The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 584: Furious, Yet Did Not Explode

[Meredith].

I quickly ended the recording and slipped my phone inside my bag just as the door opened again.

The caregiver returned with a clean plate and carefully served the pastries, arranging them neatly on the table. She was still smiling pleasantly. I noted it quietly.

The teas had done their work. Whether out of gratitude or simple satisfaction, her mood had noticeably lifted.

I reached for one of the pastries and split it in half, offering a piece to Rosalie. She accepted it without a word, slipping seamlessly back into her quiet, distant act.

To anyone watching, she was once again the harmless, confused woman they all believed her to be.

The caregiver poured a glass of water and set it between us. I studied it briefly to make sure it was clean with no additives, then I drank it.

When I was done, I placed the glass back on the table and turned to the caregiver. "Don’t water the flowers," I said calmly. "I will return in three days with fresh ones."

She nodded immediately, her smile widening. "Yes, Luna."

Then I asked, casually, "Does Madame have a personal chef, or is her food prepared by the general kitchen staff?"

"There is a designated chef only for Madame," she replied promptly.

I nodded, committing that detail to memory. And since I had achieved my goal for today, there was no need to stay any longer. So, I stood, picked up my bag, and turned to Rosalie.

"Mother," I said gently, "I will come visit you again in a few days."

She looked up at me and nodded. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added softly, "If you can bring more of these pastries next time."

I understood immediately that this was her means of survival. She had probably been starving herself from her laced meals, and needed clean food to eat.

A quiet smile curved my lips. "I will."

With that, I turned and left, the iron door closing behind me.

I returned to the main house just in time for dinner.

I already knew Draven would not want to step into the dining room tonight, not with his father present, so I instructed Azul to have our dinner brought upstairs instead. Only after that did I head back to our room.

Draven was already there, seated on the couch with a book in his hands, though from the look on his face, I doubted he was truly reading. When he noticed me enter, his gaze lifted immediately.

I greeted him softly. Then, instead of going to sit beside him, I crossed the room and took the other sofa, settling down slowly.

The silence between us stretched. I could feel him watching me, studying me, as if he already knew where I had been.

After a moment, he spoke. "You went to see my mother."

I paused for a moment. I did not deny it right away. I took a breath, then nodded and explained that I had not told him earlier because I did not want to ruin his mood, especially after everything he had been dealing with.

He listened without interrupting. Then he nodded once and asked, "Did you uncover anything new today?"

I released a slow sigh. "Yes," I said, nodding again.

To my surprise, he closed his book and set it aside, then leaned back slightly and said, "Then let me hear it."

My chest tightened. I had been afraid of this. I knew that listening to the recording I made today could destroy whatever fragile calm he was holding onto.

If he heard, in detail, how his father had treated his mother for years, there was no telling whether he would confront Randall immediately. So, I hesitated.

Draven noticed. His eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained steady when he spoke again. "Whatever it is, I want to know."

Then, almost bitterly, he added, "Can the story even get any worse?"

I swallowed a gulp. Of course it could. And the worst part was not even the truth itself; it was the way the truth unfolded, piece by piece.

Still, he had asked directly. I could not refuse him anymore.

I reached into my bag, took out my phone, and found the recording I had made earlier. Before pressing play, I glanced at him one last time, trying to read his expression, trying to prepare myself for what would follow.

Then I played it.

As Rosalie’s voice filled the room, I kept my eyes on Draven. Just as I feared, his expression darkened almost immediately.

His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened. His fingers curled slowly against his knee as the story continued—his father’s manipulation, the starvation, the isolation, the cruelty disguised as protection.

Anger gathered in him like a storm waiting to break.

What son would not react to learning how deeply his father had wronged his mother?

Even though Draven’s relationship with Rosalie had always been distant, hearing how her health and behaviour had been shaped and controlled by his father struck him hard. I could see it in the way his breathing changed, in the way his gaze fixed on nothing.

He was furious, and yet, he did not explode. That frightened me more than anything else.

Draven did not shout. He did not move. He did not vent his anger. Instead, it showed only in the rigid set of his body, in the darkness of his eyes, in the silence he wrapped himself in as if locking something dangerous away.

I had always believed that anger released was safer than anger contained.

Watching him sit there, silent and controlled, I realized that I was far more afraid of what he might do later when no one was watching than of anything he might do in this moment.

And that fear settled heavily in my chest as the recording continued to play.

When the recording finally ended, the room fell into a silence so heavy it felt almost physical.

I did not move or speak. I even feared breathing too loudly as if it might trigger something in him.

The tension lingered between us, thick and oppressive, and I had no idea what words could possibly comfort him now. Any attempt felt wrong—too small, and too inadequate for the weight of what he had just heard.

So I chose silence and waited for Draven to speak first.