The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 34: Chapter 34

The words echo in my head like a death knell. My father is in a coma. The man I just reconciled with—the man who promised to restore everything stolen from me—is lying unconscious in a hospital while Tyler rushes to comfort my stepsister.
"Tyler, wait! What did Lorraine say?" I call after him, my voice cracking. "What happened to Peter McGregor? I need to know—"
But the door slams shut. Through the tall windows, I watch his car speed down the driveway, gravel spraying in his wake. He didn’t even look back.
My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the bottom step. The divorce papers lie scattered across the floor. His angry scrawl beside my careful script looks like a remnant from another life.
With shaking hands, I fumble for my phone and dial Lorraine’s number. She’ll know what hospital my father is in. But I was sent to voicemail. Again. Then again. On the fourth try, she declines.
I try my father’s number next. It doesn’t even ring. Just a recorded message that the phone is off or out of service.
Panic claws at my chest. I grab the TV remote and flip through the channels until the local news appears. A polished anchor recites headlines while I watch the clock tick away. Then I see it.
My father’s favorite Rolls Royce looks mangled, wrapped around a tree. Steam rising. The news anchor’s voice cuts through the numbness:
"...identified as prominent businessman Peter McGregor, sixty-two, transported to Mercy General Hospital incritical condition."
Critical condition. The words almost knock the wind out of me. I find myself struggling for air.
"McGregor is known for his business empire, including Luxe Emerald. His adopted daughter, Lorraine McGregor, currently serves as its CEO."
Adopted daughter. The sting is sharper than expected. To the world, she’s his only child. Have I really been erased that the media doesn’t even pick up a trace of me?
A cruel laugh breaks the silence. I turn to find Vivian and Tanya on the staircase.
"Look at our little drama queen," Vivian sneers, descending like a predator. “Crying over a stranger's accident."
"It’s pathetic," Tanya echoes. "Pretending she knows Peter McGregor."
"You don’t understand," I say, wiping my tears. "I do know him. He’s my—"
"Your what?" Vivian mocks. "Your uncle? Your father? Where? In your dreams?"
"He is my father. I am his daughter."
The silence that follows is deafening. Then Vivian throws back her head and laughs maniacally. She laughs like it’s the most ridiculous, funniest joke she has heard in her life. Then Tanya joins in. The sound they make bounces off the marble floors.
"You think you're related to Peter McGregor? What's next? Secret royalty?" Vivian scoffs.
"I'm not lying. I grew up with Lorraine. He raised me until I was twenty-three."
"Prove it," Tanya challenges, her voice sharp with skepticism. "Show us a birth certificate. Anything that proves you're not completely delusional."
I open my mouth. Close it. My father erased all public records to protect my inheritance from Tyler. Birth certificate sealed. Childhood photos locked away.
"Thought so," Vivian smirks. "Come on, Tanya. Let’s go check on Lorraine—a real McGregor."
‘A real McGregor?’
I’m the real McGregor, but the problem is, I have nothing on me to prove it. My father hasn’t reversed my disinheritance yet. So, I have nothing on me to prove that I’m his daughter.
At the door, she turns. "And Analise? Now that you're divorced and unemployed, start looking for somewhere else to live. This house belongs to my son."
The door clicks shut. My legs feel rooted to the floor, but my mind is spinning. It’s true what Vivian said. I also have no intention of living here any longer. But right now, I can’t wrap my head around my divorce. I need to find out what’s going on with my father.
I call Lorraine again. Still nothing.
I scroll through my contacts and find the number I’ve avoided for years: Stephanie, my stepmother.
She answers on the fourth ring, cold and clipped. "What do you want, Analise?"
"I heard about the accident. I need to see him."
"Absolutely not. You’re not welcome anywhere near this family."
"Steph, please. He’s my father. Whatever happened between us in the past, he's still my father, and I need to see him."
"He is not your father," she says, each word pronounced with deliberate cruelty. "Not anymore. You forfeited that right when you walked away from this family for that worthless husband of yours."
“But all is okay between my father and I now. I talked to him yesterday. He welcomed me back. He said he’d restore my position as his daughter once my divorce was final.”
She laughs, bitter and sharp. "He told me about your pathetic phone call. You came crawling back for scraps."
"That’s not how it happened. He meant it. He said Luxe Emerald was always mine. He made Lorraine CEO to force my hand."
"Peter says a lot of things when he's sentimental. But sentiment doesn’t change legal documents. As far as anyone who matters is concerned, you’re no longer a McGregor. You have no right to his empire. Including Luxe Emerald.”
"Luxe Emerald wasn’t his to begin with! And he promised he’ll restore everything the way they should be!” Tears roll down my cheeks as I remember my last conversation with my father.
"Did he sign anything? Reinstate you legally? No? Then it means nothing."
Her words strike like knives. "He wouldn’t say that unless he meant it."
"Wouldn’t he? When has Peter McGregor ever done something not in his best interest? When did he ever do anything based purely on sentiment?”
I can’t answer. He’s brilliant, ruthless—not sentimental. Everything he does is calculated.
"Lorraine is his daughter now. She’s been on his side all these years. Where were you? Running off with a bartender? Designing cheap jewelry?"
"Those designs built TL Glam into a hundred-million-dollar company," I say, voice thin but defiant.
"But it will never be as big as Luxe Emerald, and you know it!”
Silence.
"Don’t call again," she says. "Don’t show up at the hospital. Don’t contact Lorraine. As far as we’re concerned, you died seven years ago."
"Steph, wait—"
The line goes dead. I'm left staring at the phone, its black screen reflecting a woman I barely recognize.
I am alone. Again.
I sink onto the floor, knees to my chest, the silence of the mansion pressing in. The scent of lavender from the garden drifts faintly through the windows. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes. Time is moving, but I’m stuck.
The last thing my father said to me replays in my mind: "I'll have your old room prepared. And I'll have you restored as a McGregor as soon as your divorce is finalized. Everything will be back as they should be.”
I had believed him. I’d signed the papers. I was free. But he hadn’t fixed it. Not yet. And now—
‘What if he never wakes up?’
My breath catches. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let my story end this way. My inheritance, my name—my identity—won’t be stolen again. Not by Lorraine. Not by Tyler. Not by anyone.
I stand, every joint aching as if I’ve aged years in minutes. I pick up the divorce papers and stack them neatly. Then I gather my sketches, my notebooks, and my USB drives—the ones I never gave Tyler.
The world may have forgotten I’m a McGregor. But I haven’t.
And this time, I will fight until the world recognizes who I really am.