The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 37: Chapter 37
You are reading The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation, Chapter 37: Chapter 37. Read more chapters of The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation.
I hear the delivery guy call out to me. He’s mumbling something, but I don’t understand a word he’s saying. With weak knees, I walk away from the hospital, my world crumbling down around me.
Rainnie.
“Fucking Rainnie!” I scream.
Not a fantasy. Not a memory from Tyler's past. Rainnie is Lorraine, my stepsister! And I bet that Tyler is the father of the baby that she’s carrying.
Fuck! That woman is carrying my husband’s child, while I lost ours alone on our living room floor.
"Miss? Miss, are you okay?" The delivery man has followed me outside, hugging the ruined bouquet in his arms. "You look really pale," he says. "Should I call someone? A nurse maybe?"
I turn around to face him. This stranger who’s just giving me the missing piece of the puzzle, probably cares more about me than Tyler.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
I look at the ruined flowers in his arms. “Are you going to deliver it like that?”
He shakes his head. “I will go back to the office, to have it replaced.” The sadness in his voice tells me that he’s going to be the one to pay for the replacement.
“How much were they?” I ask.
“$349,” he replies. “It’s going to take me weeks to recover that.”
I fish my wallet from my pocket and hand him $500. “For your trouble,” I tell him.
“Ma’am, this is too much,” he protests.
“Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling at me genuinely. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
But I'm not fine. I will never be fine again. Because now I understand the scope of what they've done to me. Tyler and Lorraine haven't just betrayed me—they've orchestrated my complete annihilation. Every tender moment he shared with her, every protective gesture, every concerned glance was real. More real than anything he'd given me in months.
I go inside my car. The engine turns over with a quiet purr, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. Earlier this week, I was Tyler's wife, carrying his child, believing in our future despite our problems. Now I'm divorced, childless, and face-to-face with the truth that my husband has been cheating on me with my stepsister for months!
The pieces keep clicking together as I navigate out of the parking garage. Tyler's sudden interest in expanding the business, his eagerness to take meetings with investors. Of course he wanted to grow TL Glam—he needed to be worthy of Lorraine McGregor, daughter of Peter McGregor, heir to a luxury empire. A bartender turned entrepreneur might catch her eye, but only if he could prove himself capable of playing in her league.
And I'd helped him do it. Every design, every late night perfecting details, every sacrifice I'd made to build his company—I'd been building the foundation for his future with another woman.
“You bastard!” I scream hitting my hands on the steering wheel.
The traffic light ahead turns red, and I slam on the brakes harder than necessary. The car behind me honks in annoyance, but I barely hear it. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have gone white.
"Rainnie," I whisper to myself, testing the name on my tongue. Tastes bitter—like poison.
The light turns green, and I step on the gas with enough force to make the tires squeal slightly. Behind me, another horn sounds, but I'm beyond caring about traffic etiquette. The familiar streets of my neighborhood blur past, but they don't feel like home anymore. Maybe I haven’t been at home here from the beginning.
My phone buzzes from the passenger seat—probably Catherine with more divorce paperwork, or maybe the hospital calling about something. I don't care. Let the whole world burn for all it matters now.
‘Let’s give that asshole what he deserves!’ That voice inside my head, that has been dormant for a while, suddenly shouts in my head, mirroring my exact thoughts.
With the appearance of that voice, I suddenly feel stronger. I feel heat traveling in my veins. At this moment, I feel—I don’t know if it makes sense, but I feel very powerful.
The rage builds with each block, each memory that now carries new meaning. The way Tyler stares at Lorraine. The way he'd carried her so carefully to the ambulance while I bled alone on our living room floor. The tenderness in his voice when he'd promised her everything would be okay.
It’s true that my father will disinherit Lorraine if he found out she was pregnant with Tyler—the very reason he disinherited his biological daughter in the first place. She had to live with us, not because she was his cousin. She’s there because she’s carrying his child!
