Moons curse

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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It was on the eve of the lunar solstice that Luna Brightwater first felt the shift. The air in Silverwood was thick with anticipation, the kind of heaviness that settled in the bones and whispered of change. She tightened her grip on the basket of herbs in her hands, her gaze fixed on the moon as it peeked through the canopy of the ancient forest. Its light seemed brighter tonight, almost...watchful.

She exhaled sharply and shook the thought away. The moon didn't watch anyone. It was just a rock in the sky, distant and cold, no matter what the pack elders claimed.

"You're going to get caught again, you know."

The voice startled her, and she spun around, her heart thudding in her chest. It was Calla, her best friend and one of the few omegas who didn't mind Luna's defiance. Calla leaned against a tree, arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips.

"And if I do?" Luna challenged, arching a brow.

Calla rolled her eyes. "Then Elder Gareth will lecture you for hours about tradition and obedience, and you'll pretend to listen while mentally planning your next escape. It's a cycle, Luna. A very predictable one."

Luna shrugged, her rebellious grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe I like being predictable."

Calla snorted. "You? Predictable? Please. You've been causing trouble since the day you could walk."

"And you've been following me into trouble since the day you could."

The two shared a laugh, the kind that came easily after years of friendship. But the laughter faded as a distant howl echoed through the forest, low and haunting. Calla's expression sobered, and she glanced over her shoulder nervously.

"They're patrolling again," she said quietly.

"Let them patrol," Luna replied, though her voice was softer now. "They're just scared of the solstice. Everyone gets jumpy this time of year."

"Maybe they should be scared," Calla muttered, lowering her voice. "You know what they say about the solstice. The veil between worlds thins, and the moon chooses-"

"Don't start," Luna cut her off, her tone sharper than she intended. "It's just a bunch of stories to keep us in line. The moon doesn't choose anything. We do."

Calla hesitated, then nodded, though her eyes still held a trace of doubt. "If you say so."

Luna turned back toward the path, her grip tightening on her basket. The truth was, she didn't know what she believed anymore. The legends, the prophecies, the talk of the moon's will-it all felt like chains disguised as tradition. But even she couldn't deny the unease that crept over her tonight.

The sound of rustling leaves made her pause. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but her heightened senses picked it up immediately. She froze, her ears straining to catch any further movement.

"Calla," she whispered, "did you hear that?"

Calla tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "Hear what?"

Another rustle, this time closer. Luna's heart quickened as she scanned the trees. The forest, usually a comforting presence, felt oppressive now, its shadows deeper and more menacing.

And then she saw him.

A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and broad-shouldered, his movements fluid and deliberate. His face was obscured by the shadows, but there was no mistaking the power that radiated from him.

"Who's there?" Luna demanded, her voice steady despite the knot of tension in her stomach.

The man stepped into the moonlight, and Luna felt her breath hitch. He was strikingly handsome, with dark, unruly hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze-something dangerous and magnetic all at once.

"Elias," he said simply, his voice deep and smooth.

"And what does Elias want in this part of the forest?" Luna asked, narrowing her eyes.

His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "To ensure no one gets into trouble. But it seems I'm too late for that."

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