Third Person's POV Silas's long, slender fingers flexed, as if at any moment they could crush a man's throat with the strength of a wolf's grip. Yet Vaughn's expression was calm, almost cocky, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "Silas," he said lightly, "for generations, my Graftons have aided the Whitmors. To us, the lives of Whitmor blood are sacred. So, if it comes down to choosing between ‘you die from insomnia and mental collapse' and ‘touching Freya,' my choice is clear-I choose ‘touching Freya.'" Silas's eyes darkened, sharp as a predator's. "If you dare lay a hand on her, Vaughn, even though we grew up together, I swear I will not spare you." Vaughn tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Then why not do what any Whitmor would do? Use whatever means you can, manipulate her, bend her to your side? The Whitmors are never without methods when it comes to those they love." Silas's gaze hardened, the wolf within stirring. "So just because Whitmors can be ruthless to protect what they love, I must abandon everything else and become ruthless too?" Vaughn froze slightly, sensing the storm rising in Silas. The Alpha released his grip, his eyes lifting to the night sky where the moon hung full and silver over Deepmoor City. Stars flickered faintly, pale in the haze of the city lights. "Yes," Silas said softly, the wolf inside him pacing restlessly, "I could be ruthless. I could employ countless methods to ensure Freya never leaves my side for even a moment of her life. But if I did that… all she would feel is hatred. And I-I do not have the courage to face her hate." Vaughn's smirk faltered, genuine surprise flickering across his features. For the first time, he heard Silas Whitmor speak four simple words that carried more weight than any command: I do not have the courage. And yet, the truth shone clearly: Freya Thorne. His tether to life, his anchor against the madness of endless nights. "When we were together," Silas continued, voice low and laden with the weight of long memory, "I wanted to be a good man. Even if we were separated, I wanted her to remember me as a good man. So, do not touch her. If you do, I cannot promise what I might do… the things my wolf might do, the man might do. And…" He paused, fingers brushing a beaded bracelet on his wrist, worn smooth by constant touch. It had been hers. Freya had left it for him. Through every sleepless night, every lonely shadow, that bracelet had reminded him of her presence, kept him from sliding fully into the abyss of his mind. Perhaps it was why he remained sane-or as sane as someone like him could be. "Do you know the taste of gaining and losing? Of the sky falling on your head?" Silas's voice was a growl now, wolfish and low. "I have. I have lived in that hell. And if I am torn from it again, only to be hurled back even harder… I might truly become a monster." Vaughn remained silent, awe-struck. Freya Thorne-what was she to Silas? Savior? Curse? Godsend? If she were gone forever, what beast would he become? The thought alone made Vaughn's blood run cold. The anniversary celebration of the Whitmor Group had arrived, a luminescent affair that drew the city's most powerful packs, corporate dynasties, and wolfborn elite. Freya and Lana stepped from their sleek black wolf-forged limousine into the crisp night air. Lana wore crimson silk that shimmered under the lantern lights of the Grand Meridian Plaza. Freya's champagne-colored gown, soft and understated, flowed around her like moonlight on a quiet river. But the ruby necklace at her throat, gleaming like captured fire, made every head turn. It was a subtle roar amid gentleness-a mark of the wolf and the bond that could not be broken. "Do you think Jenny will be here tonight?" Lana murmured, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "With her… antics… and the way she behaves toward Parker…" Freya's dark eyes remained calm, but alert, wolf instincts on full awareness. "With her temperament, she most certainly will attend." "Do you think she'll try something?" Lana's tone dropped, tense. "She's been flaunting her ability to save Parker's ward, acting as if everyone's life were hers to leverage." Freya smiled faintly, predator-like in the calm of her confidence. "All weapons, sooner or later, return to their wielder. Today is the Whitmor Group anniversary. I doubt she has the courage to provoke Silas tonight." "Let's hope," Lana sighed, relief mingled with tension. Meanwhile, Parker and Jenny sat in the back of a sleek black hovercar, weaving through the city streets toward the celebration. Jenny fidgeted, biting her lip, her golden eyes flicking repeatedly to Parker. She could not tell if Freya would appear wearing the ruby necklace tonight. That single ornament, a piece of her mother's legacy, could unravel everything Jenny had schemed. No matter what, Jenny resolved silently, that necklace must never reach the patriarch's eyes. Tonight, she would act, if necessary, to eliminate the threat. The limousine arrived. Parker stepped out first, the wolfborn Alpha of the Williams Family, eyes scanning for his sister. He did not need words; the scent of kin, of blood, guided him unerringly to her. And there she was-Freya, freshly descended from her own vehicle, hair brushing her shoulders, the ruby necklace blazing like a heartbeat against her skin. "Freya," Parker said simply, his voice low and rich with wolfed tone, as he strode to her side. His eyes held the warmth and feral protection of a wolf who would defend his pack to the last breath. "Parker," Freya replied, lifting her head, sensing the predator in him, yet knowing the wolf beneath the Alpha's calm. Her eyes flicked instinctively to the other presence-a shadow of poison in the form of Jenny's glare. But Freya's attention quickly returned to her brother, every instinct in sync with his protective aura. Jenny's gaze, however, was fixed. Not on Freya's face, but on the necklace around her throat. A ruby fire she could not touch, a connection she could not sever-yet.From the other end of the plaza, a second limousine rolled up silently, sleek as a hunting shadow. From its doors stepped Everett Williams. Jenny froze.