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34. Luna Mark (Clay POV)

The atmosphere in the gallery was electric. People milled around, wine glasses in hand, eyes widened as they took in the art I'd spent months laboring over. Conversations filled the room like music, a chorus of praises and interpretations that left me buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. This was my world, separate from the chaos of pack dynamics and ongoing dramas.

Or so I thought.

I saw him just when I thought the night couldn't get any better. My father, standing in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine. "Clay, can we talk?" he asked, his voice cutting through the thrum of the crowd.

"Of course," I replied, leading him through the sea of admirers and art aficionados into the sanctuary of my office.

Once inside, he took a deep breath. "Son, I need to apologize. I lost my temper the other day. It wasn't fair to you or Luke. You've both made choices that I'm proud of recently, and I want to make that known."

His words washed over me, the tension that had built up in recent days dissi
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