Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 291: A Nudge

Chapter 291: A Nudge

Eldur’s POV

The moment her perfume hit the air, my body went rigid.

And not in a good way.

This wasn’t the kind of scent that drifted in like a whisper and made you want to breathe it in again. No—this was aggressive. Loud. Manufactured to impress, not invite. It clung to the air like static, thick and artificial, a chemical attempt at elegance. Too sweet. Too sharp. Too fake.

Just like her.

Nova’s mother.

She waltzed in like she owned the place, flanked by people who looked like they’d just walked off the cover of a fashion magazine—laughing loud, dripping in luxury, every step a performance. The restaurant didn’t just go quiet. It dimmed. Even the chandeliers seemed to hesitate, their light faltering under the weight of the gold gowns and razor-sharp suits sweeping past us. The air shimmered with diamonds and ego.

And in the center of that high-society storm was her: Emily.

Nova’s mother.

I didn’t need an introduction. I could’ve picked her out of any crowd—not because she looked like Nova, but because she didn’t. Where Nova had warmth, depth, and that quiet magic you couldn’t fake, Emily was airbrushed perfection. She looked like a high-resolution photo—gorgeous, sure, but distant. Lifeless. Filtered within an inch of reality.

Her gaze caught Nova’s.

It lasted a heartbeat—maybe less. A flicker. But in that breath of a moment, something shifted. A brief crack in her mask: recognition, disbelief... then a smile. Smooth, camera-ready, fake. Like it had been trained into her by PR teams and polished with red carpet experience. She turned her head and strolled past us.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even pause.

Nova’s hand curled into a fist beneath the table.

My mom—who didn’t miss a thing—leaned in with sudden, sugary enthusiasm, launching into a rant about how the dessert tasted like it had been handcrafted by celestial pastry chefs in heaven’s own kitchen. My dad raised a brow, grinned at me, and ordered one of everything sweet. Including something dramatic called a "caramel volcano" that actually erupted molten sugar like it was part of a magic trick. Apparently, dessert came with special effects tonight.

But Nova?

Nova was gone.

Not physically, but mentally—drifting somewhere far behind her eyes. Her smile had vanished, her shoulders pulled tight. She looked like someone had scooped the soul out of her chest and left cold stone in its place.

"Eldur."

My dad’s voice, not aloud, but inside my mind—calm and steady through the family’s private mind link. A subtle vibration in my skull, familiar and focused. But there was a sharpness to it now.

"Why does that woman smell like Nova?"

I didn’t look up. Just kept sawing through my steak like it was personal.

"That’s her mother," I replied, keeping my thoughts as steady and detached as possible. "She abandoned Nova when she was a kid. Last week she told her to pretend they weren’t related—said if the media found out she had a daughter, it’d ruin her brand."

Silence followed.

Then my mom’s voice joined in, soft but deliberate.

"And Nova still hasn’t said anything?"

"No," I said. "She kept her mouth shut. Even though it’s eating her alive."

Another pause. Then my father, low and cold.

"Noted."

That was it. No theatrics. No glances backward.

We finished our meal like nothing happened. Paid the bill. Walked out.

Nova didn’t speak the whole ride home. She just leaned her head against the limo window, watching the city lights smear into colorless streaks. Like she was chasing a memory she couldn’t outrun—or trying to forget one that never stopped chasing her.

********

The next day didn’t feel like the one before.

There was a shift in the air—subtle, but undeniable. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something.

We were in my apartment after school. The sun was slipping below the skyline, setting the windows aglow with streaks of soft orange and lavender. The kind of light that made everything feel a little too still, like a paused movie scene.

Nova was in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with her fingers tangled in a hairbrush. She wasn’t doing much—just brushing through her dark waves, half-focused, half-daydreaming, trying to look presentable for her evening shift at the bookstore. The hum of the hairdryer, the muted clicks of her bracelet tapping against the sink—it all felt distant.

