Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 85: Housemaid

Abby

I’m in the kitchen organizing my thoughts, sketching out a mental roadmap for tonight’s three-course

extravaganza as I mumble under my breath.

“Sauvignon Blanc with the salmon… Hmm… Maybe I should prepare cappuccinos with the torte for

dessert…”

Just then, the door swings open, and in walks Karl, bags of groceries in hand. Gianna, his ever-present

secretary, trails closely behind him.

My heart does a little dance at the sight of Karl, a knee-jerk reaction I’ve never been able to fully quell.

Even with my wolf being asleep, the presence he creates when he walks into a room always makes her

lurch in my mind, as though she can always sense him in her sleep.

In a way, it’s frustrating. I want to yell at my wolf for leaving me alone and then momentarily

reappearing every time the man who broke my heart walks into the room, but I know it won’t do any

good.

However, something else is on my mind right now. I can’t help but notice how well they seem to get

along, Gianna laughing at something Karl has just said. A pang of jealousy surges through me.

“Hey, Abby. Got everything you asked for,” Karl announces, setting the bags on the countertop.

I shake off the jealousy, reminding myself that Karl and I are just friends now. “Thank you, both of you.

This means a lot to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Karl replies, a softness in his eyes that makes my stomach churn with a mix of nostalgia

and longing. “Need anything else?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m good, thanks.” Then, I turn to Gianna, determined to be cordial. “How are

you doing, Gianna?”

“I’m fine,” she responds tersely, a frosty undertone to her voice. Then, shifting her attention to Karl, she

says, “Could I speak to you privately? We need to sort some things out before the dinner.”

“Of course,” Karl says, casting a glance in my direction as if to say ‘I’ll be back soon.’ They both leave

the room, Gianna leading the way with a sense of purpose.

I watch them go, feeling a strange knot tighten in my stomach. It’s not jealousy, not exactly, but it’s

something—something that unsettles me.

Behind me, Elsie snorts with what sounds like outright disgust. “Gods, I can’t stand that woman.”

Chuckling at Elsie’s blunt honesty, I turn back to the counter. “Let’s not focus on her, Elsie. We’ve got a

dinner to prepare, and it has to be perfect.”

“You’re right, Abby,” she says. “Though, for the record, you’ve got no reason to be jealous. No one can

take your place, especially not her.”

“I’m not jealous,” I insist, although her words make me feel unexpectedly warm. “Karl and I are just

friends. I have no interest in him.”

Elsie gives me a look that says she knows better, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she helps me

unpack the groceries, laying out the fresh salmon, vibrant vegetables, and a variety of spices and

herbs.

My hands reach for the ingredients, eager to transform them into something extraordinary.

…

The kitchen is a lively mixture of scents and spices as I work with meticulous attention.

“Else, can you hand me the Herbes de Provence?”

“Sure thing, Abby.”

A few years ago, when I was still the Luna, I prepared this very meal for the Alphas from neighboring

packs. A triumphant smile tugs at my lips. Tonight is a reminder that I haven’t lost my touch.

My concentration is interrupted when another servant walks in. “The Alphas are arriving.”

“Just a few more minutes,” I say, not taking my eyes off the salmon filet sizzling in the pan.

Just as I’m about to declare it perfect, I realize that the crust isn’t quite what I wanted. It’s nearly there,

but not quite. It would be easier to just let it slide, to declare it good enough, but that's not me. That’s

not Abby, the renowned chef, the one who always gets it right.

“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, reaching for a fresh piece of salmon. I’m about to season it when I

overhear voices filtering from the dining room.

“Well, you should have seen the look on her face, trying so hard to impress everyone with her little

cooking skills. As if we’ve forgotten that our ex-Luna has turned into nothing more than a pathetic

housemaid.”

I recognize that voice: Gianna. I can see the back of her head, her perfectly curled hair and tight dress,

as she saunters past the kitchen door. Heat surges up my neck and into my cheeks. A pathetic

housemaid? Really?

That’s it.

With sudden clarity, I remember that the wardrobe upstairs still houses my former life—gowns and

dresses, a collection of silk and sequins. A cunning plan starts to take shape.

“Elsie, could you please watch the stove? Take the salmon off in five minutes and let Karl know that

dinner is ready.”

“Erm, Abby…?” she starts, but I’m already ripping off my apron and dashing out of the kitchen and up

the back steps two at a time.

A line of designer gowns greets me as I slide open the wardrobe doors. My fingers hover over the

clothes for a moment before settling on a dress that I had once loved dearly—a stunning deep-red

gown that fits like a dream, even now, years later.

I take a glance in the mirror before deciding to change my hairstyle. A few minutes later, the neat bun I

was wearing before is now elegantly curled, cascading down my back. I don’t need much makeup; just

some mascara, a hint of eyeshadow, and a bold red lip to match the dress.

As I get ready, I can’t help but wonder why I’m doing this. Is it really just to prove something to Gianna Têxt belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

and her judgmental friends, or is it… something else?

Am I, perhaps, trying to reclaim my spot as Luna?

Minutes later, I look into the mirror and see a transformation. Makeup done to perfection, hair

cascading down like a silken waterfall, and a dress that reminds me of a time when I was the epitome

of poise and grace.

A time when Gianna would’ve bitten her tongue before dismissing me.

“Perfect,” I whisper to my reflection. “Absolutely perfect.”

Just as I’m touching up my lipstick, I hear Karl’s voice ring out from downstairs. “Everyone, let’s make

our way to the dining room. Dinner is ready.”

I wait at the top of the stairs, letting the murmur of voices fill the air before making my entrance. Taking

a deep breath to steady myself, I step onto the staircase.

The moment I do, the room falls silent. Every eye turns in my direction.

But it’s Karl’s reaction that I care about the most, as much as I don’t want to admit it.

As I descend the stairs, his eyes catch mine, and they widen in astonishment. His gaze travels the

length of my gown, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, reassessing, recalculating. I

reach the foot of the stairs and pause for effect. The room is so quiet I could hear a pin drop.

Right now, at this moment, my message is clear—I’m not someone you can ever dismiss or forget. I am

Abby, the ex-Luna, the renowned chef, and the woman who just cooked an extravagant three-course

meal for a room full of Alphas, yet still had time to dress to kill.

Let’s see Gianna, or anyone else for that matter, label that as ‘pathetic.’