Third Person's POV By morning, it had already been announced that all daytime activities for the second day were canceled after the chaos of the previous night's ball. The ship would dock ahead of schedule, at eleven in the morning. Aysel had said she wanted to watch the sunrise. So at five a.m., when the alarm chimed, Magnus woke without complaint. He carefully dressed her from head to toe-clothes, shoes-then carried her to the bathroom, helping her wash up and gently combing her hair. Aysel's head bobbed sleepily. She leaned against him, drowsy and pliant, letting him tend to her the way one would care for a cherished porcelain doll. Her wolf curled quietly beneath her skin, soothed by the familiar scent of her Alpha. When everything was finally done, Magnus lowered his head and kissed her lips, still faintly swollen from the night before. Then he took her hand and led her up to the highest deck. Because Zane Draven had thrown out too many stalling tricks at the ball the night before, nearly everyone had been exhausted. At this hour, aside from a few crew members, most guests were still lost in deep sleep. When they arrived, there was only a single cellist on the deck-someone the hosts had invited-standing alone by the railing, playing toward the sea. The stars had not yet fully faded. A slender crescent moon hung high. Against the faint line of pre-dawn light, the solitary musician faced the ocean, eyes half-closed, utterly immersed in the vibration of the strings. Magnus and Aysel did not disturb him. Magnus draped the shawl he had been carrying over Aysel's shoulders. Then the two of them walked quietly to the bow. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, their bodies close, listening to the music as they watched the pale glow of dawn break over the horizon. The life-and-death struggle of the night before and this moment of tranquil intimacy felt like two entirely different worlds. When the piece ended, the cellist finally noticed he had an audience. Seeing that the distinguished guests showed no sign of driving him away, he hesitated-then played two more classic love pieces. Watching the musician pack up his things and prepare to leave, Aysel smiled faintly."Our chance-met cellist is gone." Magnus raised a brow slightly. "Still want to listen?" Aysel shook her head. "Forget it. Let's not make someone work overtime during their own time." That cellist was likely part of last night's band-here either to enjoy the view or seek inspiration. Either way, it was his private moment. They had already borrowed a few pieces; that was more than enough. Magnus pinched her earlobe lightly. "Who said he was the one playing?" Aysel looked at him in surprise. "You can play the cello?" Magnus curved his lips into a faint smile and ruffled her hair. "Wait here." Aysel leaned against the railing, pulling her shawl closer, watching as Magnus walked over to the cellist, spoke a few quiet words, then gestured in her direction. The man's expression shifted from surprise to nervous awe-then into a knowing, indulgent smile. He nodded readily, took his belongings, and left the cello behind. Aysel's eyes curved with delight as she watched Magnus walk back toward her, the instrument in his hands. The music began again. Only now, the player was no longer a romantic stranger-but Aysel's own Alpha. The deck was empty save for the two of them. Around them stretched the boundless sea; above them, a sky slowly filling with color. The world felt reduced to just their shared breath and heartbeat. The sea breeze brushed gently past, and the light of dawn fell softly upon the bonded pair. Magnus's playing was a little stiff at first, but he quickly found his rhythm. The cello had been introduced to him by Raya.When her mind was clear, she would patiently teach her son the instrument she loved most. After Raya's death, she became a taboo within the old Sanchez estate. Ulric Sanchez forbade anyone from playing the cello there ever again. Among the younger generation of the Sanchez family, those who studied music chose safer instruments-piano, harp, zither. Magnus, too, only picked the cello back up much later, and even then, he rarely touched it. Raya's cello-brought back from the Sanchez family by Aysel-had been carefully stored by the two of them, seldom taken out. So this was truly the first time Aysel had heard Magnus play. To be honest, though he had inherited some of Raya's talent, his fingers were no longer practiced. He could not compare to the professional cellist from earlier. Yet to Aysel, the sound was impossibly pleasing. She sat quietly beside him through one piece. When Magnus shifted to another, she smiled, slipped off her shawl, and stepped lightly into the center of the deck, turning gracefully as she danced. By now, dawn had fully broken. Warm golden light pierced the clouds as a brilliant red sun rose slowly from the deep blue horizon. The sky was painted in layers of pink, lavender, orange, and pale gold. On the empty top deck stood a man with his shirt collar casually undone, dark hair ruffled by the sea wind, his features cold yet tender as he focused on his cello. Before him danced a young woman in a white silk dress, her braid loose and imperfect, her beauty striking as she moved toward the rising sun. From time to time, their gazes met across the space, and they exchanged small, wordless smiles. Some crew members preparing breakfast glimpsed the scene from afar and unconsciously slowed, unable to look away from the breathtaking tableau. Inside the dining hall, Derek Sanchez stood by the window with a cup of coffee, watching the sunrise. Hearing the staff's hushed admiration, he lifted his gaze toward the distant, inseparable figures on the deck, his eyes unreadable. On the second-floor deck below, Damon Blackwood-unshaven, sleepless-looked upward. Through the gaps, he could just make out the spinning, dancing silhouette. His eyes reddened, and tears spilled uncontrollably. Behind him, Celestine, also awake early, stared just as fixedly at Aysel's dancing figure. After a long while, she lowered her gaze to her left leg-the one injured during her time in prison-and hid the moisture in her eyes.The most carefree person that morning was likely Serena. Knowing they would return home today, she was in rare high spirits and had even risen early. She admired the performance-something she might never witness again in her lifetime-then turned to the Fenrir she had run into by chance. "The Moonvale Pack is hardly poor," she said lightly, "yet they couldn't raise their daughter well. Now look-someone else picked the flower." A flower claimed by Magnus Sanchez-possessive, obsessive, and tyrannical. Fenrir looked worn and hollow. Watching Aysel laugh brightly as she was caught mid-spin, his expression dimmed. Fate twisted and overturned everything. In the end, it was the Moonvale Pack that had never been worthy of her. In another's hands-under another Alpha's protection-she would live far better.