Third Person's POV The scandal of Celestine's incarceration had torn through the hunting grounds and media of the Eastern territories. Naturally, Damon Blackwood, her betrothed found himself dragged into the fray, claws scraping against his own pride. Fuming, he clawed at his communicator to summon Serena. "Didn't you say the Ward cub's imprisonment would be kept quiet?" Two months, just a minor cage, he had been told. It would fade into the shadows, no one the wiser. Serena's voice, calm and icy like a frozen river, drifted through the connection. "Oh, that? I suppressed it. The Council made no formal announcement-so no announcement, no breach." "Then what is this flood of news today?!" Damon's growl rattled through the receiver. Not that he worried for Celestine-anger surged from being outplayed. His younger half-wolf sibling had even dared to taunt him about their betrothal. Fire raced through his veins. Serena shrugged audibly. "How should I know? You were reckless yourselves. You want me to provide lifetime aftercare for every slip? Tell me, were those two months concealed tightly enough?" Indeed, a few wolves with keen ears had known, had whispered, had mocked. But major reports had never surfaced, save for the occasional forum spill. Today's barrage of headlines, however, seemed orchestrated to celebrate Celestine's release. Innocent scapegoat, indeed. After severing the connection, Serena sent a flurry of messages to an alias marked by a hand-drawn rose avatar, complaining about the chaos. The last message hinted with casual malice: "Miss Vale, any rivals lately? Perhaps a collaboration?" Fate had dropped a succulent morsel straight into her jaws. Meanwhile, Aysel lounged across the leather of Magnus's office, flipping through the final proofs of her latest illustrated grimoire, delivered by the editors before she had departed abroad. The pages were alive with spirits, beasts, and uncanny folk-crafted with a finesse that made the blood of any predator hum with admiration. She smoothed her paw along the edge of the prints, savoring her work. Then, the messages from Serena appeared. Lately, everything had been smooth. Wolves dared not challenge her in her den. Even the Sanchez household bowed cautiously-avoiding her after Ulva's passing and the hospitalization of little Rudi. Yet Aysel's ears twitched as she contemplated Bastien's upcoming longevity feast. The next victim would be whoever dared to step forward first.Magnus approached, lifting her onto his lap, paws kneading the tension in her chest. "You've been lying there all day-don't you feel cramped? Not good for the heart." Aysel pushed his hands away with a swat of her claws, rolling her eyes in exaggerated disdain. "I was comfortable in my studio. Who dragged me out to accompany you to the den of business?" Magnus chuckled low, pressing his muzzle to her neck. "Your staff haven't met their pack leader properly. How can that be?" Aysel wrinkled her nose. "You better be telling the truth." Magnus grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to her flushed lips. "I'll convert the inner chamber into your studio. You'll work here in comfort." Aysel crossed her arms in front of her chest, shaking her head like a whirling pelt. "No! Working under your eyes is like tossing prey before a starving wolf." Magnus laughed, tilting his head. "Am I the predator or the prey?" "Both," she snapped, sinking teeth into his cheek with a playful snarl. "Filthy rogue!" He wrapped her tighter, voice low with amusement. "Still belongs to your den." Their moments of intimate snarls and nuzzles were interrupted by the amplified cough of Jackson outside. Aysel leapt from Magnus's lap and sat with perfect composure, ears pricked. Magnus straightened his tunic, voice even and commanding. "Enter." Jackson hesitated, aware of the impatient eyes of those behind him, then slowly pushed open the office doors. "Alpha Sanchez, Miss Vale... Ms. Olivia is here." The added title sharpened the tension as Olivia Darkmoon stepped in. The first glimpse of her was a flash of rose-pink off-shoulder tunic and pale gray skirt, skin glowing like moonlit frost-an image almost alien against the cold stone and steel of Magnus's office. Her posture rigid, hands neatly on her knees, she resembled a pup pretending to be grown-a pretense that stung Aysel's predatory sense. Olivia's eyes glimmered with disdain. How dare a mere face claim the position of a true mate? She had lineage, recognition, and status that outweighed this interloper. Jackson bowed smoothly, masking his contempt with a polite smile. "Alpha Sanchez, Ms. Olivia has a government-led initiative she wishes to discuss with you." Olivia made sure to glance at Aysel, emphasizing, "My father will be involved. We can gain exclusive insights into official policies."Even with Aysel present, the shadow of authority stirred. Magnus flexed his claws against the desk, his patience thinning. The Darkmoon Pack had tested the waters before, but Olivia's venture now risked overreaching. "Jackson," Magnus's tone cut through the tension like teeth through sinew, "escort our guest out."