The Luna You Betrayed Is No Longer Yours

Chapter 210: Chapter 210 Sorting For Help

_Brielle’s POV_

I slammed my digital drawing tablet onto the cluttered glass desk, resting my throbbing head in my hands. The air had changed now smelled like stale, coffee, energy drinks, and dry paper. I was completely totally stuck.

Designing a functional, high tech prosthetic leg from scratch was an absolute nightmare.

The math behind the hydraulic knee joints was a complete mess, and mapping the artificial nerve sensors to actually respond to real muscle movement felt practically impossible.

I had been sitting in this room for three straight days, staring at blank blue digital blueprints until my eyes bled red. I hadn’t eaten a full meal since yesterday morning, and I hadn’t even taken a proper bath.

My hair was tied up in a messy greasy knot on top of my head, and my clothes were wrinkled, stained with coffee, and stink of pure sweat.

How on earth did Rowena think she could pull this off all by herself?

She didn’t even have a medical degree! It was infuriating to even think about. I had spent years of my life building a stellar reputation as a brilliant doctor in this pack, but right now, I was drowning in mechanical calculations I barely understood.

If three weeks passed and I showed up to Aunt Kristy’s hospital room with a useless chunk of metal, my reputation in the pack would be completely destroyed forever.

Everyone would laugh at me behind my back. Rowena would win, and Aunt Kristy would finally realize I had lied straight to her face about my abilities.

But again, how could Rowena win?

She wasn’t even a doctor, and she was useless and wolfless. What could she possibly do to beat me?

I was sure she was also facing the difficulties I was currently facing.

I couldn’t let her win, regardless. My family’s pride was on the line, and my mother had already been going around bragging to half the city’s high society about how I was going to save the day and put Rowena in her place.

Panic tightened in my chest like a fucking vice. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely type. I opened a dark, private browser window on my laptop and logged into an exclusive, hidden online forum used by rogue engineers, underground tech artists, and off-the-grid inventors.

Nobody used real names on this website, and every single account was completely anonymous and untraceable.

I quickly typed out a desperate post on the main board:

“I need a complete, highly detailed mechanical leg design with functional nerve sensor blueprints. Must be ready immediately. Will pay handsomely in cash, no questions asked.”

I hit the submit button, let out a shaky breath, and leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen. I was praying that someone on the site was desperate enough for quick money to take the bait and do all the hard work for me.

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_Ezekiel’s POV_

I was lounging on the plush sofa in the Ashthorne estate’s main living room, mindlessly scrolling through social media on my phone while waiting for my afternoon tea to cool down.

My travel bags were already half packed upstairs in my bedroom. Leaving the city in a few days was going to be deeply painful, but sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my life to magically fix itself was driving me completely crazy.

To kill some time and distract my brain, I opened up an old underground engineering forum I used to browse back when I managed black market supply lines for my family business.

I refreshed the main discussion board, fully expecting to see the usual boring posts about stolen car parts, fake ID cards, or cracked software.

Then, a brand new post popped up at the very top of the live feed.

I tapped on it, skimming through the text. “I need a complete, highly detailed mechanical leg design... Will pay handsomely in cash.”

I blinked, re-reading the post twice to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Then I looked at the timestamp. It had been posted less than two minutes ago, coming straight from an IP address tagged right here in the city’s upper district.

A loud sudden laugh burst out of my mouth. I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my breath, slamming my open hand against the leather armrest of the couch over and over again.

"You have got to be kidding me," I wheezed out loud, shaking my head in pure disbelief.

It didn’t take a genius to connect the obvious dots. Brielle had been boasting to the whole pack about her brilliant medical expertise, pretending she was locked away working on a medical masterpiece for Alaric’s aunt.

And here she was, secretly begging underground artists on a sketchy forum to do her homework for pay because she was too stupid to pull it off herself.

I quickly took a clean screenshot of the post, opened my private chat with Rowena, and forwarded the image straight to her phone with a simple caption: Look at your competition. She’s completely drowning.

I grinned widely, tossing my phone onto the sofa cushion beside me as I leaned back, eager to see Rowena’s reaction to the news.

But just then, the loud vibration of my phone startled me. I looked down at the screen now in frustration, wondering who would be calling and remembering who it should be, fully expecting to see Rowena’s name flashing on the caller ID to laugh about the screenshot.

Instead, the name displayed across the top of the screen made my entire body go completely rigid.

Pierre.

The amused smile vanished from my face in a fraction of a second. My heart began hammering violently against my ribs, sending a huge wave of panic straight to my stomach.

Pierre hadn’t called me in days. He had explicitly asked for space, leaving me in total, dark silence while his pack elders dragged our names through the mud over that leaked photograph from the party.

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up the phone from the cushion. My mind was racing with a thousand terrifying possibilities. Was he calling to officially end things? Was he calling to tell me to leave the city faster?

I took a deep, shaky breath, cleared my dry throat, and hurriedly swiped the green button to answer before the call could drop into voicemail.

"Pierre?" I brought the phone to my ear, my voice barely above an uncertain whisper. "Is that really you?"

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