Chapter 5 Five Years Later

Nyssa POV

Five years changed everything.

The woman who had arrived in Albany with one suitcase and a bruised heart no longer existed.

In her place stood the youngest billionaire in New York, founder and CEO of LUNARIX Industries, the company that turned data into prophecy.

The morning skyline stretched before me like a living pulse of glass and ambition. My office occupied the top floor of LUNARIX Tower, a cathedral of innovation and ego that pierced the clouds. Below, traffic roared, and the city glimmered like circuitry, each light, each movement, a node feeding my empire.

I stood with a mug of black coffee, watching the reflection of my life gleam back at me in the window.

My tailored suit, my blonde hair twisted into a sleek knot, my eyes the sharp green of currency and the forest. My phone buzzed with another alert, Forbes wanted another feature. Fortune had called me the Queen of Quantum Markets. I’d lost count of how many covers bore my face.

It was all noise now. Pleasant noise.

Five years ago, I’d built my first predictive trading algorithm on a borrowed laptop in a one-bedroom apartment. Now, LUNARIX ran global portfolios, military logistics, and half the energy distribution networks in the Northeast. Our systems predicted demand, avoided shortages, and beat Wall Street to its own game.

Humans called it genius.

But it wasn’t just math. It was instinct, the same intuition Vianna once used to read the wind on a hunt.

"Wolves are built for patterns," she murmured, ever-present in the back of my mind. "You simply learned to translate them into code."

I smiled. “And to make a few billion while doing it.”

"You undersell yourself," she teased. "You made them believe you were one of them. That’s the real magic."

The door to my office slid open with a soft chime. Adrian stepped in, looking far too calm for a man juggling a dozen departments before noon. His navy suit was immaculate, his tie was loose, and that familiar, self-assured grin curved his mouth.

“Morning, boss,” he said, setting a tablet on my desk. “We closed the West Coast acquisition. That makes us officially unbearable.”

I arched a brow. “We were unbearable before breakfast.”

He laughed, dropping into the chair opposite mine.

“You’re trending again. BusinessWeek wants an exclusive about how LUNARIX is reshaping global trade. I told them we were busy reshaping the future.”

“Good answer,” I said. “But next time, charge them for the quote.”

He smirked. “Still the capitalist wolf.”

I froze, just a heartbeat, just enough for Vianna to stir.

He didn’t know. No one did. Adrian’s comment was a throwaway joke, but my pulse still stuttered. I’d buried my other life so deep that even the word wolf carried the thrill of a secret.

Five years of hiding. Five years of pretending the moon didn’t whisper to me through the skyscraper glass.

And yet… I didn’t regret it.

To the world, I was Nyssa Blackwell, visionary, investor, and strategist. Not Luna. Not Alpha. No pack.

Just me.

Adrian leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. “You realize you could retire tomorrow, right? Disappear to some island. Swim in your dividends. Maybe even sleep.”

“I’d get bored,” I said simply.

He smiled. “Yeah, you would.”

We’d built LUNARIX together, he the COO, the steady architect of operations; and me the storm that drove it forward. People speculated about us constantly. Rumors, headlines, speculation about affairs and power plays. The truth was simpler, cleaner, and far more dangerous: we trusted each other absolutely.

And that trust was worth more than any marriage ever had been.

Adrian stood, crossing to the bar in the corner of the office. He poured coffee from the carafe I’d ignored.

“You’re meeting the investors at noon. Then the UN call at two. After that...”

“The charity gala,” I finished, grimacing. “Right. The one where I’m supposed to pretend I enjoy champagne and billionaires asking if I’m single.”

“You could always lie,” he offered.

“I do that every day.”

He laughed again, the easy sound of partnership. “Well, at least you look lethal doing it.”

When he left, the office quieted again. The city’s hum filled the silence, my kingdom’s pulse.

I moved to the desk, scrolling through the morning analytics. Graphs and projections bloomed in cascading light across the glass surface. Billions in motion. Lines of code shaped by my hand, by Vianna’s instinct, and by the promise I’d made on the drive south from Lake Placid: From this day forward, we rise.

And rise I had.

The old pack never contacted me again after I drained their account. Cassian’s name hadn’t crossed my screen since the day I left. Maybe he’d drunk himself into legend or oblivion, I didn’t care. What mattered was the empire I’d built on the bones of my past.

"Do you miss them?" Vianna asked softly.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Not him. The people. The woods. The run.”

"You could run again."

I looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline, at the silver towers glinting in the sun. “Someday,” I whispered. “But not yet. There’s still too much to build.”

The elevator chimed outside the glass doors. My assistant, Clara, entered with a stack of folders and an expression that usually preceded chaos. “Ms. Blackwell? There’s a reporter waiting downstairs from Fortune. He refuses to leave without a quote.”

“Tell him to send me an email like everyone else.”

“He said he already has. Twelve times.”

“Then tell him to make it thirteen.”

