The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Aria’s POV

My phone was already in my hand, the voice recorder app still running.

I’d started it the moment he grabbed me. Every word of his groveling confession—admitting to the affair, to the deception, to lying about Clara—all of it captured in crystal-clear audio.

"Should I send this to Clara?" I mused aloud, watching his face drain of color all over again. "Or maybe I should just send it to the entire pack distribution list. What do you think?"

My thumb hovered over my contacts, already hovering over the ’select all’ button.

One tap and every member of Silver Creek Pack would hear their Alpha on his knees, begging his fake wife for forgiveness while admitting to a years-long deception.

His reputation would be in tatters. Clara would probably tear him apart with her bare hands.

Ethan froze mid-step like I’d turned him to stone.

"Aria, you weren’t like this before," he said desperately. "Please, let’s not keep hurting each other. You’re in pain, I understand that—but don’t you think I’m suffering too?

Do you have any idea how guilty I’ve felt all these years, lying to you? The worst part is that I’ve fallen in love with—"

"Say one more word and I hit send."

He snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked together.

I watched him swallow whatever declaration he’d been about to make.

We both knew it would have been another lie anyway—probably something about how he’d "realized" I was his true love all along, how Clara meant nothing compared to what we had.

Same script, different day.

He nodded jerkily, trying a different approach.

"Okay. Okay, I won’t say anything. Just... let me show you through my actions instead. You want the shares? Fine. I’ll give them to you. Just please don’t send that recording."

I almost laughed again. Did he really think I was that naive? That I’d accept his word and delete the evidence?

Ethan was only agreeing because he thought he could buy time.

Once he got me to back down, he’d immediately start scheming about how to neutralize the threat—probably by having his lawyers draft some kind of NDA or trying to claim the recording was obtained illegally.

But that was fine. Let him plot. Let him scheme. Let him think he still had a chance at controlling this situation.

Because the truth was, destroying someone isn’t about the ending. It’s about the journey. The slow unraveling. The creeping dread. The moment they realize that everything they thought was solid ground is actually quicksand.

I wanted Ethan and the Holt family to suffer the same way I had—slowly, agonizingly, with hope dangling just out of reach before being snatched away.

And honestly? Even if they did transfer the shares, even if they met every single one of my demands, who said I was going to let this go?

I turned to leave, already mentally cataloging my next moves. But of course Ethan couldn’t let me have the last word. His hand shot out, reaching for my wrist.

I saw it coming a mile away. After two years of dealing with his manipulation tactics, I’d learned to predict his moves.

I sidestepped smoothly, letting his grasping fingers close on empty air. Then I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"Stop following me, Ethan. Stop showing up at my house. Stop calling, texting, and making scenes in public. It’s over. Actually," I paused, letting a cruel smile curve my lips, "it was never real to begin with, was it?"

I straightened up, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. "And there’s another reason you need to back off."

Something in my tone must have warned him, because I saw fresh fear flicker across his face.

"I’m married now," I continued, watching those words hit him like a physical blow. "Really married this time. And I need to consider my husband’s feelings."

"You’re lying!" Ethan’s face flushed an ugly red. "You couldn’t possibly have gotten married that fast! You’re just trying to make me jealous!"

I held up my left hand, letting the light catch on Damian’s ring—that massive center stone surrounded by smaller diamonds, the platinum band that probably cost more than Ethan’s car.

"Do I look like I’m lying?"

For a moment, I thought he might actually lunge at me. His whole body tensed, his hands curling into fists.

So I leaned in one more time, dropping my voice to barely above a whisper—the kind of tone that promised violence if he pushed too far.

"Shhh." The sound was almost gentle.

"My husband isn’t someone you can afford to provoke, Ethan. If he gets the wrong idea about why you keep stalking me, if he decides he doesn’t like you bothering his wife..."

I let the sentence trail off meaningfully. "Well, let’s just say the consequences would be beyond my control."

I didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t give him a chance to process the threat. Just turned on my heel and walked away, my heels clicking against the concrete with each step.

I didn’t look back. Didn’t need to.

I could feel Ethan’s eyes boring into my back, could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to figure out who I’d married, how powerful this mystery husband was, what kind of danger he was actually in.

Let him wonder. Let him lose sleep over it.

Because the truth was so much worse than anything he could imagine.

And soon enough, he’d find out exactly who Damian Blackwood was—and by then, it would be far too late to run.