Filed to story: The Luna is Secret Heiress Book PDF Free by Sylvia
I drove the Bentley around Harbor City for a while, letting the smooth handling and powerful engine calm my nerves. The luxury of the vehicle was undeniable-the buttery soft leather seats, the responsive steering, the quiet purr of the engine. Connor had chosen well.
After clearing my mind with the drive, I parked the Bentley discreetly in a paid lot outside the
Moonlight Manor. I deliberately avoided the garage-we weren’t at the point of tearing off all pretense yet.
Not long ago, I had considered confessing my true identity and background to Ethan. Now, I no longer saw the need. Let him believe what he wanted about me. In just over a week, I would be gone from his life completely.
That night, I brought home takeout from a specialty restaurant and sat down at the dining table as if nothing was amiss. I opened the boxes filled with spicy venison and herb-crusted rabbit, the rich aroma instantly filling the room.
The scent of seasoned crawfish and chili-rubbed wild boar wafted through the air, making my mouth water in anticipation. I noticed Ethan’s gaze drawn helplessly to my meal, his mouth watering against his will as the spicy scent awakened his appetite.
Compared to his bland vegetarian plates-Cassandra’s preferred diet-my food looked infinitely more tempting. I suppressed a smile, remembering how much Ethan had always loved spicy food.
Memories flashed of past dates when I would peel crawfish for him with my slender fingers, feeding him bite after bite. He would close his eyes in pleasure, savoring the spicy, succulent meat.
Now, I dexterously peeled the crawfish for myself, enjoying each morsel without offering him any. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move with an intensity that spoke of more than just hunger for food.
When I caught him staring, I swallowed and asked bluntly, “What is it? Why are you looking at me?”
Embarrassed at being caught, Ethan coughed and pretended indifference. “Can you not eat such pungent things?”
Before I could answer, Cassandra, sitting nearby, interjected sharply, “Ugh, the poorer someone is, the more they like heavy, spicy flavors. Miss Winters, that smell is awful. Maybe take it outside?”
The irony wasn’t lost on me-Ethan was just craving these very dishes moments ago, yet Cassandra now used them as a class insult. I wondered if he would defend me or his own preferences.
He did neither, sitting in uncomfortable silence as Cassandra continued her tirade against my
“low-class” food choices. licked my lips provocatively and deliberately stirred the pot. “Miss Evans, it seems you don’t really know Ethan. Why don’t you ask him if he likes spicy food?”
Cassandra looked stunned and turned to Ethan, clearly expecting him to side with her refined palate. His brow twitched, unwilling to expose himself, and he simply picked up some plain vegetables.
“Forget her, let’s just eat,” he muttered, avoiding both our gazes.
Ignoring their awkwardness, I happily finished my entire spicy feast, humming with satisfaction at each delicious bite. The tension at the table was palpable, but for once, I wasn’t the one feeling uncomfortable.
After dinner, Cassandra strutted around the living room like she already owned the place. She began nitpicking everything I had once lovingly arranged.
“Ethan, these curtains are ugly,” she declared, running her fingers along the fabric I had carefully selected to complement the room’s color scheme.
She moved to the antique vase I had found at a local market. “That vase clashes horribly with the decor.”
Her gaze then fell on the fresh flowers I had arranged that morning. She wrinkled her nose and complained, “And those flowers-I’m allergic to pollen, can you toss them out?”
Ethan, seeking to appease her, said perfunctorily, “Change whatever you don’t like.”
His gaze flickered to me, almost as if testing my reaction. “Since you’re allergic, throw them away.”
I sat quietly, keeping my expression neutral as I watched their little performance. This wasn’t truly my home anymore, so what did it matter if she wanted to redecorate? In a week’s time, I would be gone, and she could paint the walls neon pink for all I cared.
Cassandra mistook my silence for defeat and smirked triumphantly, feeling she had won this silent battle. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she continued pointing out everything she wanted to change.
