Third Person’s POV
The more Riley held it in, the more it hurt.
She finally broke down, leaning over the edge of the Moonbridge railing and sobbing uncontrobly under the silver light of the waxing moon.
Lucien Duskgrave–Alpha Prince of the Stormridge Pack–froze.
In all his twenty–eight years, never had a woman cried in front of him. Not like this. Not raw, broken, and loud enough to shake hisposure.
With a long sigh, he pulled out a cigarette and offered it to her.
“Want one?”
Riley lifted her tear–stained face, her voice thick and nasal. “Are you trying tofort me?”
“Yeah,” he answered inly.
“But I don’t even like smoking,” she hupped between sobs.
There was a beat of silence. Lucien’s brow twitched as if instinctively reacting, but then smoothed out again -as if afraid she’d think he was annoyed.
His lips parted. “Then let me buy you a drink.”
“Waaah-” Riley cried harder, her voice trembling. “Will drinking stop it from hurting?”
“It might.”
“Okay… I’ll drink. But I don’t have any money.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll cover it.”
“You’re such a good man…” she mumbled.
Lucien blinked.
Good man?
That was the first time anyone had described him that way.
He had always seen himself as cold. Detached. A creature who acted solely on intent and strategy, not sentiment. He didn’t care for opinions, reputations, or anyone’s approval. In his eyes, there were no true “good” or “bad” people in this world–only shifting interests and necessary means.
Those whispers about him being ruthless, calcting, merciless?
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He never denied them.
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They were how he survived. How he maintained control.
But in this moment, the words “You’re a good man,” spoken through a girl’s drunken sobs,nded like a strange force pressing directly on his chest.
He allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
Well, if the little she–wolf had already given him a “good guy” badge… he might as well y the part to the end.
“Wait here,” he said, turning away.
Riley leaned back against the rail, watching him with bleary eyes. She saw him stride across the bridge and pop open the trunk of a sleek obsidian car parked nearby.
His gazended on two bottles of wine tucked neatly in the back.
They were meant for a business deal in the East District–a rare vintage, expensive even by Alpha standards.
He grabbed one and returned to her, holding it out like a peace offering.
“Drink.”
Riley didn’t hesitate. She uncorked the bottle and took a long, unapologetic swig straight from the mouth.
Watching her gulp like a warrior, Lucien’s lips quirked into something close to amusement.
From the car, his Beta–Duke–nearly dropped his tablet.
Was she seriously drinking that wine like it was water?
That wasn’t just any bottle–it was a blood–aged Romani Conti, worth more than half a million credits. A treasured bottle that some Alphas would offer as a dowry.
And she was guzzling it like ale.
Duke’s mouth fell open. His Alpha… wasn’t stopping her. In fact, there was a ghost of a smile on his usually frozen face.
He had never, in all his years of service, seen Lucien show even the slightest softness toward a woman.
Quickly, Duke pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of them–Riley standing beneath the moonlight on the bridge, drinking straight from a priceless bottle, while Lucien stood beside her, silent but protective.
He sent the photo <i>to </i>Matriarch Duskgrave immediately.
Back at the Stormridge estate, Matriarch Duskgrave had been on the brink of losing her mind.
She wasn’t alone–Mrs. Beck, Mia, Kael Vale, Maddox, and Ronan Duskcliff had been frantically searching for Riley since her sudden disappearance. For two hours they’d scoured Mooncrest, afraid she might do
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something irreversible.
When Matriarch Duskgrave’s phone pinged, she nearly dropped it. The moment she opened Duke’s message and saw the photo, her lungs filled with air again.
She saw the girl’s face clearly in the photo–it was Riley. She was Riley!
So Riley was the mate her grandson had chosen. Matriarch Duskgrave’s eyes welled with tears. She thanked the Moon Goddess, grateful that her own kindness had ended up saving her future granddaughter–inw.
But then she saw Riley’s flushed face, the sorrow in her bodynguage, the desperate way she clung to the
bottle.
Matriarch Duskgrave’s eyes welled up.
“That poor girl…” she murmured. “How much pain must she be in to drink like that…”
Tradition dictated that nobleborn girls–especially those of Luna lineage–should never drink in public.
But she could only feel pity.
“Let her drink,” she whispered. “If it dulls the ache even for one night, let her forget everything.”
Wiping her eyes, she quickly called her grandson.
By now, Riley had nearly finished the first bottle. Her face was red, her breathing unsteady, but there was a strange liveliness in her cheeks–a pulse of warmth that hadn’t been there earlier.
She picked up the second bottle.
Lucien–still silent, still watching–opened his mouth, about to tell her to slow down.
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Lucien, is Riley with you?” Matriarch Duskgrave’s voice rang through the line.
Riley? he thought. So that’s her name.
He nced at the girl, who was already working on the second bottle like a seasoned fighter downing her potion before a battle.
“She’s a good girl,” the Matriarch said firmly. “And I love her like my own. She’s just… suffered too much.”
A pause.
“Take her home with you tonight. To your ce. Stay with her. Don’t let her be alone,”
Another pause–then steel edged into Matriarch Duskgrave’s voice,
“And don’t you dare hurt her. If you do, you’ll have to answer to me.”
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He didn’t answer right away.
His eyes lingered on the young woman now sprawled on the bench beside the bridge, still gripping the bottle.
The moonlight caught her dark hair, her flushed cheeks, her raw vulnerability.
Riley.
Her name was Riley.
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