The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I stand outside ButtlerBloom, waiting for Tyler to pick me up for our anniversary date.
‘He’s late!’
Again.
It’s been happening more often lately. I do understand him. He’s working hard to build another startup company. Last year, his app development startup tanked. He had to shut it down because it was making more losses than profit.
But if there’s one thing I like about Tyler, it’s the fact that he doesn’t give up. He’s determined to own a successful company, and he’s doing everything to get it.
The bakery sign flickers behind me, painting my shadow in alternating hues of gold and amber. My shift ended nearly an hour ago. I check my phone again—no messages. Our anniversary dinner reservation is at eight. I’m getting worried that we will lose our table.
"You could just call him," Mrs. Patel suggests as she locks up behind me. Her eyes crinkle with motherly concern beneath her gray-streaked hair. "No sense standing out here alone."
"I'm fine," I say, summoning a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "He'll be here soon."
“Alright. Do take care of yourself.” She smiles at me apologetically, keys jangling in her hand, before walking to her car. I watch her taillights disappear around the corner, leaving me alone with a hollow feeling.
A year ago, I graduated with honors, my design portfolio was praised as "innovative" and "boundary-pushing."
A year ago, I imagined stepping into a prestigious design firm, crafting jewelry that would adorn the necks and wrists of those who appreciated beauty drawn from the ancient and mysterious.
A year ago, I believed my father would be proud enough to take me back, and accept my relationship with Tyler.
I was wrong on all counts.
“Nothing has changed. If you do not choose a husband from the ones I have already pre-selected for you, you cannot come home.”
“Father, please give Tyler a chance. He’s working so hard! He just needed a break and capital—” I tried to argue.
“I will die first before he gets his hands on our family fortune!” He growled on the other line. “And you—if you do not come back to your senses, you can also forget about Luxe Emerald!”
“And what are you going to do with my mother’s company? Hand it over to Lorraine?” I asked, my voice oozing with sarcasm.
He paused for a moment. Then he said, “You know what, I think that’s not a bad idea.”
I stopped breathing for a moment. “You wouldn’t dare, Dad!”
“Continue being this stubborn, and you will lose not only my name, but also your mother’s legacy.” Then he hung up.
I run my fingers over the pendant of the necklace I’m wearing. The only piece of jewelry I’m wearing. Every other jewelry she left me is locked away in my mother’s safe. And right now, I consider myself unfit to wear them.
The smell of sugar and butter follows me everywhere these days. It's in my hair, under my nails, embedded in the fine lines of my fingertips. Mrs. Patel hired me without question. I quickly learned the ropes. I am talented with my hands, after all. I decorate cakes and pastries now, channeling my design skills into buttercream roses and chocolate drizzles instead of silver and gold.
Tyler swears this is temporary. "I'm onto something big," he's been saying for months, his brown eyes bright with conviction. "Just one investor, Analise. That's all we need."
I check my phone again. We’re really going to be late for our reservation. The restaurant will give away our table soon. My stomach growls, reminding me I've been on my feet since five this morning, surviving on stolen bites of croissant and too much coffee.
Tyler has been good to me. He stuck around from one failed job interview after another. With my skills and my credentials, he can’t understand why I can’t land a decent job designing jewelry. Deep inside, I know that my father has a hand in it.
But Tyler doesn’t know that. Until now, he has no idea who I really am. Analise Lander McGregor. Peter McGregor’s only child, heiress to the Lander-McGregor empire, including Luxe Emerald, the country’s number one fashion jewelry brand.
Suddenly, a sleek black car with tinted windows pulls up to the curb, engine purring like a satisfied cat. My heartbeat quickens—it's not Tyler's usual well-worn Honda. The driver's door swings open, and Tyler unfolds himself from behind the wheel, a look of confidence on him. His face is alight with an excitement I haven't seen in months.
"Are you surprised?" he calls, crossing the distance between us in three quick strides. Before I can answer, he sweeps me into a tight embrace, lifting me off my feet and spinning me in a circle that leaves me dizzy.
"Tyler, what—" I begin, but he's already setting me down, his hands gripping my shoulders.
"It happened, Analise. It actually happened." His words tumble out, fueled by an energy that's almost manic. "The investor I told you about? He said yes. We signed the papers last week, and the money hit the account yesterday. Twenty-five million dollars, baby!”
The number hangs in the air between us. Twenty-five million. His investor must be loaded if he is able to give away twenty-five million dollars on a startup. What business venture did Tyler propose to him?
"Twenty-give million?" I repeat, almost choking on the words. "For your startup? The one you've been so secretive about?"
He nods, bouncing slightly on his toes like a child. "We're funded for at least three years. Office space, manufacturing, marketing, salaries—everything we need." His fingers tighten on my shoulders. "And I want you to be the lead designer. You need to quit this place tomorrow."
My head spins faster than when he twirled me. "Lead designer of what exactly? You've never actually told me what your business does."
For a moment, something like nervousness flickers across his face. "That's part of the surprise," he says, his enthusiasm wavering slightly. "Let's celebrate first. I have reservations at Aurelia's."
The most expensive restaurant in the city. A place where my father takes important clients. Where I might be recognized.
“But, we already have a booking at Steak Factory,” I protest. “Remember? We always go there for our special celebrations.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Tyler shakes his head. “That’s just for ordinary events now. Today is our anniversary. And your boyfriend can afford to take you to places like Aurelia’s now.”
"Tyler," I say, gesturing to my flour-dusted clothes and messy ponytail. "I can't go there looking like this."
"Right." He glances at his watch—a new one, I notice, replacing the cheap digital he's worn since college. "Let's go shopping. There's a boutique on Fifth that stays open late."
"With what money?" The question slips out before I can stop it. Old habits die hard. My eyes drift off to his new car. "Wait! Did you use that money to buy this car?”
He laughs, reaching for my hand. "No, the car's on loan. I did get approved for financing—amazing what happens when investors back you. Come on, let me spoil you. We've both earned it."
I let him lead me to the car, still trying to process everything. The leather seats embrace me like an old friend, reminding me of my father’s cars. I run my fingertips over the dashboard, careful not to leave flour prints.
"Tyler," I say as he slides behind the wheel. "You need to tell me what this business is. What are we designing?"
He takes a deep breath, hands tight on the steering wheel. "It's jewelry," he says finally. "High-end pieces with a very specific aesthetic."
Something cold trickles down my spine. "What kind of aesthetic?"
He pulls away from the curb, focusing intently on the road. "Remember your final portfolio for graduation? The collection that won the Chancellor's Award?"
My throat tightens. "Moonstruck."
"Yes." His voice softens with what sounds like reverence. "That pendant—the crescent moon embracing the full moon, with those tiny diamond stars embedded in blue jade? It was genius, Analise. Pure genius."
The world narrows to a pinpoint. My pendant. My design. The piece that came to me in dreams for weeks until I finally sketched it one night under a full moon, my hands moving almost without my conscious direction.
"What did you do, Tyler?" It’s like I can’t even hear my own voice.