Aysel's POV The longer we talked, the brighter Sofia's eyes became. Whatever hesitation she'd had before was gone now-replaced by a keen, almost feral anticipation, as though she couldn't wait to see what I would bring to her stage. Beside her, Julia listened with the same burning focus. She was the lead dancer of this production, and for her, a powerful choreography wasn't just art-it was an honor fight on an international battlefield. Her first appearance on a global stage needed to hit hard. Shake the ground. Leave scent and shadow in every viewer's memory. I could scent her confidence rising, the way a wolf's aura lifts before a hunt. But where joy gathers, resentment follows. A tall, sharp-featured woman with gold hair and ice-blue eyes stepped forward, eyeing me up and down as though I were some stray pup who had wandered onto her territory. "So this is the consultant you invited, Sofia?" Her tone carried the unmistakable bite of a challenge. "I heard she hasn't set foot onstage in years. Someone like her-can she really understand what an audience wants?" Sofia's expression tightened with embarrassment. "Andrea, don't say that. You haven't seen Aysel's work. If you had, you would appreciate it." Andrea was a respected veteran choreographer-one Sofia used to work with often. This time, she was the head of the choreography team for the new production. Two of the three solo pieces for the lead had been crafted by her own hands. And because Sofia felt they lacked something-and brought in an outsider like me-Andrea had nursed her grievance ever since. Talented wolves often carry sharp pride; it was no surprise. But I was, in her eyes, worse than just "young"- I was foreign, a newcomer without local roots or prestige.To her, I was an affront. Even though Sofia had affirmed most of her work and only asked me to redesign the protagonist's solos, Andrea clearly took it as a personal insult. She sneered openly. "A delicate Eastern rose may not survive in Western soil. For all we know, she can't even communicate properly with us. Are you sure she can create something suitable?" Her words came fast, threaded with dialect. A deliberate attempt to make herself incomprehensible. Andrea was simply choosing to provoke. Julia's expression turned tense and aggrieved. Everyone else in the troupe was friendly; only Andrea was rigid, old-fashioned, territorial-and deeply biased against foreigners. Since Julia arrived, Andrea had made trouble for her at every turn. And because Julia was new and replaceable while Andrea was a decorated choreographer, she had no choice but to swallow the insult. But now, she was worried for me. I was Magnus's treasured mate-to-be-treated like a moon-blessed jewel in his claws. Could I endure this kind of hostility? If I stormed off in anger, Julia might weep on the spot. But Andrea's expectation-that I would blush, stammer, or wilt-never came to pass. From the moment I accepted Sofia's invitation, I'd already anticipated this. In any industry, entering a top team as a newcomer meant facing challenges. I could have used power or money to suppress dissent, but that would disrespect the work of others-and cheapen my own presence. Besides, wolves who bite you on first sight are often the ones you learn the most from. My emotions remained perfectly steady. Calm as moonlit snow.I turned to Andrea, who was so clearly trying to lure me into anger. "Whether I am capable or not," I said evenly, "the stage will decide. And if you're truly this dissatisfied, how about we make a wager?" I tapped the bilingual script in my hands-at the scene where the heroine and the second lead confront each other, claws metaphorically bared. "We each choreograph for one of them. Let the final performance speak for itself. If I lose, I'll step back from the choreography team just as you wish. But if you lose, you will owe me an apology for your prejudice. How does that sound?" If someone insists on forcing pressure onto you- it's always better to turn and bite first.