The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 302

Chapter 302: Anything to Hold Onto

Meredith.

I didn’t even realize where my feet had carried me until I looked up and saw the tall, familiar doors of Draven’s study.

My breath caught. For a moment, I considered turning back, but before I could stop myself, my knuckles rapped lightly against the wood.

But there was no answer, so I pushed the door open. The room was empty.

Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. Slowly, I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me.

My hand lifted to my cheek, wiping away the trail of tears. My face burned at the thought of anyone seeing me like this.

I just needed someone or something—anything to hold onto.

And that was when my eyes drifted to the sitting area, to the sofa where I had sat yesterday morning, when Draven had poured that strange creamy drink for me.

We had spoken so openly then. His honesty had hurt, but it had also settled something inside me.

And right now, all I wanted was that same sweetness, something to distract me even if it was for a moment.

I walked to the shelf, scanning the bottles until my gaze snagged on the one I remembered, a pale label—a thick liquid that glimmered faintly in the glass.

I reached for it immediately, the cool weight of the bottle steadying my hand, if only slightly.

Grabbing a clean glass, I carried both over to the sofa and sank down with a sniff, setting the bottle on the stool.

My fingers trembled slightly as I uncorked it and poured, the creamy liquid swirling as it filled the glass.

Then, I lifted it to my lips and took a slow sip. The sweetness bloomed on my tongue, smooth and rich.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting it coat my senses, pretending it could wash away the heaviness inside me.

But the taste lingered only briefly before my thoughts returned, sharper than before.

Who was to blame for all of this?

My siblings, for hating me? For despising me simply because I was loved?

Or my parents, for sowing those seeds, for pouring all their affection on me and neglecting the others until jealousy was all they could feel?

My throat tightened. My chest ached.

I didn’t know who deserved the blame more, but I knew one thing—none of it had ever been my fault. And yet, I was the one who bore the weight of it all.

I set the glass down carefully on the stool, pressing my palms against my knees, my eyes stinging again.

Leaning back into the sofa, I stared at the glass in front of me. The faint cream-colored liquid shimmered in the dim light, almost mocking me with its softness.

My hand hovered, then dropped uselessly against my lap.

No matter how sweet the drink, it couldn’t drown the bitterness of truth or fix the ache inside me.

Just then, Valmora stirred. "Meredith, your siblings hated your because in your parents’ eyes, you were everything they weren’t. And when the mark came, they rejoiced. Your pain became their victory. If this wasn’t inferiority complex, what else could it be?"

"I don’t think you should waste your emotions on those people. But I can see venting is probably the only way you can feel better, so I will let you be," Valmora said to me, realizing I wasn’t ready to have any conversation with her.

**~Draven~**

But who is it that would walk into my study without my permission?

Immediately, I reached for the door and pushed it open. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.

Meredith. She was curled on the sofa, her shoulders slightly hunched, her eyes red-rimmed. And on the stool beside her sat an open bottle of the creamy liquor I had poured for her yesterday, and a half-filled glass within her reach.

Her head lifted at the sound of the door. Our eyes met briefly before she quickly turned her face away, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

My chest tightened instantly at that sight.

Without a word, I shut the door behind me. My strides lengthened, carrying me across the room in seconds.

She looked so small in that moment, so unlike the strong, unyielding woman who often stood toe-to-toe with me. And I hated it. I hated the wet shimmer of tears clinging to her lashes.

"Meredith," I said softly, my voice heavier than I intended.

Her gaze flickered back to me, and that single glance was enough to drown me in worry.

I lowered myself onto the edge of the sofa, my gaze briefly flicking to the bottle on the stool. My jaw tightened. Half the contents were already gone.

That drink was deceptively sweet, masking its strength—stronger than most would guess. I frowned, wondering how she wasn’t already slumped over.

But then, as I looked closer, I noticed it: the faint glaze in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged too heavily, the uneven rise and fall of her breath.

She was tipsy.