Third Person's POV Skylar took Aysel to a modern-era drama set-one that belonged to the human-facing entertainment branch of the wolf world. Unfortunately, the moment they arrived, raised voices and the sharp scent of aggression hit them head-on. The set was in chaos. And standing at the center of it was an all-too-familiar figure. Celestine Ward. When the investment backer appeared, the director immediately broke into a cold sweat and rushed to explain. One of the most important scenes in the production was a wedding ceremony. To match the story's status and symbolism, the crew had spent a fortune commissioning a custom ceremonial gown-a bridal dress woven with silver-thread sigils to symbolize eternal bonding. Today was supposed to be the pickup day. They had also arranged to use the atelier's space to film a "trying-on" scene. But Celestine Ward had arrived first. She had seen the gown displayed-perfectly preserved, glowing faintly with ritual craftsmanship-and immediately demanded it. She insisted she would pay more. Far more. She wanted the dress handed over to her. The director had never heard a demand so absurd. But Celestine was already on the edge of collapse. Her own mating ceremony preparations had drained her dry. Damon had remained completely detached. Alpha Blackwood and his Luna had refused to contribute-no dowry, no ceremony funds, nothing. A complete withdrawal, as if the marriage were none of their concern. What hurt more was the truth Celestine had discovered: Damon's personal assets were pitifully small. Much of his wealth had been reclaimed by Alpha Blackwood. The Blackwood Pack's enterprises were declining, and the projects Damon had invested in-left unmanaged by his own indifference-were hemorrhaging resources.Celestine had nowhere left to vent her fury. This wasn't really about the gown. It was about pride. About defiance. About clawing back dignity in a world that had already turned its back on her. Damon sat to the side, numb, his aura dull and withdrawn-as if her public humiliation meant nothing to him. And the less he reacted, the more unhinged Celestine became. The crew stood frozen. A decorative groom. A frenzied bride. The dysfunctional bonded pair blocking the set were more dramatic than anything written in the script. Then Damon saw Aysel. The moment his gaze landed on her, something twisted painfully in his chest. She had always been the bride he imagined standing beside him beneath the full moon. Ashamed of his current state, unwilling to let her see him like this, Damon finally stood and grabbed Celestine's wrist. "Enough," he growled. "We're leaving." The venue and the gown had been reserved. Celestine had been the one to provoke this. Celestine noticed Aysel too-and Damon's sudden shift in attitude only fueled her hatred. "Damon Blackwood!" she screamed. "You're already married! Do you even remember who your mate is?!" She struck him across the face. Her claws grazed his cheek, leaving red marks that burned. Damon snapped. He slapped her back just as hard. "You're insane." Celestine stared at him in disbelief, one hand pressed to her face."You dared hit me?!" She lunged again. The director stared blankly. ...Should bonded wolves fight outside? Before anyone could intervene, Skylar casually waved at the crew, signaling them to wait-clearly entertained, perfectly happy to watch the spectacle unfold before clearing the set. Then the door burst open. "Celestine Ward!" Fenrir of the Moonvale Pack stormed in, clutching a document folder. His eyes burned crimson with rage as his killing intent flooded the room. He seized Celestine by the throat and lifted her off the ground. "Do you have any idea how important that patent was?" he roared. "You destroyed the Moonvale Pack!" Celestine clawed at his arm, choking. "Let-go-!" Damon stood aside, face bruised, watching coldly. He did not intervene. The director nearly lost his mind. "What is happening?!" Seeing Celestine's eyes roll back, he snatched a megaphone from a crew member and screamed into it. "Stop fighting! Stop! Killing someone will land you in a wolf prison!" The echo rang through the set. Aysel and Skylar-who had retreated early-silently covered their ears. The director looked like a man on the brink of spiritual collapse. Was this space rented for a drama-or for their real-life tragedy? "Don't just stand there!" he shouted, stomping his feet. "Break it up!"If someone died today, the entire crew would be dragged to the authorities. Several stronger cameramen rushed forward. In the struggle, some were punched by Fenrir's wild swings, others scratched by Celestine's flailing claws. Damon was dragged into the chaos when Celestine tangled herself in his clothes, sending them all crashing together. The set dissolved into complete anarchy. Skylar laughed so hard she nearly collapsed, clutching Aysel's arm as tears streamed down her face. Finally, Fenrir shoved Celestine away. She instinctively dragged Damon with her-both of them slamming into a newly purchased piece of high-end equipment. It toppled with a catastrophic crash. The director snapped. "My equipment!!! I just bought that!!! I'll kill you all!!!" "Director! Director! Calm down! Murder is illegal!!!" Skylar was wheezing with laughter now, leaning fully against Aysel's shoulder. Aysel's lips curved faintly. So-called elites. So-called noble wolves. When profit was involved, they were no different from anyone else-discarding conscience, scheming endlessly, tearing at each other in public. In the end, no one was truly more dignified than the rest.