I was sprawled across the couch, a spellbook open on my chest. Not reading it, not really. Just flipping pages for the sake of it. The words blurred together, ancient runes swimming in and out of focus as I tried—and failed—to stop thinking about her. About how quiet she’d been since last night. How her smile hadn’t really come back.

And then... the phone started buzzing.

A soft vibration at first.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

The sound cut through the silence like static. Sharp. Persistent. Like the world was knocking on the door we were trying to keep shut.

"Nova," I called out, sitting up. "Your phone’s losing its mind."

"Ignore it," she replied from the bathroom, her voice muffled through the door. "Probably Lara sending me memes."

"Memes don’t usually come with fifteen missed calls."

That got her attention.

She stepped out, towel around her shoulders, damp hair clinging to her collarbone. "What?"

I handed her the phone. She looked at the screen.

And her whole body went still.

The air around her changed—tightened.

"...Nova?" I said, standing now.

She didn’t answer.

She scrolled. Her fingers moved like they had a purpose, but they trembled too much to trust.

Then, finally, in a voice barely above a breath, she said, "She was in a car accident."

I felt it in my gut. A cold, sharp drop.

"Who?" I asked, but I already knew.

"Emily." Nova’s throat worked around the name. "Someone leaked it. A drunk driver hit her car. She... she’s alive. But her face..." Her words faded. Her voice cracked. "There’s a scar now. A bad one."

She held out her phone. Headlines screamed across the screen, already viral—news reports, gossip threads, influencers debating whether her career was done for.

Words like Tragic. Unrecognizable. She’ll never land another lead role.

Nova didn’t say anything at first.

She wasn’t angry.

Wasn’t smug.

Just... empty.

"I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel," she said, the rawness in her voice cutting through me. "She’s still my mom. But she’s also the woman who made me swear I’d never tell anyone I was her daughter. The woman who walked away and never looked back."

She didn’t cry.

She just crossed the space between us, folded herself into my chest like she was trying to disappear, and held on like I was the last solid thing in a world made of smoke.

I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"You can feel everything," I whispered into her hair. "Or nothing. Both are allowed."

She didn’t reply.

Just held on tighter.

And that’s when I opened the family mind link.

"Dad." My voice was colder than I meant it to be. "Tell me you didn’t do this."

He answered instantly. Calm. Detached. "Do what, son?"

"Emily. The accident. The leak. The timing is too perfect. You knew about the press. About Nova. Did you...?"

Dad fell silent for a bit.

Then he let out a sigh.

"I didn’t cause the accident, Eldur. But let’s say... I didn’t exactly stand in the way. Some people fall. Others get a little help."

There was a pause then—

"Emily? She was nudged."

My jaw tightened.

"Why?"

"Because she hurt what’s mine. Because she tossed her own daughter aside like an old script. And if I let that slide, what kind of father-in-law would I be?"

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But he wasn’t done.

"From now on," he said slowly, deliberately, "anyone who harms Nova answers to me. Got it?"

Then—click. He severed the link.

Just like that.

I stood there, staring at nothing, my arms still around Nova while inside, my thoughts turned to fire.

My father hadn’t even tried to deny it.

No remorse. No hesitation.

And the worst part?

The dark, dangerous parts of me was glad.

Glad that my father, someone like him, was on her side. Someone powerful. Someone feared. Someone who didn’t care about forgiveness or optics—only loyalty.

But the rest of me?

The rest of me felt like we were standing too close to a storm we couldn’t control.

And if we weren’t careful...

We’d all be ash.

Nova stirred against me, her voice small and muffled in my shirt.

"...Eldur?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we just stay like this for a bit?"

I nodded. "Forever, if you want."

She gave a shaky little laugh. "That sounds like a threat."

"Good," I smirked, pulling her in tighter. "I’m very good at threats."

And in that quiet, fractured moment... I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

I’d scorch the earth for her.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

Not ever.