Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Luca’s POV
I dreaded the weekly family dinners at my father’s Upper East Side mansion. They were always cold, formal, and laced with carefully measured criticisms he lined up like weapons.
But tonight, I barely heard them. My mind was somewhere else entirely.
Despite what I told myself, curiosity clawed at me like a caged animal.
I wanted to know everything about her to fill in the gaps from the last five years.
Where had she been? How did she end up in event planning?
It was a far cry from the tech mogul dreams she used to whisper into the dark, curled against me in bed.
She’d talk for hours about starting her own firm, how she wanted to blend design and innovation to build something different.
Her eyes used to light up when she spoke about it.
She’d been relentless. Focused. So how had she gone from that… to this?
That same curiosity had gotten the better of me last night.
I ended up opening the portfolio Elena had sent days ago. I’d ignored all of it at first. But sometime after midnight, when Leila still wouldn’t leave my head, I gave in.
Her portfolio was good. Impressive, actually.
She didn’t have the kind of résumé most candidates had.
There was no long list of high-profile events.
But her pitch? It was bold. Clever. She’d brought a level of spatial precision and aesthetic intent I hadn’t seen in most event designers.
That kind of skill that didn’t just come from mood boards or Pinterest inspiration—it came from someone who understood structure.
Flow. Lighting. How people moved through a space and what they felt when they did.
It was the same instinct she used to talk about when dreaming up tech-integrated interiors.
Elena said she’d blown by the shortlist the moment she saw Leila’s pitch. Said she’d never seen a candidate who could merge logistics with atmosphere so effortlessly.
No surprise. Leila always gave her all when she committed to something.
Except when it came to us.
And then there was the man. Blaze.
When his name lit up her screen, I saw the shift in her. The way her body tensed. The panic that drained all the color from her face. And then she ran—bolted from the Moreau estate like something was chasing her.
It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. Not after everything she did to me—after everything she took.
But the need to know burned in my chest like acid.
“Would you like some more caviar, Luca?” Mrs. Chen’s gentle voice cut through my thoughts.
She was already spooning the delicacy onto my plate before I could answer.
Mrs. Chen had worked for my family since I was a baby. She practically helped raise me, especially after the woman I called mother walked out.
She’d tried to fill the space that woman left behind, tried to reach me in ways only a mother could. But I’d already sealed the cracks shut. She once told me I was like a brick wall—solid, unmoving, impossible to read. She wasn’t wrong.
When she cast a quick, worried glance my way, I knew she must have noticed I wasn’t fully present.
But she didn’t ask. She never did.
I gave her a small smile in return—she was one of the few people in this house who still deserved that much—and watched her move on to my father.
“So, Luca.”
My father’s voice sliced clean through the room as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and fixed his eyes on me.
“How did your meeting with Sterling Moreau go the other day?”
I sat up straighter, pushing my thoughts back into their cage.
My father’s gaze was sharp—always searching, always dissecting. He could smell hesitation and weakness from a mile away. And right now, I was full of it.
But he wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t going to find out that I was unraveling because of a woman I should’ve buried five years ago.
Leila and I had never enjoyed smooth sailing.
But I had fought for her because I loved her.
Because she challenged me. Because she didn’t fawn over me like the rest of them.
She carried her pain the way I carried mine—quietly, fiercely.
I defended her against him—against everyone.
I would’ve given it all up for her. The name.
The inheritance. The future I was trained to want—because loving her made everything else feel small.
Looking back now, maybe it was a blessing she showed me who she really was before I went too far.
Before I ruined everything over a woman who couldn’t be trusted.
My father had always warned me—love makes you weak. I spent years hating him for that. Because when I was a boy, love meant her. My mother. The only softness in that house. The only person who ever made me feel seen. She was my shelter from him—his fury, his control, his obsession with power.
Until the morning I woke up and she was gone. No note. No goodbye. Just silence where her warmth used to be.
My father never said a word. He just looked at me like I should’ve seen it coming.
I thought Leila was different. Turns out, I was just following the same script—with a different actress.
