Filed to story: The Luna is Secret Heiress Book PDF Free by Sylvia
(Olivia’s POV)
I paid no attention to Ethan Grey’s departure from the banquet. His presence-or absence-meant nothing to me now.
Holding a crystal flute of champagne, I smiled politely as I conversed with yet another important guest. The evening had become a blur of introductions and small talk.
Connor stood beside me, his tall frame commanding respect as he introduced me to several influential figures in legal and academic circles. His hand occasionally brushed against the small of my back, a subtle gesture of support that didn’t go unnoticed by the observant wolves around us.
“This is Olivia Winters,” he would say, his deep voice carrying a hint of pride. “One of the most promising young lawyers in Riverdale.”
Alexander, not to be outdone, had been parading me around to meet various business associates and pack leaders. His enthusiasm was exhausting but endearing.
“My brilliant cousin,” he’d announce with a flourish. “The Winters pack’s finest.”
After hours of networking, my feet were screaming in protest. The elegant heels I’d chosen for the evening had become instruments of torture. I leaned close to Connor, catching his familiar scent.
“You handle things here,” I whispered softly in his ear. “I’m going to rest on the sofa for a bit.”
Connor nodded slightly, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to his conversation with the middle-aged couple before him. Even that fleeting glance carried warmth that only I could see.
I made my way to a plush sofa in a quieter corner of the grand hall. Sinking into the cushions, I slipped off my heels beneath the table and massaged my aching feet with a sigh of relief.
A waiter approached with a silver tray. “Strawberry juice, miss? It’s freshly made.”
My favorite. I accepted the glass with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
The juice was deliciously sweet and refreshing. I took several sips, suddenly realizing how thirsty I’d been. My stomach growled softly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten before arriving at the banquet.
Rising briefly, I visited the buffet table and selected a small piece of cake. The rich dessert paired perfectly with the strawberry juice as I settled back onto the sofa.
My gaze drifted across the room, inevitably finding Connor. He stood tall among the guests, his presence commanding yet not overbearing. As if sensing my attention, he looked up, our eyes meeting across the crowded space.
I smiled, feeling my eyes curve with genuine happiness. After a moment’s pause, his lips curled into that rare, subtle smile he reserved only for me before he turned back to his conversation.
The sight warmed me more than any champagne could. I watched him quietly, my heart full of tenderness and affection I never thought I’d feel again.
The unpleasantness with Ethan earlier had left no lasting impression. It was like watching a movie about strangers-emotionally distant and ultimately forgettable.
Now, Connor filled my entire vision and thoughts.
Memories surfaced unbidden. As a child, I’d dreamed of a loving marriage like my parents had. I remembered watching my mother Sarah’s face light up whenever my father entered a room, the way they’d dance in the kitchen when they thought no one was watching.
But then came my mother’s death from wolfsbane poisoning. The light left our home, and when my father Richard remarried Natalie just two years later, my childhood fantasy shattered completely. I lost faith in love and marriage, seeing them as nothing but convenient arrangements destined to be betrayed.
When the alliance with Connor was first proposed, I viewed it as merely a business arrangement-a cold, political union that would benefit our packs but offer nothing more than polite companionship without real intimacy.
Yet as we grew closer these past weeks, I began seeing the truth that had been there all along. Connor’s gentle persistence wasn’t new-it had been a constant throughout my life.
Long ago, when my mother passed away, Connor had quietly started caring for me in his own way. He’d secretly learned to cook traditional dishes, then arranged for
Dorothy Jenkins to deliver them to me, pretending they were from the elderly woman herself.
He’d tutored me tirelessly through difficult subjects, helping me gain admission to
Riverdale University despite my grief-stricken state. The marriage alliance proposed three years ago had been entirely his idea; he’d actively approached my father, eager to formalize our bond sooner rather than later.
