The Luna Intervention

~FREYA~

The scalding water of the shower did nothing to wash away the stench of Gael's lies. I stood under the heavy spray for what felt like hours, my hands pressed flat against the wet tiles as I sobbed until my throat turned raw. Gael had left for work, tossing a casual goodbye over his shoulder like he hadn’t just lied to my face about spilling coffee on our bedsheets. Elise had already bounced off to her vocational studies. The house was empty, yet the air felt thick, suffocating me in my own home.

By the time I finally forced myself out of the bathroom and got dressed, I was over thirty minutes late for lunch.

The upscale restaurant in the city center hummed with the quiet chatter of the elite. I navigated through the maze of white-clothed tables, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. Blythe, Cleo, Tessa, Macy, and Lydia were already seated in a private alcove near the back. Fellow Lunas from various packs across the Opal Region. We had just spent days together at the regional conference, projecting strength and unity. Blythe, my closest confidante, had insisted on this casual catch-up. I had almost stayed in bed to drown in my misery, but the thought of being alone with my rotting marriage pushed me out the door.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumbled, pulling out a velvet chair and sinking into it. I offered the table an apologetic look, hoping my makeup concealed the swelling around my red eyes.

Nobody smiled back.

The air around our table was heavy, charged with a strange, prickly tension. Five pairs of eyes locked onto me. They didn't hold their usual warmth. Instead, they projected a suffocating mix of pity, curiosity, and deep-seated worry. I grabbed a linen napkin and placed it on my lap, trying to break the heavy silence.

"What?" I asked, forcing a light chuckle. I reached up to touch my cheek. "Do I have something on my face?"

Blythe leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. Her gaze was piercing. "You don't look so good, Freya. What's happening?"

"I'm alright," I lied, my voice lacking any real conviction. I picked up the leather-bound menu, staring blindly at the list of overpriced appetizers. "Just not feeling my best today. A bit of a headache, that's all."

I thought I could fake it. I thought I could sit here, sip sparkling water, and pretend my husband wasn't thrusting into a teenager down the hall from my bedroom. But the silence stretched, thick and unyielding. When I finally risked a glance over the top of my menu, they were all still staring.

"Spill," Tessa commanded, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Out with it."

"Out with what?" I asked, playing dumb. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Blythe sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, come on, Freya. Don't tell me you've forgotten the voice notes you sent to the group chat last night?"

My blood ran cold. The menu slipped from my numb fingers, dropping onto the table with a dull thud. "What?" The word barely scraped past my lips.

"Yeah," Macy chimed in, her tone soft but unwavering. "You sounded really upset. You were slurring your words. You mentioned something about Gael breaking you... and feeling like you wanted to end it all."

"I said what?" Panic clawed at my throat. I hadn't checked my phone since I woke up. The memory of last night was a blurry haze of tequila, tears, and crushing despair. I had drank half a bottle of liquor in the dark kitchen. I remembered holding my phone, but sending voice notes?

Without breaking eye contact, Lydia reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, and tapped the screen.

My own drunken, broken voice echoed from the small speaker, loud enough for the entire alcove to hear.

The first note was just the sound of heavy, jagged hyperventilating, followed by a choked sob.

The second note played, the audio crisp and undeniable. *"He's fucking her,"* my recorded voice wailed, thick with alcohol and agony. *"Gael is fucking Elise. Right under my roof. He broke me... I can't do this anymore. I just want to die. I want to jump off the balcony and end it all."*

The third note was a pathetic, whispered plea. *"Don't tell anyone. Please. Keep this secret. I don't know what to do. Just... don't call me. I can't talk right now."*

Lydia paused the playback before the next three recordings of my endless crying could begin.

Agonizing shame washed over me in a suffocating wave. A hot flush crawled up my neck, burning my cheeks. My perfect, idyllic marriage of seven years—the union that other packs looked up to—was now a grotesque public spectacle. I stared at the polished mahogany table, wishing the floorboards would crack open and swallow me whole. The embarrassment was a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders, making it hard to draw breath.

"What exactly did Gael do to you?" Blythe demanded, her voice laced with urgent, protective anger.

I looked around the circle. These women were my friends, but exposing the rotting core of my pack felt like a betrayal to my own pride. I had no choice now. The secret was out. I exhaled a shaky breath, letting go of the facade, and told them everything. I told them about the noises, the moans, the fresh sheets, and the sickening realization that my husband was bedding the girl I had taken in.

"What on earth is he thinking?!" Blythe slammed her palm against the table, her eyes flashing with a Luna's protective fury once I finished speaking.

Cleo, who had been sitting back with a detached expression, lifted her wine glass and took a long, slow sip. "Men will always disgrace you," she muttered, her tone dripping with bitter resignation.

I looked at Cleo. Her Alpha had found his fated mate a year ago. It had destroyed her. She had turned to alcohol, numbing a pain that refused to heal. She knew exactly how this felt.

"I would suggest you get revenge," Cleo said casually, swirling the red liquid in her glass. "Go out and sleep around, Freya."

Blythe turned to her, appalled. "Cleo, what kind of advice is that?"

"The practical kind," Cleo shot back, her eyes narrowing. "Gael didn't care about your vows when he shoved his dick into that girl. Why should you? Go find a strong Alpha, a rogue, anyone. Spread your legs, let someone else make you feel wanted, and rub it in his arrogant face."

