Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Leila’s POV
“I have never seen a man frown so hard during his own wedding photoshoot. Goodness,” Valerie said, swiping through her phone. “He looks like someone forced him to chew a lemon.”
It was out.
The news of Luca and Elena’s engagement.
I’d woken up at three a.m. to a storm of notifications buzzing on my phone. Every media outlet, every blog, every gossip site was reporting on it. The Alpha Heir of the Manhattan Pack is getting married to the Bronx Alpha’s daughter. Photos were already circulating everywhere.
Some called it a perfect match.
Some called her the perfect Luna.
All of them sang the same song—glowing headlines, glowing bride, glowing future.
And me?
I’d read through every word anyway, even as a sharp ache settled behind my ribs. Scrolling through page after page. But it was all praise.
Nothing like what they said about me when our relationship had gone public five years ago. Back then, I was picked apart from the very first image. I think the nicest thing I ever read was from a small-time blogger who called me a “decent-looking woman”. That was it.
Nothing more.
And often much, much less.
“I mean, look at him,” Valerie said, zooming in on Luca’s face. “He’s not even trying to smile.”
He wore a perfectly tailored navy blue three-piece suit. His arm was draped around Elena’s waist as she stood beside him in what could only be described as Cinderella’s ball gown—strapless, shimmering, fairytale worthy.
And even though the sight of that photo made something in my stomach twist, I couldn’t deny it: she looked good.
“Luca’s never been one to smile. Or show any emotion at all, really,” I said, glancing briefly at the screen Valerie held up to me. “It’s like he was born missing the gene for human feelings.”
I recalled the rare moments he smiled at me. Like the other day, when he was fixing my kitchen sink. He didn’t do it often, but when he did…it was something beautiful.
“Even so. It’s a wedding, for crying out loud. You’d expect at least a flicker of excitement. A sparkle. Something.” Valerie turned the phone back to her and fixed me with a look. “Tell me honestly—do you get the vibe that he doesn’t want to get married?”
I shrugged, brushing mascara onto my lashes. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You work with him,” she pressed. “You’ve seen them together—him and his bride. Is he all lovey-dovey when she walks in? Does he open doors for her? Hold her bag? Laugh at her jokes?”
No. No. Definitely not. And no.
“He’s not exactly enthusiastic about the wedding planning, I’ll tell you that. He just sits through meetings like he’s serving a sentence. Doesn’t contribute a thing.”
“Hmmm.” Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “Weird.”
I applied a final coat of red lipstick and turned to Valerie.
“Look, it doesn’t matter whether he’s happy or not. Enthusiastic or not. Bottom line—he’s getting married in three weeks.”
Valerie’s expression softened, sympathy creeping into her eyes.
I cut it off with a noncommittal smile, grabbing my bag and shoving my laptop inside. I’d heard enough of her reminding me how difficult it must be to plan the wedding of my Fated Mate to someone else.
“Don’t forget Ollie’s meds at noon,” I said, standing. He’d come down with the flu. Nothing serious. But I wasn’t about to take any chances with his health. “My meeting with Elena should wrap up around twelve, then I’m meeting…a friend for lunch.”
Valerie’s eyebrows shot up. She immediately honed in on my vague tone like a wolf on a scent.
“Which friend? I know all your friends. In fact, I am your only friend.”
I sighed. I knew she was going to make a big deal out of this, but I told her anyway.
“Victor Vaughn. He reached out earlier this week. Asked to catch up over lunch.”
Valerie’s eyes went wide. She practically bounced onto my bed, grinning like I’d just given her front row tickets to gossip heaven.
“Oh my God. Are you pivoting to his younger brother now? That’s revenge served sizzling.”
“Older,” I corrected flatly. “And no. I’m not trying to get revenge or whatever twisted fantasy you’re building in that head of yours.”
I cringed at the thought of getting involved with Victor just to spite Luca.
“Victor and I are friends. That’s all. No more. No less.”
“Well,” Valerie said, flopping dramatically onto her back, “if you change your mind…”
I threw a pillow at her. “I won’t.”
Before leaving, I peeked into Ollie’s room. He was still fast asleep, curled up beneath the covers, his breathing soft and steady.
I pulled the door closed gently behind me.
By the time I reached Moreau Estate, I was half expecting to see Luca, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Funny how quickly things had shifted. A week ago, I couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room with him. Now, some reckless part of me kept hoping he’d show up.