Ethan called out to Martha, instructing her coldly, “Get rid of these flowers.”
Martha hesitated, her loyalty to me evident in her reluctance. She whispered, “But sir, Miss
Winters bought those.”
His face darkened at her defiance. “So what? Do you forget who pays your salary?”
The threat was clear-Martha’s position depended on her obedience to him, not her affection for me. I felt a pang of sympathy for the housekeeper caught in our power struggle.
“It’s fine, Martha,” I interjected softly. “Just throw them out.”
The loyal housekeeper reluctantly obeyed, though I could see her cursing inwardly at the
“crazy master and crazy lady.” I knew she particularly resented the gloomy days of bland vegetarian meals since Cassandra’s arrival.
Cassandra, emboldened by her victory with the flowers, clung coquettishly to Ethan’s arm.
“Ethan, tomorrow come shopping for curtains with me.”
Ethan glanced instinctively at me, perhaps expecting jealousy or protest. Instead, he found me utterly calm, devoid of any visible reaction. My indifference seemed to irritate him more than any angry outburst would have.
Wasn’t I too obedient, too silent? Wasn’t a hint of jealousy normal? The very qualities he once appreciated in me-my patience, my understanding-now seemed to frustrate him.
Cassandra shook his arm impatiently when he didn’t immediately respond. “Ethan, did you hear me?”
He pulled back his gaze from me, suppressing whatever emotions were brewing beneath his surface. “Mm,” he answered with a low, muffled sound of agreement.
The next day, while I was out running errands, Cassandra went on her shopping spree. When I returned to Moonlight Manor, the place was in chaos.
Workers moved throughout the house, removing curtains, replacing decorative items, and rearranging furniture. Cassandra had ostentatiously purchased a mountain of home decor, commanding the staff to replace everything I had once carefully selected.
My curtains, chosen for their subtle pattern that caught the morning light just so, were being tossed unceremoniously into large trash bags. The artwork I had selected to complement the manor’s architecture was being replaced with gaudy, oversized pieces that overwhelmed the space.
Everything that had once made this place feel like home to me was being ruthlessly discarded. When our eyes met across the chaotic living room, Cassandra’s gaze was smug and victorious.
I simply swept my eyes over the busy workers and the piles of new furnishings before turning silently toward the stairs. Let her have her petty victory. Let her mark her territory like an animal claiming a new den.
In my room, I methodically began packing what I planned to take with me to Riverdale. I sorted through my belongings, deciding what to discard and what to keep, leaving out only the necessities for my remaining days here.
I had hoped for a peaceful coexistence in these final days at Moonlight Manor, but Cassandra clearly intended to force me out by any means necessary.
(Olivia’s POV)
The warm water cascaded over my skin as I soaked in the bathtub, trying to wash away the stress of the upcoming territory dispute hearing. Tomorrow would be a crucial day-the formal proceedings that would determine the boundaries between the Grey and Rivers packs.
I closed my eyes, letting the lavender-scented bubbles soothe my frayed nerves. The past few days had been a constant battle with Cassandra’s territorial marking of Moonlight Manor.
Every corner now bore her touch, erasing my presence bit by bit.
A sharp crash from my bedroom jolted me from my thoughts.
My heart raced as I quickly rinsed the soap from my skin. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I hastily threw on my cotton pajamas, not bothering to dry myself properly. Water dripped from my honey-brown hair as I rushed out of the bathroom.
What greeted me stopped my heart cold.
Scattered across my hardwood floor were fragments of light blue ceramic. Not just any ceramic-my cherished wolf figurine. The one I had crafted with my mother on my twelfth birthday.
The figurine that had our names-Olivia Winters and Sarah Winters-engraved on its base.
The last gift from my mother before she died.
Blood rushed to my head, fury blazing through my veins like wildfire. My vision blurred with rage as I stared at the shattered remains of my most precious possession.
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