The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Chapter 74: Chapter 74 His Concern

Aria’s POV

Another knock, more insistent this time.

"Ms. Smith?" A woman’s voice filtered through the heavy wood. "Room service."

I frowned, pushing myself up from the sofa. I hadn’t ordered anything yet. Maybe it was some kind of welcome amenity? Victor had connections everywhere—maybe he’d called ahead?

I crossed to the door and peered through the peephole. A young woman in the hotel’s crisp uniform stood there with a large covered cart.

Taking a breath, I opened the door. "I’m sorry, but I didn’t order—"

The words died as she wheeled the cart into the suite with practiced efficiency. When she lifted the silver domes, my breath caught.

It wasn’t just room service. It was a *feast.*

A5 wagyu beef with truffle butter, Boston lobster tail with herb sauce, fresh caviar with mother-of-pearl spoons.

Pan-seared foie gras with cherry reduction, handmade pasta with white truffle shavings, oysters Rockefeller on fine bone china.

Delicate quail eggs, artisanal cheese selection, and warm bread completed the savory offerings.

The dessert tower was a masterpiece—macarons, chocolate sculptures, and gold leaf-dusted petit fours arranged like edible art.

Dom Pérignon chilled in a silver ice bucket alongside vintage wines, all served on exquisite china with sterling silver cutlery and crystal glasses that sparkled under the suite’s lighting.

"There must be some mistake," I started, even as my stomach growled again—louder this time.

"No mistake, Ms. Smith." The woman smiled politely. "This was ordered for you by Alpha King. He wanted to ensure you had everything you needed."

The name hit me like a physical blow.

*Damian.*

Of course it was Damian.

"I can’t accept this," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. Because the food smelled absolutely incredible, and I was starving.

"Alpha King was very insistent, miss." The woman’s expression remained professionally neutral. "He specifically requested we ensure you ate something. Shall I leave it here?"

I should have said no. Should have sent it all back and ordered something myself, just to prove a point.

But my stomach growled again—so loud this time that the woman’s lips twitched with an almost-smile—and I felt my resolve crumbling.

"Fine," I muttered. "Thank you."

She nodded, seemed about to leave, then paused.

"If you need anything else, Ms. Smith, don’t hesitate to call down. Alpha King asked us to ensure you’re well taken care of during your stay."

*Of course he did.*

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with enough food to feed three people and a dangerous swirl of emotions I really didn’t want to examine too closely.

I stared at the spread for a long moment, warring with myself. Accepting this felt like... what? Forgiveness? Weakness?

But as another growl rumbled through my empty stomach, I realized how ridiculous I was being. This wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. It was just food. Practical. Necessary.

And I was *starving.*

"Fine," I said aloud to the empty suite. "But this doesn’t mean anything."

Even as I settled into the chair and picked up the fork, I knew I was lying to myself. Because everything with Damian meant something. That was the problem.

The A5 wagyu beef was perfectly cooked—juicy and seasoned exactly how I liked it. Which meant he’d somehow paid attention to what I’d eaten at... when? The gala? That business dinner?

I took another bite, hating how good it tasted. Hating even more that part of me was touched by the gesture.

He’d been unconscious. In pain. Probably barely coherent. And his first thought upon waking had been to make sure I ate something.

*Damn him.*

I ate mechanically, each bite a strange mixture of sustenance and bitter acknowledgment.

Because as much as I wanted to hold onto my anger, as justified as I was in feeling betrayed by his parents’ manipulation—

This wasn’t Ethan. Damian hadn’t lied to me. Hadn’t deceived me. He’d been as much a victim of his parents’ scheme as I had been.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

I finished about half the meal before my stomach started protesting.

The dessert sat there, tempting, but I couldn’t manage another bite. Instead, I stood, leaving the cart where it was, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The capital stretched out below me, a sea of lights and possibilities.

Somewhere in this city, Damian was probably still at that hospital. Maybe arguing with his parents. Maybe trying to figure out how to fix this.

My phone buzzed again—a text from Rachel with the address of the wine bar and a string of excited emojis.

Maybe, if I was lucky, I could forget—just for a few hours—about silver-gray eyes and the way it had felt to realize he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth himself.