Shattered Moonlight, Broken Luna Chapter 10

Shattered Moonlight, Broken Luna Chapter 10

Damien did not die. The blade missed anything vital and bought him half a month in the ICU instead.

Ella was arrested for intentional assault. Once Damien handed over proof of her padded accounts and bribery, the court added more charges. She would likely spend the rest of her life in werewolf prison.

Call it justice, if you like that word.

The first thing Damien did after he got out of the pack hospital was come looking for me again. This time, he no longer talked about getting back together, nor did he say he loved me.

He put a trust document on the table in front of me.

“Chloe, I know you will not forgive me.” His voice was rough. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness anymore. But this money, you have to take it. This is my compensation for your dad, and also compensation for your mental distress. If you refuse, I will donate it or burn it. I swear.”

I looked down at the numbers on the page.

Fifty million, an astronomical figure more than enough to let me live out the rest of my life in comfort, enough to buy back every dream I had thrown away, enough to make sure I never touched the gloomy bottom again.

Should I refuse, for so-called pride? To prove I did not care about money?

No. I was not stupid, not a saint either.

My father died because of that night. Why should I turn my back on the money his life had effectively paid for? Why should I leave my own suffering unpaid?

“Fine.” I picked up the pen and signed my name without hesitating.

The day after the money hit my account, I quit my job. I moved my mother into the best care facility I could find and hired two full-time aides to watch her around the clock.

Then I bought a high-rise apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the whole city. At night, the lights below looked like a second sky.

Finally, I had time to do what I had once wanted more than anything. I opened my own flower shop.

Days became simple and quiet. Every so often, Damien’s name showed up in the financial news.

They said he grew colder and more ruthless by the year, that he cut deals like someone with nothing left to lose.

In private, though, he did not live well. He stayed away from showplaces, skipped parties, and did nothing but work and go to church to confess every day.

Some said he had gone crazy.

Some said he was waiting for someone.

But I knew he would never get to.

Six months later, on a lazy afternoon, I was trimming stems behind the counter when the bell over the door chimed.

Damien stood there. He had lost weight. Silver threaded his dark hair at the temples.

His eyes devoured me, trying to memorize every line of my face.
“Chloe, I am leaving. I am going to Africa to open a new branch. I might never come back.”

“Before I go, I wanted to see you one last time.”

I set the scissors down and looked at him indifferently. “Have you seen enough? If you have, you can leave.”

He let out a short, broken laugh. “Do you really not feel anything at all? Not even a little nostalgia, a little bit of good memories?”

“Damien.” I sighed, determined to cut the last thread for him. “Do you know I am engaged?”

His pupils blew wide, his face draining of color. “What… who? Lucas?”

“No.” I shook my head. “He is just an ordinary werewolf, my attending healer. When my depression was at its worst, he was the one who sat with me until the nights passed.”

“He does not have your money, and he is not as good-looking as you. But he has never once ignored my calls, and never given his phone to another shewolf, let alone leaving me standing alone in the rain.”

It was a lie. There was no guy like that in my life. I invented him because I knew it was the only way Damien would finally let go.

Sure enough, Damien stumbled back two steps and braced himself against the doorframe, tears streaking down his face.

“Be happy,” he forced out at last. Then he turned and almost ran from the shop.

I watched his wretched back and said softly, “Goodbye, Damien.”

“Never again.”

Five years later.

Ella hadn’t done well in prison. She argued, picked fights, made enemies, and someone broke one of her legs. She walked out a cripple, and no one came to pick her up. Rumor said she crawled home.

Damien’s life ended in Africa.

They said it was an outbreak of some sudden plague.

They also said he refused to fight it, refused treatment, that somewhere along the way he had lost any real will to live.

In his will, he donated everything he had left to charity and set up a special fund for brain hemorrhage patients. He named it the Chloe Foundation.

The lawyer delivered his personal effects to me. Among them was an old phone, the one he had “lost” seven years ago.

In the notes app, page after page, he had written down his guilt and his longing.

[Chloe, it is raining today. I miss you.]

[Chloe, I made it, but I am not happy at all.]

[Chloe, I am sorry…]

I read a few lines and tossed the phone into the trash.

He was dead. Who did he expect to impress now? If this had all come seven years earlier, maybe I would have sobbed my lungs out. Now, I just found it pretentious.

That day the weather was beautiful. I closed the shop early and drove my mother to the beach for a vacation.

In the car, I sang along with whatever was playing on the radio, feeling light for the first time in a very long time.

On the passenger side, my mom smiled at me. *Chloe, what are you thinking about? You look so happy.*

I kept my eyes on the open road ahead and smiled.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“I was just thinking…”

“The rain finally stopped.”

“The sky is clear.”