The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Chapter 245: Chapter 245 Drunk with Emily

By the time I finished the last project review meeting, it was well past ten PM.

I leaned back in my office chair, rubbing my temples.

The pharmaceutical project timeline had been brutal, but we’d managed to pull it off without any delays.

Victor had handled the preliminary logistics while I was dealing with the Smith family drama, and together we’d wrapped everything up in record time.

My phone buzzed on the desk. Another message from Damian.

[Almost done?]

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

Guilt, maybe. Or frustration.

Or the sharp, petty ache that came from knowing your mate had called out another woman’s name in his sleep.

I knew it was irrational. Dream-talk didn’t mean anything—people said all kinds of nonsense in their sleep.

Damian had probably been having some random nightmare about pack politics or old grudges, and Vanessa’s name had just... slipped out.

It didn’t mean he had feelings for her.

It didn’t mean he was thinking about her while lying next to me.

It *didn’t*.

But telling myself that and actually believing it were two entirely different things.

Every time I tried to let it go, my mind would circle back to the same questions: Why her name? Why now? What had he been dreaming about?

And the worst question of all: Was there a part of him that still wanted her?

I knew how I should handle this. I should just ask him directly—"Hey, you said Vanessa’s name in your sleep, what was that about?"—and let him explain.

But I couldn’t make myself do it.

Because if I asked, he’d feel terrible. He’d apologize profusely, get that wounded look in his eyes, blame himself for hurting me even though it wasn’t really his fault.

And then what?

Even if he swore up and down that Vanessa meant nothing to him... could I really believe it? Or would there always be that tiny sliver of doubt, that whisper in the back of my mind saying *but what if*?

My phone buzzed again.

[It’s totally fine if you’d rather stay at your penthouse tonight. Or I can come pick you up.]

I sighed, typing out a quick reply.

[Working late. Going to grab drinks with a friend. Don’t wait up.]

The response was almost instant.

[Okay.]

Just that. One word.

No "Which friend?" or "How late will you be?" or "Are you avoiding me?"