Clara tried not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

I signed three contracts, fielded two calls, and by the time noon arrived, I’d already added another half-million to LUNARIX’s portfolio projections. The meeting with investors was smooth, they worshiped the ground I walked on. Success had that effect. But as I stepped back into my office, Vianna stirred again, she was uneasy. "Something’s coming."

I paused by the window, watching the city below. “What do you feel?”

"Change. The air tastes like it used to before a storm."

My gaze drifted north, past the city haze, and toward the invisible line of mountains that still called to me at night. I hadn’t thought about Moonfang in years. About wolves or blood or the woman I used to be. But now, for the first time in a long while, I felt the faint pull of something ancient stirring under my skin.

“Not yet,” I told her quietly. “We worked too hard for peace.”

"You can’t build a tower high enough to hide from destiny," Vianna whispered.

Maybe not. But for now, I could try.

I straightened my jacket, smoothed my hair, and turned back to the glowing screen. “Let destiny wait, I have an empire to run.”

The city roared its approval below, and the moon, faint, pale, and distant, lingered beyond the glass like a promise I refused to keep.

Home these days meant steel and skyline.

The Artemis Lofts towered over downtown Albany, and its upper floors hummed with the lives of people I paid well to keep quiet.

The entire building belonged to me now, one of many assets folded neatly into LUNARIX’s portfolio, but the top floor was mine alone.... six bedrooms, a private elevator, and a view that made the Hudson look almost romantic.

Clara and Adrian occupied one of the guest suites. They’d finally admitted what the rest of the office had known for months, and I was happy for them. They were the only two people I trusted inside my fortress of glass.

As for me, well, I’d had my flings. A few with Adrian before lines were drawn, others with men whose wallets matched my appetite for distraction. Nothing lasting. I’d learned that permanence was an illusion, and I preferred illusions I could end with a text.

I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through messages until I found Kyle Whitmore, trust-fund royalty, perpetually tanned, devastatingly charming, and exactly as shallow as I needed him to be.

Me: Need an escort tonight. Charity gala.

Kyle: Black tie or moral support?

Me: Both. Bring the suit, leave the conscience.

His reply came with a winking emoji. Typical.

Across the apartment, Clara poked her head in. “Ten minutes, boss. You ready for the red-carpet circus?”

“Almost,” I said, standing to smooth the silk of my gown. The dress was scandalous even by my standards, black liquid satin that clung like sin, a slit high enough to start rumors, and the neckline low enough to finish them. Diamonds at my throat caught the light each time I moved.

Clara whistled. “If the shareholders see you like that, half of them will faint.”

“Let them,” I said, applying a final streak of lipstick. “It’s good for circulation.”

Adrian appeared behind her, his tux perfect, and his tie was slightly crooked in a way that made him look dangerous. “You two planning to conquer or attend?”

“Same difference,” I said.

They laughed, and gathered their coats and invitations. When they left, the suite went quiet again, just the low hum of city traffic far below and the rhythmic click of my heels across marble.

Moments later, my phone buzzed.

Kyle: Outside. Try not to outshine the moon.

I smiled, grabbed my clutch, and stepped into the private elevator. Kyle’s car waited at the curb, a sleek black import that purred like it knew its worth. He climbed out when he saw me and let out a low whistle.

“Remind me why you ever answer my texts? You could have anyone.”

“I like toys that come with their own jet,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

He laughed, the easy, careless sound of a man who’d never been told no.

The gala glittered inside the old opera house. There were crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and a live orchestra that tried too hard to sound sophisticated. Cameras flashed when we entered. I smiled for them, practiced and perfect.

Billionaire. Visionary. Mystery.

Kyle played his part, introducing me to senators’ wives and hedge fund heirs. I drank, laughed, and nodded at the right times. For two hours it was all noise and shimmer, the kind of event where everyone congratulated themselves for existing.

Then I excused myself and headed for the marble corridor that led to the ladies’ lounge. My heels echoed through the hush. The noise of the ballroom dulled behind the door, replaced by the hum of expensive lighting.

I touched up my lipstick, and checked my phone. There were three missed emails, and one text from Clara reminding me to eat. Then I turned to leave.

That’s when I saw her.

At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks. The woman by the far mirror was older, and her hair was streaked with more gray than I remembered, but the posture was unmistakable, straight spine, folded hands, the quiet authority of someone who’d once run an entire household with a look.

“Greta?”

She turned. The same sharp eyes, softer now around the edges. The faintest smile tugged at her mouth.

“Luna.”

The word hit me like a slap.

“I’m not...” I started, but she raised a hand.

“I know what you are now, Miss Blackwell.” Her voice carried the same firmness that used to command maids and cooks. “The papers are very proud of you.”

My pulse stuttered. “How did you find me?”

“Finding you was easy,” she said. “Deciding whether to approach you… that was harder.”

Her gaze flicked to my gown, to the diamonds, and to the confidence I wore like armor. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Apparently,” I said carefully.

“What do you want, Greta?”