HEARTS OF DIVINE RUIN (The MoonGoddess and The AlphaKing)

Alex felt the impact of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. 
"I'm tired." 
The simplicity of it, the rawness—it was as though the floor had been ripped out from under him, and for a brief, staggering moment, the world felt as though it had tilted off its axis.
He stood there, frozen, as her eyes, shimmering with a vulnerability she so rarely revealed, pierced through him.
He had always known she carried burdens—had seen glimpses of it in the way she moved, the way she hesitated at the edges of her laughter, the weight in her gaze when she thought no one was watching. But hearing her say it, feeling the resignation that hung in the air like a storm, broke something inside him.
It broke him.
He didn't want to believe it. 
He didn't want to face the truth that had been staring him down this entire time. That she had chosen this, not out of some secret plan or strategy, but out of exhaustion, out of the sheer desperation to end the torment that had followed her for centuries. 
The thought of her, worn down and hopeless, hurt in a way he couldn't even begin to describe.
His mind raced back to everything they had been through—the tension, the fights, the fleeting moments of closeness. He had clung to those moments, to the idea that they could survive this together, that there was still something between them that could be salvaged. But now, as he stood in front of her, her whispered confession shattered the fragile hope he had been holding onto.
He saw it in her eyes—the truth she couldn't bring herself to say out loud, but was still screaming at him, begging to be heard. 
She had wanted to escape. To end everything. 
The weight of that realization hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over him and dragging him under.
She had wanted to leave this life. To leave him.
And now that he knew, now that he truly understood, the idea of letting her go felt like a wound he could never heal from. His hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, trying to keep himself together when all he wanted to do was fall apart in front of her.
He had fought against this—against her decision, against the possibility that she had wanted to end everything. 
He had clung to the belief that there was something more, that she hadn't really given up. But now, seeing her like this, broken and vulnerable, he realized how deeply she had been hurting all along.
The thought of losing her—truly losing her—was unbearable. His heart screamed at him to do something, anything, to pull her back from the edge, to convince her that she wasn't alone in this. That he was here, that he would always be here.
But as he stood there, struggling to breathe, to speak, all he could think was that he didn't want to let go of her. He couldn't.
His voice, when it finally came, was hoarse, cracked. "Luna..." It was a plea, a desperate attempt to keep her tethered to him, to keep her from slipping away. He wanted to tell her that he understood, that he knew now, more than ever, what she had been carrying. But the words wouldn't come. His throat felt tight, his chest constricted, and all he could do was stand there, shattered by the truth of her pain.
"I'm tired too, Luna," he whispered, his voice trembling. "So... don't do it. Please." His voice was almost a plea, barely more than a breath against her hair, and he hated how vulnerable it made him sound. "Don't do whatever you have in mind."
He had been broken once before—shattered into so many pieces that no one could ever see the depth of the damage. Even now, he still carried that pain, still felt the sharp edges of it digging into him. But with her, it had been different. She had mended those cracks, made him believe, even for a moment, that he could heal. That life had something worth holding onto again. That she was worth holding onto.
He let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to hers. "I love you, Luna." 
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths, and for a heartbeat, time stood still.
Luna's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as shock washed over her. She had longed to hear those words, but now, in this moment of vulnerability, they felt like a double-edged sword. The weight of their shared history, of the pain and heartbreak, crashed down on her like a tidal wave.
A smile flickered on her lips, bittersweet and trembling, but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality of their situation. Fate was playing with her again, pulling her back into a cycle of longing and heartbreak.
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and soaking into his chest as he held her close. 
I love you too, -  she wanted to say, but the words lodged painfully in her throat. She yearned to return his feelings, to step into the warmth of his affection, but dread tightened around her heart. How could she say it when everything felt so fragile?
The reality loomed large in her mind: there was no going back - she knew this the moment she had shed her divinity, worn this human skin, and crossed a line she could never uncross. 
In a moment of panic, she pulled away from him, her heart racing. 
"No," she whispered, shaking her head slightly, rejecting not just his love but the vulnerability it brought.
Before Alex could say anything, before he could grasp the gravity of her rejection, the door swung open with a force that echoed through the room. Charlie burst in, his face a mix of worry and frustration. "Alpha, Luna, I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, scanning the tense atmosphere between them. "But it's an emergency."
The urgency in Charlie's voice shattered the fragile moment, leaving Luna with a swirl of emotions she couldn't unravel. She glanced back at Alex, and her heart sank. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, a pain that cut deeper than she could have anticipated. He was hiding his gaze, looking away as if he could shield himself from the sting of her rejection.
She felt a pang of regret for the sharpness of her denial, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. Yet she knew she had to confront the chaos outside before she could even begin to confront her own heart.