Third Person's POV But the moment the audience saw the girl's face in the leaked video... everything shifted. Several wolves familiar with Giovanna stiffened, their expressions freezing before they all instinctively turned toward her. Giovanna's own expression tightened-subtle, complicated. Hardship? Crushing debt? A desperate, impoverished student stealing a choreographer's work? The face in the video was unmistakable, and every description Celestine had given felt absurd. Thinking of her recently secretive, erratic niece, Giovanna pressed a thumb to her temple, fighting off a headache. Of course Agnes had insisted she attend today's performance and bring their colleagues. So this was the pit she had been dragged into. Those who knew Giovanna well also knew Agnes-everyone in the field did. Giovanna had no children of her own; she had raised Agnes with the fierce devotion of a wolf-mother, and their half-formal, half-instinctive mentor–student bond had long been acknowledged by the dance world. Wolves who had watched Agnes grow up could judge her character in a heartbeat. And in the very first heartbeat, they knew Celestine Ward was lying. The Giovanna family might not be the wealthiest of Packs, but they were far from obscure. Agnes certainly was no destitute student desperate enough to steal choreography. She had even abandoned the brutal competition of the dance world early to pursue the entertainment path. She had no motive. Celestine, however-the Windchaser choreography credit meant everything to her.But the wolf onstage, Celestine remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing below. She continued her graceful, honeyed defense before the cameras, weaving words as delicately as her footwork. A veteran elder finally lowered her phone-the one showing the time-stamped videos-and her expression went stone-hard. "In our world, one must master integrity before technique. A wolf whose character is bent will find her craft hollow-an illusion, a mirage beneath the Moon." A single sentence. A verdict. One that shattered Celestine's future. None of the assembled masters showed regret. The higher a wolf climbed, the more fiercely they guarded their honor. And none would dirty their fur standing beside a thief. Meanwhile, Julia-who had hidden herself at the front with her cameraman-was struggling not to bare her teeth in laughter. No wonder Aysel Vale had instructed her to keep adding fuel, to bring Sofia's team, to open the live-stream. This blaze was burning beautifully-hot enough to scorch every shred of Celestine's arrogance. Several guests rose, unwilling to waste another moment on this farce. But Luna Evelyn, who heard only the elder's final judgment and knew none of the context, suddenly stood up, her voice slicing through the hall: "Celestine is the true victim! On what grounds do you condemn her so easily?" The outburst was so loud it overpowered the murmurs of the crowd. Reporters, like bone-hungry wolves, snapped their heads toward her and surged forward with gleaming eyes. And with that, the masters-who had been seconds from escaping-were blocked in again. Celestine froze, staring at Sofia and Giovanna with wide, wounded eyes."Elders... you don't believe me?" Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. Sofia, a foreign Alpha from overseas, merely pretended not to understand the language. Giovanna pressed her lips into a cold, straight line. "Facts speak louder than pleading." Celestine grew frantic. "But sight is deceiving! Everything is that thief's fault. I will personally drag her before the Pack Courts to prove my innocence!" One of the grandmasters couldn't hold back. "Girl, the wolf in the video danced first, and more convincingly than you." Celestine's composure snapped. "That does not prove Windchaser belongs to her!" Damon tightened his arm around her, voice low and warning: "Every wrongdoing is punished. As the Moon decrees." Then he swept a chilling gaze across the assembled legends of the dance world-an Alpha challenging every one of them. Surrounded by reporters and now directly questioned, Giovanna let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Excellent. I would love to see how you intend to drag my niece into prison." The hall fell dead silent. Even the theater's live-stream cameraman flinched, then eagerly zoomed in on Giovanna. His palms were sweating. Tonight was a feast of scandals-each more shocking than the last. Their official channel had never seen traffic like this. The live-chat exploded: "Wait-so the girl is Giovanna's niece?!""Then Celestine lied? Giovanna's family isn't poor at all." "Did Celestine actually plagiarize in front of the elder's own kin?!" Others hesitated: "But Giovanna might be biased-family is family." "Bias is irrelevant. The debate is about evidence. Family ties don't change timestamps." "Exactly. Why would a girl with Giovanna behind her need to steal choreography?" "Celestine's mother is insane-she forced the masters to stay, and now they're dropping bombs on her head." Celestine went pale, heartbeat slamming against her ribs. Giovanna's niece? That girl? Did Giovanna know about the staged car accident? Had she seen her niece's true dancing? Why hadn't she exposed it before? Too many fears crowded Celestine's mind. But at this point, she'd rather stand against Giovanna than accept a plagiarist's brand. Opposing a master meant losing support. Being labeled a thief meant losing everything. "Master Giovanna, I've always respected you," she said stiffly, "but you know how vital innocence is to a creator. Even if you want to shield your niece, I will not yield." Her words carried a clear implication: Giovanna was abusing her influence to steal Celestine's rightful work. A direct challenge. A warning.