Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 13

POV: Seraphina

My brief moment of triumph was swiftly crushed under the heel of Damian's arrogance. Two days after my secret victory, he announced he was hosting a grand banquet for our allied Alphas. He informed me in passing, as if discussing the weather. And I, as his Luna, would be responsible for organizing every last detail. It was a test, I knew. A performance of my wifely duties designed to showcase his absolute control over his household, and by extension, his mate.

For four days, I worked tirelessly, fueled by a cold, simmering rage. I planned the menu with the chefs, designed the floral arrangements with the gardeners, coordinated with the household staff, and personally reviewed the seating chart a dozen times to ensure perfect political balance. I poured every ounce of my energy into making it perfect, not for him, but for myself. It was a matter of pride, a refusal to let him see me fail.

My primary obstacle, of course, was Sylvie. She shadowed my every move, a sweet, poisonous perfume clinging to the air around her. She'd look over my shoulder at the menu and murmur, "Oh, but darling, Damian has never liked duck. You should serve venison. He adores the way I prepare it." She'd rearrange my carefully chosen white rose centerpieces with gaudy, oversized orchids, saying, "These are lovely, of course, but a bit somber, don't you think? Damian prefers something more vibrant, more full of life. It reminds him of his victories."

Every suggestion was a subtle power play, a constant, insidious reminder that she held the key to his preferences, his heart. I met her meddling with a calm, icy politeness that seemed to frustrate her more than any outburst would have. I simply smiled and said, "Thank you for the suggestion, Sylvie. I'll take it under consideration." And then, the moment she was gone, I would have the staff change it back.

The night of the banquet arrived. The great hall glittered with candlelight, the air hummed with the low murmur of powerful men and women. I stood by the entrance, a perfect Luna in a deep sapphire gown, greeting each guest with a practiced grace and a serene smile fixed on my face. Damian was at my side, the perfect Alpha, but his attention was elsewhere. Every few minutes, his eyes would find Sylvie, who was dazzling in a silver dress that shimmered like moonlight on water. She was acting as the unofficial hostess, charming the guests, her laughter ringing through the hall.

The meal was a success. The food was exquisite, the wine flowed freely, and the conversations were animated. I allowed myself a flicker of satisfaction. I had done my duty flawlessly, despite the constant interference.

He raised his glass to her. A hundred pairs of eyes followed his gesture. They looked at Sylvie, then at me, their expressions a fleeting, mortifying mixture of pity, confusion, and morbid curiosity. He had not just ignored me. He had erased me. In front of our most powerful allies, he had stripped me of my role, my work, my dignity, and handed it all to her on a silver platter as if it were a party favor.

The polite applause felt like a physical blow. Sylvie preened under the attention, her cheeks flushing with victory as she inclined her head graciously toward Damian.

I kept the smile frozen on my face, my posture perfect, my gaze fixed on the flickering candle at the center of the table as its flame danced and swayed.