Luna Everleigh's POV
***
I stared at the suitcase as if it were some foreign object, something that couldn't possibly be meant for me. The old leather was scuffed, the handle worn, a stark contrast to the life I had been raised in—one of luxury, of controlled elegance.
But that was before.
Before I had become a stain on my family's name.
Before they had decided I wasn't worth keeping.
My throat tightened. "You're kicking me out?" The words tasted foreign, thick with disbelief.
Eleanor tilted her head, feigning sympathy, but her ice-blue eyes remained cold. "We're simply ensuring you don't cause any more embarrassment. You should be grateful we're letting you leave with dignity."
"Dignity?" I choked out a bitter laugh. "You're stripping me of everything and calling it dignity?"
Reginald's expression hardened. "You will not raise your voice in this house."
This house. Not your home.
I wasn't sure why that hurt more than it should have.
A flicker of movement caught my eye. My mother stood at the top of the grand staircase, half-hidden in the shadows, her hands clasped in front of her. I met her gaze, searching—pleading—for something. A single sign that she wouldn't let them do this to me.
But she remained still. Silent.
A fresh wave of pain lanced through me, sharper than even Damian's betrayal. My mother had never been warm, but she had never turned her back on me completely. Yet here she was, watching as they threw me out like I was nothing.
Like I had never mattered.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "Where am I supposed to go?"
Reginald exhaled, as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience. "That's not our concern."
A maid stepped forward, her gaze hesitant as she reached for my shoulder. "Miss Luna, your dress—"
I flinched at her touch. "What about it?"
Eleanor sighed, stepping closer. "Surely you don't think we'd let you take that with you?" She gestured toward my wedding gown, her lips curving in distaste. "It's custom-made. Worth more than anything you've ever earned. It stays."
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. "Fine."
With deliberate, jerky movements, I reached behind me and ripped at the delicate clasps, peeling the gown from my skin. The room was deathly silent as the silk pooled around my feet, leaving me in nothing but a thin slip.
The humiliation burned, but I refused to let them see it.
One of the maids hurried forward with a bundle of clothes—cheap fabric, plain and dull. I snatched them from her hands and yanked them on, swallowing my pride with each movement.
When I was done, I grabbed the suitcase. It was lighter than I expected.
Because, of course, they wouldn't give me anything valuable.
Reginald gestured toward the door. "You may leave."
I took a single step toward the threshold, then stopped. My pulse pounded in my ears. I turned to look at them—my mother, my stepfather, Eleanor.
They didn't look at me as a daughter. As family.
They looked at me as a problem finally solved.
My heart ached with something indescribable, something raw and ugly. But I wouldn't beg.
I wouldn't break for them.
So I lifted my chin, straightened my spine, and walked out the door without a backward glance.
The cold night air hit me like a slap, but I welcomed it. It was real. Honest.
Unlike everything I had left behind.
And as the mansion doors slammed shut behind me, one thought echoed through my mind.
I have nowhere to go.
To be continued...