Chapter 3

I didn't want to go out and show my vulnerability, facing everyone's mocking gazes.

But soon it was the annual gala for the Miller Pack Charity Foundation. As Luna, I had to attend.

The gala was held at a top hotel in New York.

Ethan and I had just arrived when I saw Ivy arm-in-arm with Grandma Fiona, chatting intimately about something, making the usually stern Grandma Fiona laugh heartily.

That intimate manner—anyone would think they were family.

I looked at them, then turned to look at Ethan Miller. I found his eyes full of tenderness, clearly moved by this warm scene.

Noticing my gaze, Ethan Miller explained uncomfortably:

"Ivy is an important guest Grandma invited. I couldn't very well stop her."

"If you don't want to see her, I'll introduce you to a few friends later, then we can go wait in the lounge."

I didn't speak, but Ivy walked over on her own initiative.

"What a coincidence! We chose similar styles. But..." She deliberately looked me up and down, covering her mouth with a light laugh. "Red seems to suit me better, don't you think?"

I was about to walk away when Ivy stepped forward, and the half-glass of champagne in her hand "accidentally" spilled onto the front of my gown.

"Oops!" Ivy exclaimed, though there wasn't a trace of apology in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Luna Ava. My hand slipped. Are you okay?"

The surroundings instantly fell silent. Everyone was watching us.

I looked at the messy wine stain on my chest, then at the poorly concealed provocative smile on her face.

The anger, humiliation, and pain accumulated over many days burst through the dam of reason in this moment.

Before anyone could react, I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face.

The crisp sound of the slap echoed through the ballroom.

Ivy covered her face, staring in disbelief with wide eyes. Then her eyes instantly reddened.

She hid behind Ethan, grabbing his arm, choking out: "Ethan, I just accidentally... she, she hit me..."

"Ava!" Ethan grabbed my wrist, so hard it hurt. "What are you doing? Apologize to Ivy now!"

"I should apologize?" Looking at his face full of pity for Ivy, my heart turned completely cold. "She provoked me first. She spilled wine on me!"

"That's still no reason for you to hit someone in public!" Ethan lowered his voice, his tone severe. "Look at where we are! Do you want everyone to laugh at you?"

Our argument had already drawn the attention of everyone present.

Grandma Fiona, accompanied by Beta Stevens, approached with an iron-dark expression.

She first glanced at the pitiful-looking Ivy, then fixed her icy, piercing gaze on me.

"Ava Summers, as Luna, at the Pack's most important charity gala, you publicly assault someone. Where does that leave the Miller Pack's dignity?"

"Grandma, it was Ivy who first..." I tried to explain.

"I don't care who started it!" Grandma Fiona cut me off sharply, her gaze sweeping over me and Ivy before settling on me with disgust. "What I care about is the result! The result is that in front of New York's social elite and all our important partners, the Miller Pack's Luna became a madwoman who lost control and lashed out due to jealousy! You've brought shame to the entire Pack!"

She stopped looking at me and turned to Beta Stevens: "I don't want to see her in the car on the way back. Take her to the estate and lock her in the wine cellar to reflect properly."

Ethan's lips moved, but he ultimately gently pushed me toward Beta Stevens, his voice so low it was almost inaudible: "Ava, stop making a scene... Go back with Stevens and cool down. I'll come get you tomorrow."

I looked into his eyes as the last faint hope was extinguished.

I was soon taken back to the estate by Beta Stevens and locked in the underground wine cellar.

Darkness instantly swallowed everything.

I was only wearing that thin gown that had been splashed with wine.

The cold burrowed into my bones.

Because of the witch's potion side effects, I couldn't even manage simple warming.

When the cellar door opened again, Ethan's figure appeared in the doorway.

I tried to stand but found my legs numb and unresponsive, my vision going black.

Ethan rushed in to support me. When his hand touched my skin, he paused: "God, you're so cold..."

He half-carried, half-supported me out of the wine cellar.

After leaving that frigid hell, the warm air actually made me cough violently. My lungs and airways felt like they'd been scraped with sandpaper.

That afternoon, I developed a high fever.

During moments of consciousness, I looked at the darkening sky outside the window and calculated the time.

Two more days.

The final two days.