Third Person's POV The study reeked of old paper, leather, and the faint iron tang of blood-an aura that seemed to cling to Bastien even in his weakened state. Outside, the storm battered the Shadowbane estate, each thunderclap vibrating through stone and bone. Magnus barred the doorway with a low growl, keeping the pressing crowd at bay. The intruding Sanchez siblings and retainers froze, muscles tense, tails tucked in instinctive caution. Lyall Sanchez knelt beside Bastien, who had collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving with the labored rhythm of age and shock. Magnus's eyes flicked to the old Alpha's sidearm of survival-a drawer of emergency heart potions. One swift motion, and he fed the bitter, wolf-bitter pill to Bastien, who swallowed with a gurgle, eyes fluttering shut. But Magnus knew it wasn't enough; even for the strongest wolves, mortality lingered at Bastien's age. The old wolf needed the pack healers. Without orders, the rest of Bastien's so-called "devoted descendants" scurried, summoning drivers and preparing the carriage to whisk him away. Accalia Sanchez's sharp eyes narrowed, following the frail patriarch being carried. Her gaze, predatory yet confused, flicked to Lyall. "What did you tell Father?" she demanded. Lyall's expression remained flat, unreadable as granite. He didn't answer. Accalia, impatient, lashed out, eyes seeking confirmation from a trembling servant huddled in the corner. "He won't speak. You will." The maid quivered, glancing at Lyall, lips parting as if to form words, then clamped them shut. Magnus's gaze, cold and cutting as frost, fixed her. "What did you hear? Speak." The servant's entire body trembled under that predator stare. Stammering, she whispered, "I... I pushed open the study door... and saw Alpha Bastian on the ground... Alpha Lyall was standing there. But before I entered, I heard... I heard him say..." She stole a glance at Lyall before bowing her head in fear. "He said, ‘You never fulfilled your duty to Alfie as his father. And now... do you want him to watch his mother die?'" The words barely left her lips when a thunderclap shattered the world outside, lightning painting the room in stark white. Every Sanchez present felt the surge of shock. Alfie-Lyall and Johanna's only son-Alfie's name was out there now, etched into the fabric of the family's legacy. The absurdity was immediate and undeniable. No wonder Bastien had collapsed. His grandson had become, in effect, a son. Every wolf in the room felt the sting of revelation, hearts hammering like drums in the forest. Magnus understood instantly. He instructed the maid to leave and rest, and more importantly, to keep her lips sealed. The pack's secrets were precious. Tonight, nothing that slipped out could be allowed to scatter. Accalia's gaze remained locked on Lyall, a mixture of horror, awe, and something unnameable. A green-marked alpha, born of scandal-yet fully claimed. Twenty years, and he had embraced it? The child-Alfie-was surely around the same age as Derek Sanchez. Even Kurt Sanchez, the third uncle, felt an odd respect stir within him. Lyall's devotion to Johanna had been absolute. Lyall's expression didn't waver as he faced the varied stares of his kin. Originally, he had intended to discuss this with Bastien privately. Fate had intervened-his father's frail body, the maid's intrusion-and now, the secret lay bare. There was no reason to hide it. Johanna's treatments, Alfie's rightful claims to the Sanchez legacy, no one would have standing to object. ... Downstairs, Aysel absorbed the revelation like a wolf sensing a shift in the wind. Her pupils dilated, heart thudding with both fear and fascination. She turned to Johanna, whispering, "Why tell me this?" Johanna's lips curved in a soft, almost predatory smile. "The study upstairs... it has erupted. From now on, this will no longer be a secret." She noticed Aysel's instinct to recoil, and amusement flickered across her calm, pale face. "Do you want to know why I bore that child?" Johanna's eyes darkened, recalling the past. "Truthfully... I didn't want a child carrying the blood of the Sanchez. Not one drop. But I wanted to live. By the time I realized he existed, it was too late to undo it. I had to choose-either we live together, or we die together." Aysel's breath caught. "Then... why not tell Bastien?" Johanna shook her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "I didn't know then. And... I didn't know whose child it was." Her gaze flicked to Aysel. "Had I known, the story would have been different." Aysel felt her chest tighten, instinctual anxiety mingling with awe. This was more than a family secret; this was a survival decree in a predator world. Johanna continued, calm and steady, "Lyall never asked. I never investigated. Until my illness, until the pack gathered for health examinations, we only then confirmed the truth." Aysel's mind swirled. Could one woman endure so much in a house crawling with predators, wolves masquerading as kin? Could one alpha's son-Alfie-carry on in such a fractured legacy? Her gaze drifted toward the staircase. Where was Magnus? She trusted him to navigate the chaos, but instinct told her a wolf's senses would never rest easy. Johanna caught the movement. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive despite the years, read every flicker of Aysel's body language. A hint of a smile traced her lips. "I am grateful to be alive. Bastien has long nurtured cunning-finally, he has bred a true wolf. The eldest is dead, the second paralyzed, the third powerless, the fourth barely alive... Lyall circles a mate like a hound, while the sixth appears calm but is teetering on ruin." She lifted her cup, the dark liquid reflecting the storm-light outside, and fixed Aysel with unflinching intensity. "I am curious if Magnus will be the fortunate one. And what will become of the Sanchez lineage?" Her smile deepened, knowing and dangerous. "Only those who endure to the end are the true victors. Take care of yourself, Aysel Vale. I hope you survive to see it." From upstairs, the shuffle of descending feet signaled the aftermath of secrets. Johanna rose, graceful and composed. "Aysel, it has been a pleasure. I hope we meet again." Lyall and Johanna-the architects of Bastien's collapse-would follow to the hospital. The rest of the pack, bound by feigned duty or genuine concern, rushed to witness the patriarch's condition. Even in the storm, the estate teemed with moving forms-wolves navigating the chaos with sharp teeth, claws, and instinct. Magnus appeared briefly beside Aysel, explaining that Bastien's sudden collapse had thrown the house into turmoil. Some matters required his immediate attention. If he were delayed, she was to return to the Vale grounds and rest. She nodded, understanding the unspoken code-he would protect, she would survive. He ensured she was comfortable, draping her small blanket around her shoulders, his scent grounding her. Then, with a last glance, he vanished into the storm, leaving the house temporarily silent.