By the time I reach our street, something fundamental has shifted inside me. The grief, the heartbreak, the devastating sense of loss—all of it is still there, but underneath runs something darker. Something that feels almost like hunger.
I park in our driveway with less care than usual, the car angled awkwardly across the pristine concrete. The front door opens before I can even reach it. I see Tyler standing in the doorway. His face is flushed with anger, his hair disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Vivian hovering near the staircase.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demands angrily. "I've been calling you for hours! What? Since we’re divorced, you can’t just come and go from this house as you please!”
He stops talking when he sees my face. Something in my expression makes him take an involuntary step backward, though I haven't moved or spoken.
"Analise? What's wrong? You look..." He trails off, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
I don't answer. Can't answer. The rage has moved beyond words, beyond rational communication. It fills every cell of my body like molten metal, like something alive and hungry that's been sleeping too long and has finally awakened. I feel like a valcano about to errupt.
Tyler's concerned frown deepens. "Look, okay, I can allow you a few days until you can—’
“Fuck you!” I growl.
The sound that comes out of my throat doesn't feel human. It's something between a roar and a growl, something animalistic that even I surprise myself. Tyler stumbles backward, his eyes widening in shock.
I move past him into the house, and my gaze falls on the grand piano dominating our living room. Tyler's pride and joy, a Steinway baby grand that cost more than most people make in a year. He'd insisted on it for entertaining clients, though I'd never seen him play more than a few basic scales.
The I feel solidifies into something raw and primal—purely out of instinct. My hands close around the edge of the piano bench first. I turn to Tyler, glaring at him as he stares at me blankly.
“What are you going to do? You can’t play the piano—” Tyler starts, but I cut him off with another growl.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” I scream and without warning, I lift the edge of the piano, and then with a fluid motion, using strength that I didn’t know I have, I just throw the piano right at Tyler’s direction.
The piano flies across the room, hitting the wall beside Tyler. It would have smashed him if he hadn’t dodged at foot. The piano crashes with a sound louder than thunder.
“Fuck!” Tyler screams as he dives to the side, rolling across the marble floor.
Then there’s silence. A deafening silence.
I take deep breaths as I try to absorb the situation before me.
‘What the hell? How did I do that?’ I ask myself.
Tyler gets up from the floor, staring at me with naked terror, his face looking white as bone.
"What the fuck—how did you—that's impossible!" His voice cracks on the last word.
Behind him, Vivian emerges from wherever she'd been hiding, takes one look at the destroyed piano and the crater it's made in the wall, and begins screaming. Not words, just raw, hysterical sound that echoes off the high ceilings.
"You psychotic bitch!" she shrieks when she finally finds language. "You absolute lunatic! That piano cost a hundred and sixty thousand dollars!"
I raise a brow at Vivian. “Only?” I ask in a haughty tone. “I’ve got one at home that costs over two million.”
Vivan scoffs, as if she thinks I’m being delusional.
"You're going to pay for that," Tyler snarls, pointing at the wreckage. "Every goddamn penny. I don't care what kind of breakdown you're having, you're going to replace my piano."
His piano. Not ours. Never ours. Just like everything else in this house, in this life we'd supposedly built together.
I don't respond to his demands. The inhuman strength still courses through my veins, and I can feel that it’s looking for another outlet. Tyler keeps talking—about money, about property damage, about how I've finally shown my true colors—but his words are just noise.
Instead, I walk toward him with deliberate steps. He's still talking when I reach him, still demanding payment and consequences. Clearly, he’s more concerned about the broken piano, than our broken marriage.
‘Despicable!’ that voice growls inside my head.
“Why did I ever fall for you, you fucking asshole?!” I scream.
And without warning, I just go by instinct. My fist lands on his face so fast, he doesn’t have time dodge or push me away.
The impact is clean, precise and has enough force to send Tyler sprawling to the ground.
‘Whoa!’
Tyler shakes his head, like he’s fallen into a daze. Then I see bright red liquid oozing down his nose.