"Revenge isn't the solution we need right now," Blythe argued, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Two wrongs don't make a right. We need to find a way to support Freya through this mess, not encourage her to destroy her reputation."

Cleo leaned forward, ignoring Blythe, her intense gaze locking onto me. "Listen to me, Freya. Don't pay attention to their optimistic bullshit. The pain is unbearable, and things will only get worse from here. Sleep around. Take your power back."

"Cleo, we need to be careful with our words," Tessa intervened, her tone gentle but reprimanding. "Now is not the time. Freya is hurting."

Cleo's composure slipped. Her voice cracked, and a sheen of unshed tears gathered in her eyes. "I'm just being realistic! It's better she faces the ugly truth head-on. These men are heartless. Once an Alpha's affection shifts, it's gone for good. They never come back. Never."

"We can't jump to conclusions," Macy reasoned, trying to defuse the tension. "We don't even know if this Elise is Alpha Gael's mate, like in your case, Cleo. Freya just found out about the affair."

I sat frozen, my hands gripping my water glass so hard my fingers ached. A simmering, restrained fury began to boil beneath the agonizing shame. They were debating my life. Debating my husband's infidelity like it was a soap opera. I bit my lower lip hard, tasting a faint hint of copper, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall again. The realization that my life was broken beyond repair settled into my bones.

I let them argue. I didn't say another word about it.

Hours later, the black SUV pulled up to the circular driveway of the Ironbark pack house. The sun was beginning to dip below the tree line, casting long, dark shadows across the manicured lawns. My driver opened the door, offering a hand to help me out.

I barely had both feet on the cobblestone before I saw her.

Elise.

She practically skipped down the front steps, a bright, beaming smile plastered across her face.

"Luna! How are you feeling?" Elise called out, closing the distance between us. She reached out, wrapping her hands around my arm in a show of feigned affection. "I thought you were unwell and wouldn't leave the house today. I was so surprised to find you gone when I returned from school!"

My skin crawled where her fingers touched my sleeve. I fought the visceral urge to shove her backward onto the hard stone. Instead, I forced a tight-lipped, plastic smile and kept walking toward the grand entrance doors. The pack servants sweeping the porch bowed respectfully as we passed, oblivious to the venom coursing through my veins.

"I had a prior engagement," I said, my voice steady.

Elise clung to my arm, matching my pace. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. When I first brought her to the pack house, she was a broken, melancholic rogue. She wore baggy, faded clothes, her hair was a dull, stringy mess, and she looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her. I had pitied her. I had treated her like a little sister.

Now, she was glowing.

Her skin was flawless and radiant. Her lips were coated in a subtle, expensive gloss. She wore a fitted designer sweater that hugged her newly developed curves, and her energy was a vibrant, bouncing hum of confidence. For months, I had thought this transformation was just the result of a safe environment and good food. Now, the truth was glaringly obvious. This wasn't the glow of a rescued rogue finding her footing. This was the glow of a woman being thoroughly and consistently fucked by a powerful Alpha.

My husband was funding her glow-up. He was the reason she looked so damn happy.

"School was so exciting today, Luna!" Elise chirped, her voice grating against my frayed nerves. "You won't believe what happened in my styling class..."

I pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the grand foyer. "Elise, I'm really not up for stories right now." I cut her off, my tone sharper than I intended.

She stopped in her tracks. Her bright smile melted into an expression of deep, exaggerated concern. She released my arm and stepped in front of me, searching my face.

"Luna, are you alright?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You've seemed so down since you got back from your morning meeting. Is something wrong?"

I stared into her eyes. The urge to confront her right then and there surged through my chest like a tidal wave. I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab her by the hair, drag her out to the courtyard, and demand to know how many times she had spread her legs for my husband. I wanted to tear the smug, youthful glow right off her face.

But I bit my tongue.

Accusing Gael without undeniable proof would be a fatal mistake. He was the most respected Alpha in the region. He controlled the pack, the finances, the enforcers. If I threw accusations based on noises through a floorboard and changed sheets, he would spin the narrative. He would call me crazy, paranoid, or hysterical. He could turn the entire pack against me, stripping me of my Luna title and tossing me out with nothing.

I needed evidence. Hard, irrefutable, concrete evidence.

I swallowed the burning fury in my throat and masked my agony with a soft, dismissive smile.

"I'm fine, Elise," I lied, forcing a tone of gentle sincerity. "I've just been swamped with Luna duties. It's giving me a massive migraine. But I promise, I'll lend you an ear and hear all about your day very soon."

Elise’s face relaxed, her bright smile returning in full force. She believed me. She thought I was just the tired, clueless, aging wife.

"Of course, Luna," she said sweetly. "I'll go to the kitchen and bring your tea and medicine right away. It'll help you relax."

"Thank you," I murmured.

I watched her walk away, her hips swaying subtly as she disappeared down the hall toward the kitchens. The second she was out of sight, my smile vanished.

I wasn't going to just sit around and cry anymore. I was going to expose them. I needed to set up a covert operation right here in my own home. Hidden cameras. Audio recorders. I would bug the living room, the hallways, and even my own bedroom if I had to. I would capture every moan, every touch, every dirty little secret they thought they were hiding from me. I would gather my arsenal, and when the time was right, I would burn their world to the ground.