The Rejected Luna (Avery and Kaden) novel Chapter 188

**Between the Wings of Twilight Lies the Memory of You**
**by Liren Ava Roen**
**Chapter 188**

“I’m deeply sorry,” I murmured, my voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. “I truly didn’t intend for this to happen. It’s just that these little figurines… they were my mother’s heirlooms. They hold immense sentimental value for me. But then, the daughter of my father’s mistress had the audacity to steal them, only to stand here pretending to be the victim. I felt my anger boil over, and I lost control. When I get angry, it’s as if something inside me snaps, and I can’t contain myself. I really am sorry for the chaos I’ve caused.”

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. “Please, just call the police. I want to see how they deal with someone like her, a thief. But please, don’t shout at me. Yelling only fuels my anger, and when I lose control, I might mistakenly think you’re in on this with her and lash out. I don’t have any money to cover damages, but you can always recoup it from the mistress. She’s swindled my father out of everything he had.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of confusion and intrigue. “What’s happening? Heirlooms? A mistress? Mental illness? Stolen money? This is a lot to digest.”

The individuals gripping my arms exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of disbelief and curiosity as they tried to unravel the tangled web of my story. Slowly, they loosened their hold, as if the weight of the situation had shifted.

I rubbed my shoulders, feeling the tension ease slightly, and offered them a tentative smile, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture that felt both vulnerable and fragile. Their confusion deepened, and it was as if the fierce woman who had just threatened Antonia had transformed into someone far more unstable and pitiful.

Antonia, on the other hand, was seething with rage, a sizable bump already rising on her forehead from our earlier confrontation.

“You’re lying, Zephyra! You’re not mentally ill!” she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Wendy, eager to join the fray, chimed in with a fierce agreement, but the crowd was already starting to lose interest in our drama. “If you two are friends, then you call the police.”

One by one, the onlookers began to drift away, their curiosity waning. Antonia wouldn’t dare to call the police; she would never be able to explain the bizarre situation that had unfolded.

My expression of regret evaporated, replaced by determination. I pointed at the two figurines clutched in Wendy’s hands—a monkey and a rabbit, symbols of my mother’s legacy.

“Hand those over to me.”

Wendy, clearly terrified that I might lash out at her next, ducked behind Antonia for protection. Antonia swallowed hard, but ever the brave facade, she shot me a defiant glare.

“Wendy bought those! If you want them back, you’ll have to get on your knees and apologize, and then buy them from her!”

She puffed out her chest, trying to assert her dominance. “And let me remind you, Wendy isn’t me. She won’t just let you hit her. If you dare to touch her, not even Steven will be able to save you!”

I stared at this new, stylish incarnation of Horace, momentarily taken aback by his presence.

Even Antonia, who usually regarded him with disdain, seemed captivated, her gaze fixed on him with a mix of surprise and admiration. Wendy’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she stammered, “Oh, um, yes, of course! I bought them for five hundred dollars. If you like them, you can have them for five hundred… no, three hundred.”

Horace smiled at Wendy, a breathtakingly gentle expression that seemed to melt her resolve.

The tips of Wendy’s ears turned a brilliant shade of red as she shyly looked down, flustered by his attention. He swiftly scanned a code to make the payment, and the moment the three hundred dollars hit her account, Antonia snapped out of her reverie. But it was too late; Wendy was already presenting the two figurines to Horace with both hands, her eyes sparkling with hope.

“Here you go. They’re truly beautiful. Please take good care of them,” she said, her voice almost pleading.

Horace didn’t utter a word. He accepted the figurines, turned to me, and placed them gently in my hands. Then, with a tender gesture, he ruffled my hair, his voice soft and soothing, as if he were calming a frightened child.

“There now. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?”