Reborn As My Alpha's Luna

The bar was alive in all the worst ways. Neon lights buzzed like insects in heat, flickering across faces that looked like they hadn't slept in days—some probably hadn't. Electric pinks and blues painted the smoke-stained walls, casting shadows over the same old crowd chasing the same dead-end high. The music pounded deep, bass thudding straight through the floor, through the soles of tired shoes, into the bones. Laughter roared too loud. Glasses clinked in bursts. Every surface reeked of stale beer and something heavier—regret, maybe. Or desperation soaked into the wood over years.

Tessa weaved through the crowd with muscle memory. A full tray in one hand, her steps neat, practiced. This had been her world for months. Same narrow gaps between chairs. Same sweat-slicked dancefloor. Same soulless soundtrack. Her shoulders ached. Her back screamed. But she didn't let it show. Not when survival meant blending in, keeping your head down, and getting through one more shift.

Just another night. That was the plan.

Then it wasn't.

"Tess."

She turned. Jonah. One of the few decent people in this dump. He leaned over the counter, sweat clinging to his forehead. His apron was crooked, sleeves shoved to his elbows, and his voice came soft—like he already knew she wouldn't want to hear what he had to say.

"Guy at Table 9 says he wants you to bring his drink. Said it had to be you."

Her mouth pulled tight. A flat, tired line. She didn't even have to ask which kind of man he was.

"I'm not on that section," she said, voice low but steady. "Tell him to wait."

"I did. He insisted."

Jonah glanced toward the far corner, where shadows pooled like mold. The kind of place men like that always seemed to sit. Hidden enough to do whatever they wanted, but close enough to watch everything.

Tessa exhaled—long, slow. The kind of breath you let out when you're about to do something you hate, but don't have the luxury to reject. She grabbed a towel from the counter, her fingers closing around the fabric like it might anchor her.

Then she walked.

The man was already watching her when she got there. He sat back, legs spread like he owned the whole damn place, a half-smirk playing on his lips. Charcoal suit. Gold ring. Cigar smoke rising like arrogance from between his fingers. The air around him felt different thicker. Dangerous. She didn't like the way he looked at her.

She placed the drink down without meeting his eyes.

Then he dropped something.

A coin, maybe. Or a key. She didn't care. It clinked to the floor, loud in a way that felt intentional.

"Oops," he said. Voice syrupy and fake. "Mind grabbing that for me sweetheart?"

Her spine went stiff. Her jaw locked. But she crouched. Because she'd been in this position before. Because fights like this never ended in her favor.

The smack landed without warning. A flat, disgusting slap against her backside.

She froze.

Slowly, slowly, she stood up. Dignity stiff in every bone.

"Don't you ever..."

Another slap. This time across her face.

Louder. Meaner. Real.

Her breath caught. Her cheek blazed. But what burned more was the shame. The knowing again she'd let herself get trapped. That men like this would always think they could touch her. That no one ever stopped them.

"You bark when I say bark," he hissed. "You crawl when I tell you to."

She was a second from hitting him. One fist away from throwing away everything.

Someone stepped in quietly ignoring the increasingly tensioned atmosphere.

"Is there a problem here?"

He said calmly but as sharp as a knife.

The man grabbed his shoulder attempting to turn him back. "Who the fuck do you think you...."

He didn't finish. The stranger didn't wait. One second he was standing there. The next, he had the man's head slammed into the table. Wood cracked. Glass shattered. Amber liquid spilled across the table in a slow, sticky wave.

Twice. Three times. Tessa barely registered the violence, only the calm in the man's voice.

"Miss Tessa," he said, still holding the guy down with one hand. "Logan sent me. I'm his assistant."

With his free hand, he passed her a folder. Thick, leatherbound. Silver details catching the light.

She stared. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Everything about this moment felt wrong too fast, too strange, too much.

"I, I can't," she said.

Then she threw the file back at him and bolted.

She didn't stop running until she reached the locker room.

The moment she was alone, she collapsed.

Her legs gave way. Her arm hit metal. Pain bloomed across her shoulder. But the tears came anyway, spilling before she could stop them.

It wasn't about tonight. Not just tonight. It was everything. Every night. Every shift. Every man. Every silence she'd swallowed to survive. Every time she'd bent herself just to get by.

She broke.

And it hurt more because it felt good to finally let go.

The door burst open.

"Tessa?!" Leslie. Wild-eyed. Breathless.

Tessa didn't answer. Just sat there, crying.

"Oh my god," Leslie said, dropping beside her. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I can't take it," Tessa whispered. "I can't do this anymore."

Leslie looked at her like she was seeing her for the first time. Then her jaw clenched. Her hands tightened into fists. "Then don't. That folder? That guy? That was your shot. Take it. Please."

"I'm not going from one prison to another."

Rick's voice sliced into the air. "Get your ass out there!"

He loomed in the doorway, drunk on power and whiskey.

"You think you get to pick and choose who touches you? You work here, you obey. That's the rule."

Tessa stood. Shaking. But she stood.

"I'm not for sale."

Rick was not ready to hear what she was uttering. He concluded it with a slap.

But she didn't just watch she returned it.

"You'll regret this."

"No," she said, quieter this time. "I quit."

She tore off the apron. Tossed it at his feet.

Rick grabbed her arm.

"Touch her again," Leslie said, stepping between them, "and I swear to God"

He blinked. Shocked. "Then be my guest and join her. Let's if you don't crawl back begging."

Leslie grinned. "Gladly."

Two aprons. Two women. One walk out.

They didn't look back.

Outside, the air hit Tessa like a wall, cool and sharp. She walked to the car and stopped, hands shaking, chest rising too fast. Her back was to the stranger. She let it all out. Quiet, violent sobs that shook her to the core.

He waited. Not saying a word. Just watching.

When she turned, her face wet, he didn't try to comfort her with words he hadn't earned.

He handed her a clean cloth. No emblem. No fancy flare. Just something soft.

She took it.

Cleaned her face.

Breathed.

"Everything's going to change," he said.

She swallowed. "How can you say that. How?"

"Because I've been there," he said. "And because I won't leave. Even if it all goes bad, I'll still be here."

She looked at him. Searching.

"You don't know me."

"I know enough."

Behind them, Leslie stepped into the light. Quiet. Watching.

She didn't speak. Just watched them. The car. The man. The moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Tessa didn't feel alone.

She didn't know what tomorrow held. But tonight?

She'd taken the first step.

And that had to count for something.