Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy Chapter 122

ARIA

"How do you figure?" Ivory asked, and I heard genuine curiosity in her voice.

"For me, it got me out of a posting I hated and into work I actually find fulfilling," Margo explained. "Working with you, learning about the research, contributing to something that matters—this is what I wanted. This is where my skills are actually useful."

"And for Luna Aria?" Ivory prompted.

"For her, it was a valuable lesson in how not to lead," Margo said. "Or at least, it should have been. Firing me in a fit of pettiness, abusing her power as Luna to punish someone who'd offended her—that just proved what everyone already suspected. That she's not ready for the position. That she doesn't understand how to use authority appropriately."

"She was hurt," Ivory said quietly. "Listening to you speculate about her relationship with Alpha Kael, hearing you essentially wish for her downfall—that had to be painful."

"Maybe," Margo allowed. "But a real leader would have handled that pain differently. Would have addressed the behavior professionally instead of lashing out emotionally. Would have recognized that my gossip was a symptom of larger problems—her failure to integrate, her inability to earn respect—and worked to fix those problems instead of just punishing the messenger."

There was a pause, and I heard more sounds of work being done.

"I'm glad you're happy here," Ivory said finally. "And I do appreciate your help. Both with the research and with catching the spy yesterday. You played your part perfectly."

"Thank you," Margo said, and the pleasure in her voice was evident. "It felt good to be useful. To contribute something that mattered. To be part of something important instead of just... serving someone who didn't belong here."

They continued working, their conversation shifting to technical details about plant growth rates and compound adjustments. But I'd heard enough. More than enough.

I backed away from the laboratory door, my chest tight with emotions I couldn't fully name. Hurt, certainly. Anger at Margo's casual dismissal of me. Shame that everything she'd said was essentially accurate. Frustration that even being vindicated hadn't actually changed anything about how the pack saw me.

But underneath all of that was a growing understanding. Margo had been miserable working for me. Had argued for days to get a different assignment because serving me felt like punishment. And when I'd fired her, when I'd used my authority as Luna to remove her from my service—everyone had seen it as petty abuse of power rather than justified response to inappropriate behavior.

Because I hadn't earned the authority to make those kinds of decisions. Hadn't built enough credibility for my actions to be viewed as leadership rather than pettiness.

Everything came back to that same fundamental problem: I hadn't earned trust. Hadn't proven myself. Hadn't done the work required to make my position legitimate rather than just politically convenient.

And until I did that work—until I built the foundation that would make people believe in me, respect my decisions, give me the benefit of the doubt during crises—nothing would change. I would remain the Luna who didn't belong, the placeholder everyone wished would disappear so someone worthier could take my place.

I made my way back through the pack house, passing more pack members who offered greetings and apologies I barely registered. My mind was too full of everything I'd heard, all the brutal truths about my inadequacy and failure.

When I finally reached my chambers, I found Kael there waiting for me. He stood by the window where I'd been sitting that morning, his posture tense, his expression troubled.

"Aria," he said when I entered. "We need to talk."

"About what?" I asked, moving to sink into a chair because my legs suddenly felt too weak to support me. "About how you were willing to execute me based on Ivory's word alone? About how the entire pack was ready to watch me die? About how I'm still the Luna nobody wants or trusts?"

"About all of it," Kael said quietly. He moved to kneel beside my chair, taking my hands in his. "About what happened yesterday. About the position you're in. About how we move forward from here."

Through our bond, I felt his genuine remorse. His horror at what he'd put me through. His desperate wish that things could have been different.

But also his certainty that Ivory had made the right choice. That the trap had been necessary. That trusting her absolutely had been the only way to catch the real attacker.

"I can't do this right now," I said, pulling my hands away from his. "I can't have this conversation when I'm still processing everything. When I can still feel that noose around my neck. When I'm still hearing the pack members explain why it was perfectly reasonable to be ready to watch me die."

"Aria—"

"They're bringing me gifts," I interrupted, gesturing to the pile of offerings Celine had arranged around the room. "Apologies. As if flowers and honey cakes somehow make up for being condemned without trial. As if I'm supposed to just forgive and forget that my own mate approved my execution."

"It was a trap," Kael said, his voice strained. "Ivory needed it to be real. Needed everyone—including you—to believe it was actually happening. If I'd hesitated, if I'd demanded to see evidence first, the spy wouldn't have revealed himself. You'd still be under suspicion."

"I understand the logic," I said tiredly. "I understand why Ivory did what she did. Why you approved it. Why everyone thinks it was brilliant and necessary. But Kael, understanding doesn't make it hurt less. Doesn't make me feel any less betrayed by how quickly you were willing to trust her word over mine."

"I trust you—" he started.

"No, you don't," I interrupted. "Not the way you trust her. Not with that absolute certainty that doesn't require evidence or proof or even basic logic. And that's fine, I guess. I haven't earned that level of trust. Haven't spent fifteen years proving my integrity. Haven't saved lives or developed revolutionary compounds or done anything particularly notable."

I stood up, needing distance from him, from the conversation, from everything.

"I heard them talking," I continued, pacing the room. "Multiple groups of pack members, all saying essentially the same thing. That I need to stop holding grudges over what happened. That I need to focus on actually earning trust instead of expecting it to be given. That I need to prove I'm worthy of the position I hold instead of just occupying it."

"You are worthy—" Kael tried.