Aysel's POV I watched Celestine, haggard and broken, and allowed the smallest curve of my lips. "Long time no see." Her eyes burned with hatred. "You're here to gloat?" I didn't need her words to know the truth. Her legs-crippled, betrayed, and frail-were no accident. Everyone else thought it had been some careless clash in the pack's holding cells, some minor skirmish fueled by spoiled pride. But I, who had orchestrated the currents behind it, knew otherwise. Every strike, every snap of bone, had found its mark. And yet, no one would ever believe her. Only I had the power to do it. Only I had the cunning to punish her for what she had done to me, for the dance she had stolen from me, for the life she had tried to claim. I let my gaze slide along her left leg, the silent testament to my old bargain with Serena. I hadn't asked for the rewards others had offered from the Moonvale Pack or from Damon Blackwood. I only demanded that Celestine spend months behind bars and that she could never dance again. Serena had acted swiftly, leaving no trace. And now, even walking swiftly betrayed her limp. That's why she hadn't lunged at me the moment she saw me. She refused to expose weakness in front of her enemy. I nodded slowly. "Ten-plus years of busy scheming, and you end up like this. I have to admit... it's a little laughable." Her eyes burned scarlet. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this state! You dare to come here and flaunt yourself? Do you even care for the mother who died for you? She cherished you once-do you have the face to meet her now?" I had anticipated her fury. She wanted me to flinch, to shrink under the weight of guilt, shame, or recognition. But I met her gaze evenly. "She did care for me. She gambled her remaining seven or eight months just to pave the way for you." Celestine's face twisted. "What are you saying?!" She must thought how could I possibly know? Was anyone else aware? Panic rose in her chest, wild and sharp. That secret-hers and her mother's deepest, darkest secret-was not meant for anyone else to uncover. And yet... I could see the tremor in her pupils. She realized. I smiled faintly. "Don't panic. I haven't told anyone else... yet. I came today with only a gift for you." The driver stepped out and handed her a set of photographs. I watched her eyes widen as she recognized Yuna's cancer diagnosis, the signed testimony of the driver's family, the transaction records. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Her hands trembled over the documents. I let a small, sharp smile curve my lips. "Not done yet? Keep going." When she reached the last photo-a man bound and beaten, bruised and black-eyed-her blood drained from her face. The pictures slipped from her hands. She was finished. Yuna Ward's machinations she might have rationalized once, being naive and young. But Dariusz's survival? That was undeniable proof of my reach, proof of my inevitability. I was far deadlier than she had imagined. She should have ended Dariusz then, once and for all. Her nails dug into her palms. "What do you want from me?" she hissed. "Nothing... except that I hate trouble," I said smoothly, voice calm and deadly. "Consider this a warning. Don't prance before me now you're free, and a guide. You face me, and you have no chance. But there are still those willing to be deceived by you, who will follow your lead. If you want a good life, trace the path you once used to steal from me. Take it back, slowly, piece by piece." My words were soft, almost gentle, but carried the promise of a predator's patience. Celestine understood-they were not a warning. They were a threat. I was giving her the blade and telling her to wield it herself. She had no choice. She was, as always, cautious, knowing when to retreat. She knew whom she could rely upon. But I would never let them remain close, harmonious, or at peace. She had to clutch at them. Could she? Or would they slip like sand through her fingers? I felt her tremble under my gaze, like a pawn forced into a game by my hand. She knew the outcome, yet she would still dance across the board, fighting not only me but those she once trusted. Blood would spill. Wolves would turn on wolves. A chill ran through me-not at fear, but at anticipation. I was ready. And so, I let her writhe in the knowledge that she had entered my world, my hunt, and there would be no mercy.