‘Holy shit! I think I broke his nose!’
Rainnie.
“Fucking Rainnie!” I scream.
Not a fantasy. Not a memory from Tyler's past. Rainnie is Lorraine, my stepsister! And I bet that Tyler is the father of the baby that she’s carrying.
Fuck! That woman is carrying my husband’s child, while I lost ours alone on our living room floor.
"Miss? Miss, are you okay?" The delivery man has followed me outside, hugging the ruined bouquet in his arms. "You look really pale," he says. "Should I call someone? A nurse maybe?"
I turn around to face him. This stranger who’s just giving me the missing piece of the puzzle, probably cares more about me than Tyler.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
I look at the ruined flowers in his arms. “Are you going to deliver it like that?”
He shakes his head. “I will go back to the office, to have it replaced.” The sadness in his voice tells me that he’s going to be the one to pay for the replacement.
“How much were they?” I ask.
“$349,” he replies. “It’s going to take me weeks to recover that.”
I fish my wallet from my pocket and hand him $500. “For your trouble,” I tell him.
“Ma’am, this is too much,” he protests.
“Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling at me genuinely. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
But I'm not fine. I will never be fine again. Because now I understand the scope of what they've done to me. Tyler and Lorraine haven't just betrayed me—they've orchestrated my complete annihilation. Every tender moment he shared with her, every protective gesture, every concerned glance was real. More real than anything he'd given me in months.
I go inside my car. The engine turns over with a quiet purr, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. Earlier this week, I was Tyler's wife, carrying his child, believing in our future despite our problems. Now I'm divorced, childless, and face-to-face with the truth that my husband has been cheating on me with my stepsister for months!
The pieces keep clicking together as I navigate out of the parking garage. Tyler's sudden interest in expanding the business, his eagerness to take meetings with investors. Of course he wanted to grow TL Glam—he needed to be worthy of Lorraine McGregor, daughter of Peter McGregor, heir to a luxury empire. A bartender turned entrepreneur might catch her eye, but only if he could prove himself capable of playing in her league.
And I'd helped him do it. Every design, every late night perfecting details, every sacrifice I'd made to build his company—I'd been building the foundation for his future with another woman.
“You bastard!” I scream hitting my hands on the steering wheel.
The traffic light ahead turns red, and I slam on the brakes harder than necessary. The car behind me honks in annoyance, but I barely hear it. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have gone white.
"Rainnie," I whisper to myself, testing the name on my tongue. Tastes bitter—like poison.
The light turns green, and I step on the gas with enough force to make the tires squeal slightly. Behind me, another horn sounds, but I'm beyond caring about traffic etiquette. The familiar streets of my neighborhood blur past, but they don't feel like home anymore. Maybe I haven’t been at home here from the beginning.
My phone buzzes from the passenger seat—probably Catherine with more divorce paperwork, or maybe the hospital calling about something. I don't care. Let the whole world burn for all it matters now.
‘Let’s give that asshole what he deserves!’ That voice inside my head, that has been dormant for a while, suddenly shouts in my head, mirroring my exact thoughts.
With the appearance of that voice, I suddenly feel stronger. I feel heat traveling in my veins. At this moment, I feel—I don’t know if it makes sense, but I feel very powerful.
The rage builds with each block, each memory that now carries new meaning. The way Tyler stares at Lorraine. The way he'd carried her so carefully to the ambulance while I bled alone on our living room floor. The tenderness in his voice when he'd promised her everything would be okay.
It’s true that my father will disinherit Lorraine if he found out she was pregnant with Tyler—the very reason he disinherited his biological daughter in the first place. She had to live with us, not because she was his cousin. She’s there because she’s carrying his child!
By the time I reach our street, something fundamental has shifted inside me. The grief, the heartbreak, the devastating sense of loss—all of it is still there, but underneath runs something darker. Something that feels almost like hunger.
