The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 572: Smarter

[Meredith].

"Why aren’t you eating?" I asked aloud, my tone light, unconcerned and perfectly audible.

She released a slow, weary sigh. "How can a mother eat when her child is missing?"

"Oh," I murmured, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Eat first."

She shook her head faintly. "You eat it."

"I’ve already had breakfast," I replied easily.

Rosalie said nothing after that.

I glanced at the tray again. The steam had begun to fade. Then my gaze shifted just briefly to the bedroom door, still ajar.

Then I smiled. "I will just have a bite," I said casually.

Next, I picked up the spoon and scooped a small portion of the sweet potato. The reaction was immediate.

"No—!"

The caregiver rushed out of the bedroom, her face pale, eyes wide with panic. "Luna, please—don’t eat that."

I didn’t lower the spoon. Instead, I turned my head slightly and looked at her. "Why?"

She froze, her gaze darting to Rosalie.

Rosalie, in turn, was staring at her hard, silent, and unblinking.

The caregiver swallowed. "T-the food was prepared specifically for Madame," she said hurriedly. "It wouldn’t be appropriate—"

"Appropriate?" I echoed softly. The spoon remained suspended in the air.

I noted everything now—the tightness in her shoulders, the way her fingers trembled at her sides, the unspoken plea in her eyes that had nothing to do with etiquette.

This wasn’t actually a concern; it was more like fear. And suddenly, the meal between us felt less like breakfast and more like evidence.

The caregiver swallowed, then lowered her voice. "Forgive me, Luna... but please, give me a moment."

I finally set the spoon down. Then, I rose to my feet and followed her into the bedroom without a word. The moment the door was between us, she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hurried whisper.

"The Madame doesn’t like taking her drugs," she said. "She refuses them outright. So... we found a way to mix them into her food."

Understanding settled over me like a cold sheet. ’That was why she hadn’t wanted to speak openly. That was why the panic.’

I gave a short nod and stepped back into the living space.

Rosalie was still sitting exactly where I had left her—upright, obedient, hands folded in her lap. But her eyes followed me with quiet reluctance, her body language making it painfully clear that she had no desire to eat.

I walked back to the table. Then, deliberately, I picked up the spoon again. The caregiver stiffened, while Rosalie’s eyes widened.

I took a bite. For a fraction of a second, the room went utterly still.

I chewed slowly and carefully, letting the flavours unfold on my tongue. Sweet potato. Oil. Salt. And beneath it all, something faintly bitter, cleverly masked.

I chewed again, slower this time. There were supplements in there—harmless ones. Tonics meant to strengthen the body, fortify the blood. Those were fine. Sensible, even.

But two of the herbs didn’t belong. They were subtle, almost clever. I didn’t recognize them immediately—but I recognized their intent.

Sedatives. Memory-dulling agents.

Though they were not strong enough to knock someone unconscious, they were just enough to soften the mind, blur the edges, and make recollection unreliable. That was the problem.

I swallowed. Then, as naturally as breathing, I reached for the glass of water and took a sip and tasted citrus flavour, which was another mask.

Finally, I looked up at Rosalie and smiled. "You should eat," I told her gently. "I will help you find your daughter. I promise. And I will visit you again."

A carefully crafted, delicate hope flickered across her face.

Not wanting to spend another minute in this suffocating space, I stood and reached for my bag. But before I could move away, Rosalie’s hand closed around mine. Her grip was cool, but firm.

"We should have dinner together," she said, looking up at me.

I forced a soft smile. "Next time. I will be busy this evening."

She sighed quietly and let go of my hand.

I turned to the caregiver. "When I come again, I will bring some of the gifts from my last event. The ones I shared with the others."

Relief washed over her face. She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Luna."

Then, she hurried to the door and opened it for me. I stepped out into the corridor, and the iron door shut behind me with a dull, final thud.

And just like that, every mask I had been wearing cracked.

For a moment, I simply stood there, my palm hovering near the cold metal, my chest rising and falling as everything I had suppressed inside that room rushed back all at once. Anger. Relief. Satisfaction. Unease.

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or curse.

Slowly, I stepped away from the door and began walking down the corridor, my footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

Halfway down, a quiet scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. ’So that’s how it is.’

At some point during that conversation—somewhere between Rosalie’s vacant responses and her perfectly timed pauses, I had realized that she was acting. Not entirely, not clumsily, but enough.

The moment her golden eyes had flared, just briefly, just enough for me to catch it, everything had clicked into place. That wasn’t the look of a woman lost to madness or memory decay.

That was awareness. And the food had sealed it.

If Rosalie were truly unaware—truly oblivious like before, she would not have reacted when I ate from her plate. She would not have stiffened.

She would not have watched me so closely, and would not have hesitated to eat the way she did.

She knew. Though I have no idea when it was she found out, Rosalie knew her food was being tampered with. Which meant she was choosing when to forget things... and when not to.

I exhaled slowly, fatigue settling into my bones now that the tension had eased.

"Seems like Rosalie slipped unnoticed under the careful watch of her caregiver," I muttered to myself.

’Or perhaps,’ I corrected silently, ’she allowed them to think that.’

Either way, it was dangerous. Yet despite everything—the deception, the manipulation, the deliberate performance—I didn’t doubt her words.

Not about her bloodline. Not about Estella. Not about her past.

Those stories hadn’t carried the weight of lies. They were memories—old, worn, and deeply personal. If anything, today had proven that Rosalie Edward remembered far more than she let on.

Which meant that if I continued visiting her—often enough, patiently enough—I would eventually uncover how she became Rosalie Oatrun. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

How she crossed paths with Randall Oatrun. How a vampire woman ended up bound to one of the most powerful werewolf bloodlines in Stormveil.

And what that union truly produced.

My fingers brushed against my bag unconsciously. The phone inside felt heavier than it had any right to.

It had the tangible evidence of her name, her identity, and her confession.

No matter how this played out, no one would ever be able to dismiss her words as the ravings of a madwoman again.

As I made my way back toward the upper levels of the estate, one thought settled firmly in my mind:

This was only the beginning.

And now that I knew Rosalie Edward was watching just as carefully as I was, I would have to be even smarter.