The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 19

**Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane**
**Chapter 19**

**Trista’s POV**

That afternoon unfolded with a sense of purpose as I accompanied my father to the Royal Healing Institute. The moment we stepped inside, I was enveloped by a scent that felt both nostalgic and invigorating—the cool metallic tang of silver instruments mingling with the warm, humid aroma of herbal steam. A fine mist of moonstone vapor hung in the air, creating an ethereal haze at the end of the long hallway, almost as if the very atmosphere was alive with possibility.

Underneath the grand glass dome, silver-lined runes sprawled across the floor like a silent web, intricate and mesmerizing. They whispered of ancient knowledge and healing powers, beckoning me closer.

Mr. Dontes, the esteemed Royal Healer, stood in front of the sequencing rune wall, his presence commanding yet inviting. Although he had retired, he still lent his expertise at the Lycan King’s personal request, a testament to his dedication and skill.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I approached him. “Mr. Dontes,” I began, my voice steady, “I’m here to seek your guidance. After three years of leading a pack as Luna, I realize my healing skills have become outdated. I’m ready to start anew, even if it means beginning as your assistant.”

His gaze shifted from me to my father, and I could see the recognition flicker in his eyes. He had tended to his son during a critical mission on the Silverlight border years ago, and that history seemed to lay a foundation of trust between us. Without hesitation, he nodded in agreement, his acceptance a relief that washed over me.

“Very well,” he replied, his voice firm. “I have three tasks for you.”

First, he outlined the “Vitals Assessment,” which included pheromone spectrum analysis and olfactory testing—tasks that would challenge my current knowledge and push me to relearn the fundamentals of healing.

Next, he instructed me to complete the access permit for the Royal Healing Institute, a necessary step to ensure my presence here was legitimate and respected.

Lastly, he asked me to report back on Monday morning, where I would be assigned to the Day Clinic Tower. There, I would take on night shifts and assist in emergencies as needed.

Before I could express my gratitude, he introduced me to a senior healer who would oversee my work. I felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation; I knew I would earn little in the beginning, but the prospect of gaining tangible results from my efforts filled me with determination.

As I left the institute, I reflected on how being busy could drown out the echoes of pain in one’s mind. The ache behind my ribs, though still present, felt a little less oppressive—if only for a moment.

That evening, I sat down for dinner with my parents, the warmth of family providing a comforting backdrop to my thoughts. After the meal, I returned to the Ironthorn House, my heart racing with anticipation.

To my surprise, he was home.

The soft glow of the indoor light cast sharp shadows, outlining his figure with precision, like a perfectly designed business card.

I slipped into my slippers, the familiar comfort grounding me. He stood up, pouring water with an ease that belied the tension between us. “How is your mother’s recovery coming along?” he asked, his voice smooth.

I accepted the cup from him, but instead of sipping, I set it back down on the coffee table, the weight of my thoughts pressing on me.

He had always treated my parents with warmth, a skillful performer in the theater of social niceties. He excelled at maintaining the “visible parts” of our interactions—manners, titles, timing—leaving no room for error. Yet, beneath that polished exterior, I could still feel the faint clinking of the cold nail embedded in my chest, each breath a reminder of the pain lurking just beneath the surface.

There was still a trace of that foreign pheromone lingering in the air, a shadow that remained even after he had tried to wash it away.

My wolf, usually so vocal, was subdued, offering only a quiet whimper before settling back into silence.

I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved the bank card my parents had given me. “This card holds the funds you’ve wired to my parents for living and medical expenses over the years,” I stated firmly, placing it in his palm. “I verified it at the bank. Thirty thousand is missing, but the rest is here. Please take it back.”

He merely hummed, his fingers curling around the card as if it were a fragile secret.

I stood, feeling the weight of the moment. “My parents are moving out in two days. The apartment is yours again.”

He sat back down on the sofa, his long fingers now turning the card over, examining it as if it were a puzzle he needed to solve. He looked up at me, humming again, but he didn’t refuse the card.

I retreated to the bedroom, but not for long. I emerged moments later, pillow and blanket in hand. He was already walking toward me, a purposeful stride that made my heart race.

With a casual motion, he closed the bedroom door behind him and approached me, gently taking the pillow and blanket from my grasp and tossing them back onto the bed.

“You will sleep in this bed as long as our mating contract is active,” he stated, his voice calm yet firm.

I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me against his chest.

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