I park in our driveway with less care than usual, the car angled awkwardly across the pristine concrete. The front door opens before I can even reach it. I see Tyler standing in the doorway. His face is flushed with anger, his hair disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Vivian hovering near the staircase.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demands angrily. "I've been calling you for hours! What? Since we’re divorced, you can’t just come and go from this house as you please!”
He stops talking when he sees my face. Something in my expression makes him take an involuntary step backward, though I haven't moved or spoken.
"Analise? What's wrong? You look..." He trails off, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
I don't answer. Can't answer. The rage has moved beyond words, beyond rational communication. It fills every cell of my body like molten metal, like something alive and hungry that's been sleeping too long and has finally awakened. I feel like a valcano about to errupt.
Tyler's concerned frown deepens. "Look, okay, I can allow you a few days until you can—’
“Fuck you!” I growl.
The sound that comes out of my throat doesn't feel human. It's something between a roar and a growl, something animalistic that even I surprise myself. Tyler stumbles backward, his eyes widening in shock.
I move past him into the house, and my gaze falls on the grand piano dominating our living room. Tyler's pride and joy, a Steinway baby grand that cost more than most people make in a year. He'd insisted on it for entertaining clients, though I'd never seen him play more than a few basic scales.
The I feel solidifies into something raw and primal—purely out of instinct. My hands close around the edge of the piano bench first. I turn to Tyler, glaring at him as he stares at me blankly.
“What are you going to do? You can’t play the piano—” Tyler starts, but I cut him off with another growl.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” I scream and without warning, I lift the edge of the piano, and then with a fluid motion, using strength that I didn’t know I have, I just throw the piano right at Tyler’s direction.
The piano flies across the room, hitting the wall beside Tyler. It would have smashed him if he hadn’t dodged at foot. The piano crashes with a sound louder than thunder.
“Fuck!” Tyler screams as he dives to the side, rolling across the marble floor.
Then there’s silence. A deafening silence.
I take deep breaths as I try to absorb the situation before me.
‘What the hell? How did I do that?’ I ask myself.
Tyler gets up from the floor, staring at me with naked terror, his face looking white as bone.
"What the fuck—how did you—that's impossible!" His voice cracks on the last word.
Behind him, Vivian emerges from wherever she'd been hiding, takes one look at the destroyed piano and the crater it's made in the wall, and begins screaming. Not words, just raw, hysterical sound that echoes off the high ceilings.
"You psychotic bitch!" she shrieks when she finally finds language. "You absolute lunatic! That piano cost a hundred and sixty thousand dollars!"
I raise a brow at Vivian. “Only?” I ask in a haughty tone. “I’ve got one at home that costs over two million.”
Vivan scoffs, as if she thinks I’m being delusional.
"You're going to pay for that," Tyler snarls, pointing at the wreckage. "Every goddamn penny. I don't care what kind of breakdown you're having, you're going to replace my piano."
His piano. Not ours. Never ours. Just like everything else in this house, in this life we'd supposedly built together.
I don't respond to his demands. The inhuman strength still courses through my veins, and I can feel that it’s looking for another outlet. Tyler keeps talking—about money, about property damage, about how I've finally shown my true colors—but his words are just noise.
Instead, I walk toward him with deliberate steps. He's still talking when I reach him, still demanding payment and consequences. Clearly, he’s more concerned about the broken piano, than our broken marriage.
‘Despicable!’ that voice growls inside my head.
“Why did I ever fall for you, you fucking asshole?!” I scream.
And without warning, I just go by instinct. My fist lands on his face so fast, he doesn’t have time dodge or push me away.
The impact is clean, precise and has enough force to send Tyler sprawling to the ground.
‘Whoa!’
Tyler shakes his head, like he’s fallen into a daze. Then I see bright red liquid oozing down his nose.
‘Holy shit! I think I broke his nose!’
End of The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation Chapter 37. Continue reading Chapter 38 or return to The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation book page.