The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Aria’s POV

Everyone’s eyes shifted between Damian and me.

Seeing my confused expression, Grace’s eyes flickered with understanding. She’d just started to stand when we heard the staff member open the door.

"Former Alpha King, you’re here..."

The moment I heard that greeting, my stomach dropped slightly.

It had to be Aldric.

Under normal circumstances, the staff wouldn’t just open the door without checking first.

Aldric had returned to the country today, and from what Grace had told me earlier, he’d given her advance notice—his flight was scheduled for this evening.

She’d been worried he’d come home to an empty house, so after arriving at my penthouse, she’d sent him a message letting him know where everyone was.

Ever since Damian’s attack, Aldric had only made a few phone calls asking about the situation. He hadn’t come to see his grandson once in person.

I could tell that fact hadn’t just wounded Damian—it had upset Grace deeply too. The whole family seemed to be holding onto their frustration with him.

"A family dinner, and no one thought to invite me?"

Aldric’s cold voice cut through the warm atmosphere as he handed his coat to the staff member and strode toward the dining table with heavy, deliberate steps.

I instinctively started to stand, but Damian’s hand clamped down on my arm, holding me in place.

He kept one hand on his plate, the other pressing firmly against my forearm.

He didn’t even lift his head, as if he refused to feel his grandfather’s gaze boring into him.

"Damian..." I whispered.

"Eat," he said quietly, his voice flat and final.

Then he reached for the serving dish in front of him and placed more food in my bowl, completely ignoring Aldric’s presence.

"How incredibly rude." Aldric’s attention shifted from Damian to me, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, caught between them and unsure what to do.

Grace moved quickly to Aldric’s side, swatting his arm with more force than affection. "What are you doing here? You walk in and immediately start glaring at the kids? I told you—Aria’s hosting us tonight. I said you should go home and rest!"

"I came to see my own grandson and granddaughter-in-law. What, are you going to throw me out?" Aldric’s tone was sharp, biting, the kind of cold authority that made the air feel heavier.

I glanced at Damian, then forced myself to speak. "Grandfather, of course not. Please, sit down."

I knew exactly how Damian felt about Aldric. But this was still an elder, and some respect had to be shown, even if it was only surface-level.

I could handle being the buffer. If Damian didn’t want to engage, the least I could do was take some of the heat off him.

Gently, I turned my hand beneath his grip and laced our fingers together under the table, pulling our joined hands into my lap.

I traced small circles against his palm with my thumb. His hand was cold, tension radiating through every muscle.

But slowly, the warmth I offered seemed to seep in, thawing the ice bit by bit.

Damian’s eyes flicked toward me, and I felt his jaw tighten as he fought to keep his composure.

"How amusing. My grandson gets himself a mate, and suddenly I’m the outsider." Aldric still hadn’t sat down. His gaze fixed back on Damian with unrelenting intensity.

Damian said nothing. He didn’t even glance in Aldric’s direction.

I knew Aldric had only just finished a grueling work schedule that afternoon before flying straight back.

Damian was his grandson—surely some part of him cared, at least a little, about what had happened. But if he did, he’d always had a strange, backwards way of showing it.

Damian had carried resentment toward his grandfather for as long as I’d known him. That much was clear.

And from what little I understood of Aldric, I got the sense that what he despised most was seeing Damian like this—withdrawn, wounded, unwilling to fight back.

If I had to guess, a man like Aldric believed pain was irrelevant, that everyone dealt with suffering and failure, that if you weren’t dead you gritted your teeth and kept moving.

I could almost picture him thinking that if it were him lying in that hospital bed instead, he’d never have let the whole family coddle and fuss over him like he was owed their pity.

"What are you even saying?" Elena’s voice rose, sharp with anger. "Dad, when did you become so heartless? Your grandson nearly died. He’s still recovering. You came here to see him—can’t you say something kind for once?"

Andrew, seeming wary of Elena getting too worked up, coughed and cut her off. "That’s enough, Elena."

But Grace wasn’t about to let the tension ruin the evening. She forcibly looped her arm through Aldric’s.

"You must be exhausted from traveling. You’re clearly not in the right headspace. Come on, I’ll take you home so you can rest."

She clearly knew Aldric’s temperament better than anyone. He’d come here already angry, and there was no way this dinner would end well if he and Damian tried to talk now.

Better to leave before things escalated further.

But Aldric’s eyes stayed locked on Damian.

Then whatever frustration had been building in Aldric since he walked through that door, I watched it finally boil over.

Aldric yanked his arm free of Grace’s grip, stepped forward, and with one violent sweep of his cane knocked Damian’s bowl and utensils clean off the table.

The crash rang through the room.

"What? Getting hurt means you’ve forgotten how to show respect? Is this how you were raised—under my roof?!"