his chest, a constant reminder that the woman in front of him still belonged to him–that she was still tethered by the contract. 

He reached for her, his movements slow but heavy with a strength that couldn’t be ignored. 

Trista instinctively backed away until her spine hit the cold edge of the vanity. 

She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to push him back, but he didn’t budge. Her logic was screaming in protest, but her wolf was starting to flicker with hesitation. 

Cassian’s pheromones began to spread, silent and overwhelming.