Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy Chapter 120

ARIA

The morning after my near-execution began with an unexpected knock on my chamber door.

I'd barely slept, my mind replaying the events on that platform over and over. The noose around my neck. The certainty that I was about to die. The sudden reversal when Ivory caught the spy. The realization that my mate had been willing to approve my execution based solely on someone else's word.

Every time I'd closed my eyes, I'd felt the hemp rope against my skin, had heard the creak of the platform, had experienced that terrible moment of acceptance that this was how my life ended.

So when Celine knocked softly and entered with my breakfast tray, I was already awake, sitting by the window watching the sun rise over territory I'd almost never seen again.

"Luna Aria," Celine said quietly, setting the tray on the small table. "There are... there are people outside. Pack members. They're asking to see you."

"Why?" I asked, my voice hoarse from a night of silent crying.

"They've brought gifts," Celine said, and she looked uncomfortable. "Apologies, they're calling them. For doubting you. For believing you were guilty."

I almost laughed. Almost. Because the absurdity of it—pack members who'd been ready to watch me hang now wanted to apologize with gifts—was almost too much to process.

"Tell them I'm not receiving visitors," I said.

"Luna, I really think you should—"

"I said no," I interrupted, more sharply than I'd intended. "I don't want their apologies. I don't want their gifts. I just want to be left alone."

But apparently, being left alone wasn't an option. Throughout the morning, the gifts kept arriving. Celine brought them in, one after another, until our chambers looked like some kind of bizarre marketplace.

Flowers from the gardens—carefully arranged bouquets with apologetic notes attached. Baked goods from the kitchens—Martha's signature honey cakes, fresh bread, delicate pastries that probably took hours to prepare. Handcrafted items—carved wooden boxes, woven blankets, small sculptures that showed real skill and effort.

Each gift came with a note. Each note said essentially the same thing in different words: *We're sorry we doubted you. We should have given you the benefit of the doubt. We hope you can forgive us.*

But forgive them for what, exactly? For believing I was capable of attempted murder? For being ready to watch me die? For trusting Ivory's word over mine without question?

Or was I supposed to forgive them for something they'd actually been right about—that I hadn't earned their trust, hadn't proven myself worthy of the position I held, hadn't done anything to deserve faith in my character?

By mid-morning, I couldn't stand being in the chambers anymore. The gifts felt suffocating, each one a reminder of how completely the pack had been willing to condemn me. I needed air, needed space, needed to be somewhere I could think without drowning in apologies I hadn't asked for.

I made my way through the pack house corridors, and everywhere I went, pack members stopped to acknowledge me. Some offered verbal apologies, stammering through explanations of why they'd doubted me. Others just bowed their heads respectfully, as if that somehow made up for being ready to watch my execution.

I nodded politely to each one, accepted their words with appropriate graciousness, played the role of forgiving Luna. But inside, I felt hollow. Empty. Like something fundamental had broken on that platform and I wasn't sure how to fix it.

I found myself drifting toward the gardens without consciously choosing that destination. The morning sun was warm, the air sweet with late-season blooms. It should have been peaceful. Should have been a refuge from the chaos of my thoughts.

But as I approached the main garden area, I heard voices. A group of pack members gathered near the fountain, their conversation carrying clearly in the quiet morning air.

I should have announced my presence. Should have made my location known so they'd adjust their conversation accordingly. But something stopped me—maybe exhaustion, maybe morbid curiosity, maybe just the need to hear what people really thought when they weren't apologizing to my face.

"The gifts are a nice gesture," someone was saying. A woman's voice, mature and thoughtful. "But do you think they actually mean anything to her?"

"They should," another voice replied. Male, younger. "We're trying to make amends. Trying to show we were wrong to doubt her."

"But were we wrong?" a third voice asked. This one I recognized—Thomas, the tracker who'd been part of yesterday's discussion about Kael's trust in Ivory. "I mean, yes, we were wrong about this specific incident. Luna Aria didn't try to kill Ivory. But were we wrong to doubt her in general?"

"What do you mean?" the woman asked.

"I mean that our doubt came from somewhere legitimate," Thomas explained. "Luna Aria hasn't done anything to earn trust. She's been here for weeks and hasn't contributed anything meaningful to the pack. She's brought chaos and complications but no actual value. So when she was accused of attempted murder, of course we believed it. Because she hasn't built any foundation for us to believe otherwise."

"That's harsh," the younger man said.

"It's pragmatic," the woman corrected. "And it's the truth. The sooner Luna Aria stops holding grudges over what happened and focuses on actually building trust in this pack, the better off she'll be."

"Exactly," Thomas agreed. "Look at Ivory. When she was accused of poisoning the water supply years ago, when suspicion fell on her, the pack rallied to her defense. Why? Because she'd already proven herself trustworthy in countless ways. She'd earned that faith."

"Luna Aria expects trust to be given just because she's Luna," the woman said. "But that's not how it works. Rank doesn't automatically grant credibility. She needs to earn it the same way everyone else does—through consistent action over time."

"If she keeps expecting special treatment just because of her position, people are going to resent her even more," the younger man added. "Are going to wish she was gone so we could have someone actually worthy of being Luna."