Filed to story: The Luna is Secret Heiress Book PDF Free by Sylvia
Her vulnerability awakened every protective instinct I possessed. “Hold on, I’m taking you to the doctor.”
I lifted her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. Her blood stained my shirt, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting her the medical attention she needed.
As I passed Olivia, I threw her a venomous glare. “Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again!”
(Olivia’s POV)
“Fine.” My voice was emotionless and resolute.
(Ethan’s POV)
I paused briefly, shocked by her uncharacteristic indifference. The Olivia I knew would have apologized immediately, would have been devastated by my anger.
But Cassandra’s bleeding hand left me no time to ponder this transformation. I glared at Olivia one last time and stormed downstairs carrying Cassandra, leaving silence in our wake.
(Olivia’s POV)
Once alone, I slowly knelt beside the scattered ceramic remnants. My trembling fingers reached out to touch the jagged shards, tears dripping silently onto the cold fragments.
“Mom, I’m sorry… I failed to protect the gift you left me… I’m so sorry, Mom…” My voice broke into choking sobs as I grieved over the irretrievable loss.
Memories of my mother flooded my mind, washing over me in waves of bittersweet pain.
Back when I was twelve, my mother fell severely ill. The gentle, graceful woman with her ever-present soft smile was reduced to a frail figure, pale and wasted away by disease.
Sarah Winters, once the vibrant Luna of the Winters pack, now confined to a hospital bed, her strength diminishing day by day from the rare wolfsbane poisoning that even her enhanced healing abilities couldn’t overcome.
Young Olivia, just entering middle school, would rush daily not home, but straight to the medical facility after classes. I would sit by her bedside, sharing stories from school, singing the new songs my teachers taught.
“Mama Wolf, when will you get better?” my bright young eyes shimmered with barely hidden sorrow, using the nickname I’d given her when I was little.
Sarah gently stroked my honey-brown hair, lips lifting into a tender smile despite her pallor. “The doctor says I’ll be leaving the medical facility soon,” she whispered.
“Really?” My eyes gleamed with hope, childish innocence preventing me from seeing the truth.
“Mhm,” her voice soft but resolute, “In a few days, I’ll leave the medical facility and celebrate your birthday with you.”
“Yay!” My face lit up, believing every word. I thought my mother would soon recover completely.
Only later did I learn that “leaving” didn’t mean recovery. It meant the doctors were powerless; my mother was brought home simply to spend her final days alongside family, to fulfill those last precious wishes.
The ceramic wolf figurine we crafted together on that final birthday was the last gift my mother had given me-and now Cassandra had destroyed it out of spite.
(Olivia’s POV)
The snow had just stopped falling over Riverdale. The sky cleared to a brilliant blue, making the snow-laden trees sparkle like they were covered in diamonds.
I remember that day so vividly. I was only twelve, sitting in the backseat of my father’s car as we drove to pick up my mother from the hospital. The doctors had finally released her to come home.
My father, Richard Winters, gripped the steering wheel tightly. His knuckles were white with tension. The silence between my parents was heavy, almost suffocating, but I didn’t notice it then. I was too busy fogging up the window with my breath, using my finger to draw pictures on the glass.
“Look, Mama!” I chirped happily, pointing to my creation. “It’s us!”
I had drawn our family of three-stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun. My heart was overflowing with joy. Mama was finally coming home.
My mother turned in her seat to look at my childish artwork. Something flickered across her face-a shadow of pain that I was too young to recognize. Her beautiful amber eyes, so like my own, quickly reddened with unshed tears.
She quietly wiped them away before I could notice, forcing a gentle smile to her pale lips.
“Your birthday is coming soon, Livvy,” she said softly. “What present would you like?”
I continued drawing on the foggy window, adding a house with smoke curling from the chimney.
“Mama, I want a wolf figurine,” I replied without looking up.
“A wolf figurine?” My mother sounded puzzled. “Do you mean a carving?”
I shook my head eagerly, finally turning to face her. “No, it’s a ceramic wolf! I want a light blue ceramic wolf.”
My eyes sparkled with excitement as I explained, “Becky said there’s a new DIY workshop on Moon Street. We can buy an unpainted ceramic wolf and color it ourselves!”
“Last week, Becky and Jason went and painted two really cute figurines,” I added, bouncing slightly in my seat.
My mother’s smile grew gentler, more genuine. “Alright, whatever my Livvy wants, Mama will do with you.”
On my twelfth birthday, heavy snow blanketed Riverdale again. My mother and I walked hand in hand into the DIY workshop, our footprints marking a trail behind us in the fresh snow.
We had pre-ordered a plain ceramic wolf figurine. The owner handed it over immediately, and my mother and I sat at a small table by the window, carefully selecting colors and brushes.
Together, we painted the figurine light blue-my favorite color. My mother’s hands were thin and trembling slightly, but her brushstrokes were still precise and elegant. It was our first ever joint creation.
When we finished, I held up the figurine to the light, turning it this way and that to admire our work.
“It’s beautiful, Mama! Even prettier than I imagined!”
My mother smiled, her amber eyes soft with love. “It is beautiful, just like you.”
Afterward, we stopped at a nearby bakery and bought a small chocolate cake with strawberries-my favorite. My mother carried the cake in one hand and held my tiny palm in the other as we trudged through the swirling snow toward the parking lot where my father waited.
Suddenly, she stopped walking. I looked up at her, confused.
She turned to gaze at me with such deep tenderness that even my young heart recognized something important was happening. Her breath formed small clouds in the cold air as she whispered, “Livvy, Mama loves you. Loves you very, very much.”
Her soft voice scattered quickly in the cold wind.
My nose was red from the cold, and I sniffled slightly. I was used to my mother saying such things, so I cheerfully replied, “Mama, Livvy loves you too!”
I didn’t understand why her eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know that she was saying goodbye.
My mother’s nose tingled with emotion, and she turned away quickly so I wouldn’t see her cry. She tugged gently on my hand, and we continued walking through the crowd, crossing the bustling pedestrian street to reach the open-air parking lot.
My father was waiting outside his car, smoking a cigarette-something he rarely did. His face. wore an expression I’d never seen before: sorrow and loneliness etched into every line. When he noticed us approaching, he quickly masked his grief and put on his usual stern expression.
I wondered if I’d imagined that moment of vulnerability.
He stubbed out his cigarette and said hoarsely, “You’re back.”
“Yes,” my mother answered quietly.
That night, my father personally cooked dinner-another rarity. Our small family gathered happily around the table. I wore a paper birthday crown that my mother had made, made a wish, and blew out the twelve candles on my cake.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then disaster struck during dessert.
Just as my mother lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, she began coughing violently. Suddenly, blood gushed uncontrollably from her lips, spattering across the white tablecloth.
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