I picked up my napkin and wiped the corners of my mouth.
“You know Sterling Moreau,” I said, allowing the corner of my mouth to curl—not quite a smile, but close enough. “All talk and no brawn. He was impressed with my proposition. The old man couldn’t stop smiling while I laid out the details.”
My father smirked.
He and Sterling had hated each other for decades. But in business, hate meant nothing. If a man could make you richer, you shook his hand and signed the damn deal.
“I knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse the offer,” my father said, setting down his glass. “I know that man like the back of my hand. Which is why I’m sure he brought up that crown jewel of his before things got too exciting.”
“He most certainly did,” I replied, offering a tight smile.
By crown jewel, he meant his daughter. Sterling saw her as an asset. A bargaining chip in a tailored dress.
And Elena? I didn’t think she cared much that her father treated her like one.
“And how are the marriage preparations with the Moreau girl coming along?”
A quiet throat clearing cut through the silence.
It was the first sign in over thirty minutes that there was a third person at the table.
Victor didn’t look up.
He kept slicing through his steak like nothing had been said. But the corner of his mouth curled into that familiar smirk.
He knew exactly how I felt about marrying Elena. Knew how deeply I resented the obligation.
These days, he lived to twist that knife.
I shot him a scowl as he lifted his fork, placing another piece of meat in his mouth, before turning back to the head of the table.
“It’s going well,” I said, flatly. Hoping that would end it.
But then—Victor.
Fucking Victor
He opened his mouth.
“Is it now?”
My head turned sharply toward him, and so did my father’s.
The frown on my father’s face told me everything.
He shifted back to me.
“What’s he talking about, Luca?”
“How should I know?” I said, jaw tightening.
His gaze snapped to Victor again. I could see the calculation behind it. And that’s when the thought finally hit me:
Does Victor know? Does he know Leila is back?
The thought made my grip on the cutlery tighten. Victor and Leila had always been close. Friends. He’d always made himself available to her. I wouldn’t put it past her to have reached out.
What she never seemed to understand was that underneath that polished smile, expensive suit, and freshly cut hair, my brother was worse than the devil himself.
Victor had destroyed lives with nothing more than a handshake and a smile, sabotaging trade deals out of spite—deals that would’ve kept food on the table for struggling families.
When a new project came up, I planned to award the bid to a sharp, loyal young Beta in the pack as part of a youth empowerment effort, but Victor overrode the decision and gave it to an outsider who bribed him with better incentives.
By the time I found out, pack members had already begun to question my push for youth empowerment—doubting my priorities, my integrity, and my leadership.
The memory soured on my tongue like acid. My jaw clenched, but I kept my face blank.
Victor shifted when Father’s gaze settled on him—cold, direct. “What are you talking about, boy?”
“Nothing specific,” Victor said smoothly, cutting another piece of steak. “Just wanted to make sure my dear brother has his head in the right place.”
“The wedding will proceed as planned,” I said firmly, locking eyes with Victor, hoping to shut down whatever twisted game he was playing.
But even as the words left my mouth, my wolf stirred beneath my skin.
My father nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Because this deal with the Moreaus isn’t just about money, Luca. It’s about dominance. Staying on top and climbing even higher. It’s about the Alpha Regency.”
His voice shifted, dropping into that tone he always used when the subject turned to pack power. Serious. Nonnegotiable.
“Their technology could revolutionize our operations,” he went on, “but they won’t hand it over without guarantees. Trust isn’t something you buy—it’s earned. Or, in this case, secured through blood.”
I’d heard this before. Again and again. It was an agonizing reminder that I had to lead with my head…not with my heart. Not with the part of me that still reacted to the sound of her name.
“The Moreaus won’t fully release their tech without assurance,” he continued, as if I hadn’t memorized every word.
“They don’t trust Vaughn Industries not to cut them out once the deal is sealed.
But marriage? That gives them roots. Legacy.
Leverage. If this wedding doesn’t happen, the deal falls apart.
And if it falls apart, another pack swoops in—takes the tech, takes the power, and threatens the Manhattan Pack’s position. ”