I had fiercely opposed it then, even running away from home to Harbor City. Yet Connor never blamed me for my rejection. For three years, he traveled endlessly between Riverdale and Harbor City just to catch glimpses of me-yet never disturbed my life with Ethan, respecting my choices even when they must have hurt him deeply.
When his foster sister Vanessa Reed schemed to frame me, Connor stood firmly on my side, his trust in me unwavering. Though reputed to be aloof and unapproachable to others, in all my memories, Connor had only ever shown me gentleness and patience.
I realized now that while he was indeed cold to others, he had always reserved his warmth exclusively for me.
A particular memory surfaced vividly: during high school, I attended Connor’s birthday celebration at the Rivers family mansion. The party was in full swing when suddenly the blaring dance music cut out, replaced by soft, sentimental melodies.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a girl with carefully styled chestnut curls and a tight black dress strode boldly toward Connor. She was voluptuous, sexy, dazzling- everything I wasn’t at that awkward age.
Without hesitation, she confessed her admiration and desire to date him. “I’ve liked you for three years,” she declared, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. “Will you go out with me?”
Connor, eyes lowered and face expressionless, simply said, “No.”
The girl persisted, even claiming she was willing to be his backup. “I can wait forever if you just turn back to me someday,” she pleaded.
His patience visibly evaporated. Looking up with coldly impatient eyes, he cut her off, his words sharp as knives: “You and I will never be possible.”
The rejection was brutal in its finality. Humiliated before everyone, the girl’s face turned deathly pale, tears trembling on her lashes as Connor turned away without a backward glance.
A heavy silence fell over the party. Friends rushed to comfort the devastated girl, whispering that Connor had always been ruthless in rejecting confessions and had never shown interest in any girl at all.
That memory had left a deep impression on me. The image of his icy indifference to others now contrasted starkly with the warmth he showed me alone.
Pulling myself from these reveries, I rose and headed to the restroom. After freshening up, I emerged into the hallway when an odd dizziness suddenly overtook me.
My heart began racing wildly, heat surging through my limbs as if a fire was burning beneath my skin. Confusion clouded my thoughts-I had barely drunk any alcohol tonight, and this felt nothing like mild intoxication.
My legs weakened, and my head grew unbearably heavy. I leaned against the wall for support, fumbling for my phone to call Connor. Something was very wrong.
“Miss, do you need help?” A man in a waiter’s uniform approached with a concerned expression.
I shook my head, trying to focus on unlocking my phone. But the man unexpectedly snatched it from my hands.
“Miss, I’ll take you to rest,” he insisted, his tone suddenly rough as he gripped my arm and began dragging me toward the elevators.
I tried desperately to struggle against his hold. “Let me go!” I demanded, but my voice came out weak and floating, barely audible even to my own ears.
Panic seized me as realization dawned-I’d been drugged. My mind whirled back to the strawberry juice. This man looked exactly like the waiter who had served me earlier. He must have spiked my drink!
Fighting to stay lucid despite the drug coursing through my system, I bit out in a trembling voice, “Who sent you?”
The man, who I now recognized wasn’t a real waiter at all but someone named Jeremy Walsh, remained silent. He only shoved me harder into the elevator, his grip bruising on my arm.
My thoughts swirled chaotically-who could have orchestrated this? Ethan? Cassandra? Or someone else entirely?
(Third Person POV)
Meanwhile, in a hotel room upstairs, Lloyd Simmons, a repulsive, obese man lay sprawled on the bed. His breathing came in heavy wheezes as he shifted his substantial weight against the creaking mattress.
An obscene smile spread across his greasy face as he checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, pupils dilated with sick excitement.
“She should be here any minute now,” he muttered to himself, licking his thick lips.
He adjusted his position, the bed protesting beneath him as he eagerly waited for his “beauty” to be delivered. The room was dimly lit, with only a bedside lamp casting shadows across his bloated features.
(Olivia’s POV)
The elevator panel lit up with the number twenty-two, the glowing digits swimming before my unfocused eyes. My limbs felt like lead, my thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in a storm.
“Where are you taking me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
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