Third Person's POV Dariusz didn't even manage to utter the half-formed "Sorry, wrong room-" before his gaze collided with the amused, predatory eyes of the woman inside. His pupils contracted sharply. His heartbeat faltered-just for one stunned, horrifying beat. Instinct roared. He spun, intending to flee, but the private room's door had already been locked from the outside, the metallic click echoing like a trap snapping shut on a helpless stag. Skylar had only just recovered from learning that this bar-this whole territory-belonged to Magnus. Her shock lingered as she deliberated which bottle of rare Moon-oak–aged liquor to order on Magnus's tab. But upon seeing the intruder standing frozen in the doorway, staring at Aysel as though he'd seen a ghost, she let out a low, amused whistle. "Well, well," she drawled, crossing one leg over the other, boot tapping idly. "You got here fast." Her lupine grin sharpened, canines glinting faintly under the dim witch-fire lanterns. "I know you're eager, but don't be. Let me rob this bar blind first." With a flick of her wrist, she marked several outrageously expensive vintage bottles on the menu-relic liquors brewed by old packs, sealed with runic wax. Then, leveling a half-smile at Dariusz's trembling legs, she said, "You appeared out of thin air and we're not scared. What are you afraid of?" Aysel's smile was serene-almost gentle, if not for the frost behind it. "Long time no see, Senior Dariusz." Her amber eyes swept over him in a calm, assessing drag. "Looks like death treated you well these past years." Dariusz went paler than snow under moonlight. He knew exactly what he had done. Every rotten secret. Every treacherous step. Celestine had chosen him, groomed him, used him as a pawn-his life for her scheme. He had never imagined the day the one he helped destroy would hunt him down across oceans and pack territories like a wolf returning to claim her due. Where had Aysel even come from? How had she crossed packs, continents, and borders to appear right here, right now?He was trapped. Helpless. Like prey in an arena of Alphas and high-ranked wolves. Aysel watched the panic unravel in his scent-fear, regret, sour adrenaline. When she had enjoyed his silent floundering long enough, she inclined her chin toward the seat opposite her and Skylar. "It's been years," she said softly. "Don't you want to reminisce? I have many questions for you, Senior." He swallowed. Hard. Years of pretending to be someone he wasn't had given him a thin layer of composure, and he summoned every shred of it. Steeling himself, he approached-moving like a wolf walking toward its execution. The moment he tried to sit, a boot slammed into the chair. CRACK. The stool skidded away, and Dariusz crashed onto the floor with a loud grunt, pain bursting through his ribs. His cry echoed off the soundproof walls. Aysel stood tall, spine straight, moonlit aura washing over her like the calm of a predator certain of victory. She gazed down at him with glacial amusement. "You think," she murmured, voice edged with frost and dominance, "you deserve to sit in my presence?" She returned to her seat with regal, dangerous calm. "Begin. From the moment you met Celestine Ward." Dariusz knelt, trembling, as the dread he had carried since Celestine severed contact finally bloomed into reality. There was no escape now. No pack to run to. No shadow to hide behind. So he began. "I... Celestine and I..." What spilled was exactly what Skylar had once theorized, but darker-filthier-because now every detail was painted with wolf-world truths. Dariusz's arrival in Aysel's life had been a deception from the start. After Celestine's mother died and she was taken in by the Moonvale Pack, her material life improved dozens of times over. But psychologically, she remained the same battered cub-scarred by her father's fists, haunted by childhood nightmares steeped in blood and resentment.In those nightmares, her mother's ghost whispered beneath dripping shadows: "That life was supposed to be yours." "Luna Evelyn owes us. Alpha Remus owes us. Take everything you can-it's your right." "Don't let her daughter outshine you. I lost. You must win." "Run. Fight. Escape this fate..." Whenever Celestine saw Aysel, she remembered her mother's mangled face from the crash, her voice echoing through nightmares like a curse. Aysel's smile was a blade-a reminder. The scent of her calm was an insult. The hollowness inside Celestine demanded to be filled, no matter the cost. She stole Aysel's parents' affection. Stole her brothers. Stole her place in the Moonvale Pack. She created the illusion of a perfect new family. But she could never steal the affection of a certain young Alpha heir. Damon Blackwood-Aysel's childhood friend, her fated companion in innocence and trust. The Blackwoods and Moonvales had always been close, and the two had grown together like twin cubs under the moon. Celestine hated it. Hated that no matter what she stole, Damon would never look at her the way he looked at Aysel. The breaking point came at Mistyhowl Mountain Lodge. Celestine watched Damon risk his life-without hesitation-to rush back for Aysel. That was when she understood: She would never have him. But she could make sure Aysel never had him either. Her chance appeared in the form of Dariusz. A convenient puppet.A wolf whose scent was pleasant, whose background was mediocre, whose greed outweighed his spine. Perfect. Under Celestine's direction, he embedded himself into Damon's life, becoming a "trusted friend," subtly shaping Damon's perception: that he loved Celestine, that she mattered, that she was fragile and worth protecting. And it worked. Celestine had studied Damon well. His perfectionism. His weakness for responsibility. His fear of being judged inadequate. His guilt. When Dariusz "died" in the outland waters, sacrificing himself "for Damon," and Celestine wept before the assembled witnesses, Damon broke. A wolf like him couldn't abandon the grieving mate of a dead friend-not without betraying everything he believed a leader should be. And so fate twisted. Every time Celestine called, Damon left-heart torn, scent conflicted, gaze always straying toward Aysel. And every time he walked away, Celestine felt vindicated. Did she like Damon? Yes. But more than that, she liked his tenderness toward Aysel. Liked destroying it. Liked watching Aysel lose what she was "never meant to have." If Celestine's world had been pain, then everyone else deserved to be dragged into the same abyss. If she couldn't be happy, then they would all suffer with her.