Third Person's POV But before any plans could even be set, news broke: Celestine had been beaten into the hospital. Aysel hugged her phone in the dim of night, a low, triumphant chuckle vibrating through her chest for half an hour. She had heard that Celestine's perdformance as the main dancer broked. Seizing the moment, Aysel had immediately reached out to the rival dance troupe, investing resources and ensuring Celestine's opposition flourished. During Celestine's forced recovery, every opportunity for influence or gain was Aysel's for the taking. She even visited the hospital, letting her presence stir the air like a predator's scent in the den, leaving Celestine fuming and trembling. During these days of quiet, Aysel and Magnus lived in measured domesticity. Fenrir had declared his intention to confront Aysel, but returned vacant-eyed, mumbling nothing to Alpha Remus or Luna Evelyn, unable or unwilling to bring up punishment. The Vale household retreated into isolation, phones confiscated for three days, forcing an unnatural stillness. What unsettled Celestine most wasn't the silence, but the subtle shift she could smell in the Vale family's attitude. Even Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn, in the haze after anger, began to sense the fire in Aysel's reactions. The old couples realized that if this continued, the daughter they had long controlled would drift further from them. Aysel was of age now-whether as the Vale's daughter or Damon's future Luna, it was time to step into the public eye. For years, Aysel had avoided appearances; most only knew of the Vale second daughter's rebellious reputation, unaware of her true form, her wolf or her strength. Many did not even know there was a second daughter beyond Celestine. Such a gap in perception was intolerable. Listening from her hidden perch, Celestine sensed Fenrir and Alpha Remus quietly plotting a delayed birthday celebration for Aysel, a guise to introduce the youngest Vale daughter to society. Celestine, curled up with clenched fists around her blanket, could only growl at the unfairness. Aysel's birthday coincided with the memorial of Yuna Ward; she had not celebrated since she was six. Traditionally, the birthday was reserved for the Vale sons and Celestine. This year, the event was set for three days after the memorial, a symbolic echo. Thinking of Aysel's face-radiant, unyielding despite years of suppression-Celestine's eyes burned with jealousy. Her mother's life had been the price she paid to reach this day, yet Aysel, the instigator of so many grievances, thrived. Celestine's lips curled in a twisted smile reflected in her phone screen: "Blood ties can't be severed? Then let me be the one to end it. Aysel Vale, I will give you a birthday you will never forget."... Meanwhile, Skylar worried over Vale's intentions regarding Yuna's memorial and Aysel's birthday. "Aysel, are you really going back?" Skylar's tone was sharp, protective. With Celestine's cunning, there was no chance she would let such an opportunity pass to strike. "I'm going. Don't worry-I'll be fine." "Then I'll go with you." "No. I can handle it. If anything happens, I'll call." Skylar's nature was volatile; in conflict, she would be first to act. Aysel would rather shoulder the risks herself than expose Skylar to blame from Vale's household or foster any false reputation of disobedience. Skylar, resigned, warned her repeatedly to stay alert, to avoid Celestine's schemes. Even so, Aysel's preparations to return home felt like stepping into a predator's den. She answered Skylar patiently, her chest warm with gratitude for the concern. Once the call ended, she stepped into the empty living room, finding Magnus gone once more. His recovery had restored him almost fully; his body was a weapon in flesh, tempered by discipline. Though he had not yet revealed his full plans or stepped into the public eye, his absence was strategic, and the world outside smelled of opportunity and danger. Aysel knew exactly which Magnus she served and protected-the son of Ulric Sanchez, heir to unseen legacies and unspoken power. Even the Sanchez family's turbulence reached her senses: kidnappings, car accidents, tax scandals, all intertwined with internal power struggles. Magnus's disappearance had allowed ambitious wolves to rise from the shadows, claws and fangs unsheathed. The old Alpha Bastien Sanchez had suffered multiple emergency hospital visits from the stress, while the family's children fought viciously over inheritance. None of this touched Aysel directly. She submitted her latest artwork to the editors and sank into the sofa, sending Magnus a simple message: "Dinner at home tonight?" Elsewhere, in a blood-soaked underground chamber, Magnus's fourth uncle Conor lay sprawled on the floor, mixture of blood and urine mingling, limbs splayed like a corpse, the scent of fear and pain thick in the air. Three meters away, Conor's son Caleb, blindfolded and trembling, howled and whimpered, the raw terror of a young wolf caught in the teeth of fate echoing through the den.