The Scorned Luna-Chapter 116: A Trap?

The workday dragged on in a blur of spreadsheets and heavy silence.

Sofia kept her head down at her desk, trying to focus on the endless numbers on her screen, but it was impossible.

Her cheek still tingled faintly from the memory of Damien’s kiss, and somewhere above her, on the top floor, she could almost feel the weight of Alaric’s invisible gaze.

​Even though she couldn’t see him, it still felt like he was watching her.

When the clock finally struck four, Alaric’s personal driver, Elias, appeared beside her cubicle.

​"The Alpha requested that I take you home, Miss Sofia," Elias said with a respectful nod.

​Sofia glanced toward the private elevator. The light was still on in the executive suite; Alaric hadn’t left his office all day. Despite her anger, a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps a strange, unwelcome concern—stirred in her chest. Why was he hiding away like a wounded animal?

​"Is he coming?" she asked, trying not to sound concerned.

​"The Alpha has... much to attend to," Elias replied vaguely.

​Sofia didn’t push. She gathered her bag and followed him to the SUV.

As they drove through the darkening streets, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. She thought of her life since she’d met Alaric. He was supposed to be her knight in shining armor, the man who snatched her from the jaws of Damien’s cruelty. But now, the armor was rusted with secrets, and the knight seemed more obsessed with a ghost than the woman sitting in his car.

​When they arrived at the estate, the silence of the woods felt more suffocating than usual. She thanked Elias and stepped into the grand foyer, only to stop dead in her tracks.

​Jeremy was sprawled in one of the leather armchairs in the living room, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked up, a sharp smirk spreading across his face.

​"Back from work?" he drawled.

​Sofia gave a short, polite greeting, wanting nothing more than to disappear into her room.

She turned toward the staircase, hoping to escape to her room.

But Jeremy’s voice stopped her halfway up the first step.

​"Have you ever wondered who edited the CCTV footage of Lola’s fall?"

Sofia froze. Her heart performed a sickening jolt.

​"What?" Sofia whispered, turning slowly.

​Jeremy stood up, the ice clinking in his glass. He walked toward her with a slow, predatory grace. "Look deeper, Sofia. There are so many things you need to know. That footage didn’t just ’glitch.’ It was scrubbed. Cleaned by someone who knew exactly what they were doing."

​"What do you mean?" Sofia’s voice trembled. "Do you know who did it?"

​Jeremy stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at her. "I know. In fact, deep down, you know who did it, too. You’ve seen that person’s handiwork before."

​"Tell me," she demanded, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation.

​Jeremy just laughed—a dry, hollow sound. "I think you’ve had enough truth for one day. But ask yourself one question... who benefited the most from all this? Who has the power to make an accident look like murder? And who gained the most from your suffering? Think, and right there you get your answer."

​He tipped his glass toward her in a mocking toast and walked away toward the kitchen, leaving Sofia standing in the hallway, her world tilting on its axis.

​Reaching her room, Sofia kicked off her shoes, the soft thud they made against the thick carpet echoing the dull thudding of her heart. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the silk duvet until her fingers ached.

​Who benefited more from your suffering?

​Jeremy’s voice played on a loop in her mind, poisonous and persistent. She began to deconstruct the last few weeks of her life, piece by agonizing piece.

​First, she thought of Damien. After the accusation that she had pushed Lola, her life had spiraled into a living nightmare. She had become his servant, his scapegoat, his sex slave. It was easy to blame him. He was the one who had been cruel; he was the one who had let the pack tear her down. But as she thought about it, something felt off. Damien was blunt. He was hot-headed and impulsive. If he wanted to hurt her, he did it to her face. He didn’t have the patience—or the technical guile—to meticulously edit a security server to frame the woman he supposedly loved.

​Then, her thoughts drifted to Alaric.

​She paused, her breath hitching. Why would a man she hadn’t even met yet want her to suffer? At first, the idea seemed insane. But then, the cold logic of it began to settle in her stomach.

​How did Alaric find her at exactly the right moment? How was he able to produce new evidence so quickly to prove the original CCTV footage was fake?

​If he had the ability to restore the footage...

That meant he had access to the system.

And if he had access...

Sofia’s stomach dropped.

​"How was he able to do it if he wasn’t the one who controlled it from the start?" she whispered to the empty room.

​The realization made her blood run cold. If Alaric had edited the footage to frame her, then he had intentionally allowed her to suffer for weeks under Damien’s roof. He had wanted her to suffer, wanted her to lose everything, just so he could be the one to rescue her. Her rescuer. Her hero.

He hadn’t just found a girl who looked like his dead wife—he had created a situation where she would have no choice but to run straight into his arms.

​"He didn’t save me," Sofia whispered, her voice trembling.

"He planned this."

​"Moon Goddess..." Sofia gasped, jumping to her feet.

​She shook her head, refusing to believe it. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"No, no, no," Sofia whispered, her hands flying to her mouth as she paced the length of the room.

"It’s not possible. He wouldn’t... he’s an Alpha. He has everything. Why would he go through all this trouble for a girl like me?"

​But the more she tried to fight the thought, the more the pieces clicked together.

Alaric had presented the real footage.

He had believed her innocence immediately.

He had never once doubted her.

Everything he did had looked heroic.

But now, looking back, it felt less like heroism...

and more like a perfectly designed trap.