But, like the last two meetings Elena and I held over the week, he was a no-show.
I told myself I didn’t care. That his absence was exactly what I wanted.
And yet…the restless flutter in my chest said otherwise.
Maybe he was finally listening. Finally heeding all the times I had told him to stay away. Not to risk my job.
Or maybe…maybe he was still upset about how things ended the last time we saw each other.
I’d been mean. I knew that. But it had come from panic, not malice.
He was in my house. With my son. His son.
The one he didn’t know about.
The one I was still keeping secret from everyone.
My brain had short-circuited the second his eyes landed on Ollie. I’d been on edge the entire time, coiled so tight it hurt to breathe. And then he asked.
That did it.
I exploded.
The words that flew out of me that day, they weren’t all true. Most of them were armor. Panic disguised as cruelty. And now, a week later, I would’ve given anything to take them back.
But even through the chaos of that visit, I’d seen it—something undeniable in how they moved around each other. Ollie got along with almost everyone. He was that kind of kid, Open, cheerful, warm. Even Blaze adored him.
But with Luca, it was different.
He didn’t just like him. He gravitated toward him. Trusted him too quickly, smiled too easily. The way he mirrored Luca’s expressions, the questions he asked, how he leaned into his space without fear, like his instincts recognized something his mind couldn’t name.
That kind of connection couldn’t be faked.
As Elena and I began discussing details for the rehearsal dinner, I heard footsteps approaching. It was an unfamiliar man, stylishly dressed in multiple colors and details that screamed luxury.
He didn’t so much as glance at me. He made a beeline straight for Elena, who squealed at the sight of him like he was the long-lost love of her life.
They exchanged ear-splitting pleasantries while I stood off to the side like the invisible intern. Eventually, they seemed to remember someone else was present.
“Leila, this is Armand,” Elena said, flicking her manicured fingers in my direction like she was introducing a table lamp. “He’s my stylist-slash-miracle-worker-slash-genius. He’ll be curating the entire aesthetic for the wedding.”
Armand gave me a single, almost imperceptible nod before producing his iPad with a theatrical flourish.
“I’m thinking Versailles meets St. Tropez,” Elena said, eyes gleaming like she’d just solved world hunger. “But not too French, obviously. And absolutely no pastels. Pastels are for baby showers and girls with no taste.”
I nodded once, even though I didn’t fully understand what any of that meant.
“The venue is fine, but it needs elevation. Right now, it feels like a charity gala. I want royal, Leila. Dripping in diamonds. Soul-crushing elegance.”
“Of course,” I said with a polite smile. “I’d be happy to coordinate with Armand on the logistics. Have you and Luca—I mean, your fiancé—settled on a color palette?”
Elena grimaced like I’d asked if she was marrying her cousin.
“Luca trusts my judgment,” she said breezily. “So, whatever I say, go with that.”
Okay. Heard that loud and clear.
But it was strange, this didn’t sound like Luca at all. Five years ago, he would’ve hated “soul-crushing elegance”. He’d once told me crystal centerpieces made his skin crawl.
Either Elena had steamrolled him…
Or he’d changed more than I realized.
The rest of the meeting blurred into talk of peonies and gold-accented tableware, suspended candles, and imported crystal. I took notes. Smiled when I needed to. Agreed where appropriate.
We were entering the difficult stretch of this planning process, where everything became more real and personal.
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. But I was up for the challenge.
Even if it meant proving Elena wrong, one perfectly executed detail at a time.
And giving her a wedding she’d never forget.
After the meeting, I made my way to the restaurant Victor had texted me about. He was already waiting when I arrived.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, reaching for a chair, but before I could pull it out, Victor stood and helped me.
“Thank you,” I murmured, offering a small smile as I settled in.
He took his seat across from me, his gaze soft but steady. “You look beautiful, Leila,” he said.
I smiled politely. “Thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and ordered us some wine. Red. Non alcoholic—I thought it’d be better to keep things light and easy.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at me like he was still wrapping his head around the fact that I was sitting here in front of him.
Victor’s eyes were brown, warm, and observant, unlike Luca’s steel gray ones. But like his brother, his hair was jet black and slicked back with meticulous precision. It gave him a refined, uptight look, though his personality was anything but.