The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Aria’s POV

After leaving the Silver Creek Pack,I’d been drowning in work all week, and by the time I finally grabbed my phone, my first thought was of Damian.

Ever since I’d been discharged from the hospital, he seemed busier than ever. He still called, still texted, always initiated contact. But actually seeing each other? That was becoming damn near impossible.

Either he had Pack business that couldn’t wait, or I was drowning in Smith family affairs that demanded my attention.

If I was being honest, Damian had it worse. The Alpha King’s schedule was relentless.

These past few days, whenever I had a spare moment, I found myself thinking about him. Sometimes I’d even catch myself calling him just to hear his voice, just for a few seconds of connection.

But every time, without fail, we’d barely exchange two sentences before he had to hang up.

I hadn’t expected to find him waiting outside my door tonight.

The sight stopped me in my tracks.

Damian.

He looked rough. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but his coat was pulled tight around him as he leaned against the wall, one shoulder pressed to the stone.

His tall frame seemed diminished somehow in the empty corridor. Lost. Almost vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.

"Damian? What are you—" My throat tightened as the memory surfaced. Three hours ago. He’d texted asking if I wanted to grab dinner together.

I hadn’t replied. And he hadn’t pushed.

"I went to V&A Group looking for you. They said you’d left hours ago." His voice was low, muffled. He didn’t lift his head right away, staying half-hidden in shadow. "When you didn’t answer, I got worried. Thought I’d check on you."

When he finally stepped forward into the light, I noticed how cold he seemed. Not just physically, but something deeper, something that made my instincts flare with concern.

"Why didn’t you call?" I moved toward him quickly. "How long have you been out here?"

"A while," he said.

"I’m so sorry I’m late. You must have been freezing." I stepped closer, wrapping my arms gently around his side.

The temperature had dropped tonight, and his coat was ice-cold to the touch, like he’d absorbed all the chill from the air.

My touch seemed to soften something in him. The bleakness in his eyes eased slightly. But then he gently pushed me back.

"It’s late. You should get inside. Rest."

"Damian, are you mad at me?" The question came out sharper than I meant it to, tinged with surprise. I caught his arm before he could leave.

"No." The answer was immediate. Too immediate. Stiff and unconvincing.

"Is it because I forgot you were coming tonight? Or because I didn’t text back?" My voice softened without me meaning it to.

I didn’t even realize how much I sounded like I was pleading until the words were already out.

"Damian, I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset with me, okay?"

I moved behind him and slipped my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back. My voice dropped, soft and apologetic, almost a whisper. "I promise I’ll answer next time. I won’t forget again. I swear."

I felt him tense. Then, slowly, his hand came up to cover mine.

"Alright," he murmured.

That single word was all it took for the tightness in my chest to release.

I tugged him toward the door, unlocking it quickly and pulling him inside. "Come on. It’s freezing out there."

Once we were in the warmth of my apartment, I suddenly remembered.

"Oh! Wait here." I hurried to my room and came back with a small velvet box. "I got you something."

Damian’s eyes flicked to the box, then back to me. His expression didn’t change, but I could see the faint shift in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even surprise.

"The cufflinks," I said, opening the box to show him the sleek pair I’d picked out days ago.

He stared at them for a long moment.

"They’re beautiful," he said quietly. "Even more beautiful than I imagined. You sent me photos, but seeing them in person was different."

They were understated but elegant, engraved subtly with his initials.

"I’m glad you like them," I smiled. "Here, let me—"

Before I could finish, he caught my wrist gently.

"Put them on for me."

His voice was low, almost rough. There was something in his eyes—something possessive and tender all at once—that made my pulse quicken.

"You want me to—?"

"Yes."

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. I took one of the cufflinks and carefully fastened it to his sleeve, my fingers brushing against his wrist. His skin was warm now, the cold from outside finally fading.

"There," I whispered as I finished the second one.

He flexed his wrist slightly, admiring them. Then his gaze lifted to mine, and the intensity in those storm-gray eyes made my breath catch.

"Thank you."

The words were simple, but the weight behind them wasn’t.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, trying to break the tension before I did something stupid like kiss him.

"No."

"Damian." I gave him a look. "You’ve been waiting outside for hours and you didn’t eat?"

He shrugged, like it didn’t matter.

"Well, I’m fixing that. Sit." I pointed toward the couch, then headed to the kitchen before he could argue.

I wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, but I could manage a decent meal. I pulled out ingredients quickly—pasta, garlic, olive oil, some vegetables. Simple, but filling.

I’d just started heating the pan when I felt him behind me.

His arms slid around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.

"Damian—"

"Don’t move," he murmured into my hair. His voice was soft now, almost lazy. Content.

"I’m trying to cook."

"I know."

But he didn’t let go.

I huffed a quiet laugh, stirring the garlic even as my heart pounded. "You’re making this difficult."

"Good."

We stayed like that for a moment, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder, his arms secure around me. It felt... domestic. Warm. Like something I’d never let myself imagine before.

"We’re like a married couple," he said suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

I froze mid-stir.

"What?"

"This." He gestured vaguely around us. "You cooking. Me holding you. Coming home to each other." His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it—something serious. "It feels right."

My throat went dry.

"Damian..."

He turned me around gently, his hands settling on my waist. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unwavering.

"When are we going to make it official, Aria?"

My breath caught.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." His thumb brushed along my hip, slow and deliberate. "When are we going to register the Bond?"