Aysel's POV Damon's voice was smooth as silk, the kind that could charm the fangs off a serpent. "The feast has all your favorite sweets, Aysel. If you get tired, you can sit and rest for a while." He said it like nothing had happened-like betrayal and deceit could be buried under trays of sugared fruits and spiced wine. I tilted my head, baring my teeth in what might have looked like a smile. "Do you really think this engagement will happen tonight?" For a moment, his golden eyes dimmed, but his jaw tightened with that familiar Alpha resolve. "It will. I'll make sure of it." Then, softer, probing, he added, "Does Magnus Sanchez know about tonight? You and he..." I rolled my eyes, the air between us sparking with tension. "Don't drag others into this mess." Then I leaned closer, letting my wolf's cold amusement seep into my voice. "Let's make a wager. If you manage to stay inside this hall-without losing your temper or breaking the illusion-until my father announces the union, I'll play along. But if you fail, Damon, you'll stop saying you love me. For good." His pupils flared, a storm behind them. "You mean it?" "Swear it on the Moon." He didn't answer, but the silence was an oath in itself. Somewhere beyond the marble arches, I could sense a different presence-the heavy, ancient energy of a wolf who didn't belong here. Magnus. Even when absent, his aura rippled through me like a tide refusing to recede. Damon was soon pulled away by his mother, the Blackwood Luna, leaving me blissfully alone for the first time all evening. I sank onto a velvet couch near the fountain, the murmurs of the Pack fading to a dull hum.Celestine-my so-called sister-approached, her voice sugary with false concern. But before she could reach me, I muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "Flies. One after another." She stopped dead, eyes wide, pretending to be wounded. Her hesitation was a signal-prey trembling before the pack. As expected, her admirer, one of those swaggering pups lunged forward. "Who are you calling a fly, Aysel?" he barked. "You're the real parasite here-venomous and vile. I heard you struck your brother outside. What kind of she-wolf does that?" The rumor spread faster than wildfire through dry pine. I almost laughed. "So what?" I flexed my fingers lazily. "Do you want to find out how my claws feel on your face?" Gasps rippled around us. The young wolf turned crimson, trembling with rage. "You think Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn will protect you forever? You'll never be half the woman Celestine is!" The crowd bristled with attention. He'd said exactly what they all thought. I could smell their judgment, sharp and bitter. Celestine stepped forward, voice small but deliberate. "Enough, Alan. Aysel is my sister. Don't compare us. Please, respect her." Her plea only made him snarl louder, driven by wounded pride. "Respect her? Look at her-wearing gods-know-what scraps. If she hadn't clung to Alpha Damon, she wouldn't even be invited here!" Every word was a dagger meant to humiliate me. But I'd long since grown immune. I tilted my head, amusement curling my lips. The moonlight reflected off my hair, turning it the color of silver flame. "You've mistaken my silence for weakness," I said softly, and the air trembled with the pulse of my Alpha scent. He froze mid-step, his wolf instinctively recoiling. Then-unexpectedly-a voice cut through the tension."That's enough." A young woman in a sapphire gown stepped forward, her features doll-like but her eyes fierce. She wasn't one of ours-probably a guest from a lesser pack. "It's her birthday feast, not your performance stage. Sit down before someone puts a muzzle on you." Her words sliced the air clean, and a few wolves even chuckled under their breath. For the first time that night, I felt something close to amusement rather than fury. The moon above hung like a blade-watchful, waiting. Now, under the chandeliers, every gaze sharpened. "Oh~" cooed a honey-sweet voice. A Beta girl in a yellow gown smiled. "If I'm not mistaken, that gown is an Isa Masterpiece - one of a kind. The designer's last creation before he vanished into the Northern Frostlands." Her wolf purred with admiration. "How in the moon did Aysel Vale get her claws on that?" "Isa's work?" someone gasped. "That's worth millions of moon credits! Just to rent one costs more than a small Pack's annual tribute!" A murmur rippled through the hall. Even Celestine's perfect composure cracked; her pupils dilated slightly, wolf scent shifting. She knew her own gown had been the most expensive in the Ward estate - two million credits at best. The one I wore tonight... was something else entirely. Her smile stayed, but it was the brittle kind. Damon Blackwood, I thought. Did you lend her courage once, the way Magnus lends me silence? Across the hall, Alan Wilson's voice cut through the crowd like a blade. "Impossible! She's bluffing! Aysel Vale's nothing but a stray! A broke, powerless Omega!" The girl with the doll-face sneered. "Are you brain-dead, Alan? She's Moonvale's lost heiress. You think she couldn't afford it?" I tilted my head, lips curving faintly. "Indeed," I murmured. "Why would I be poor?" Because every coin meant for me had once been offered to Celestine - the Moonvale's precious golden wolf. But that was not a truth worth speaking here. Celestine stepped forward, her voice low and gentle - the same tone she used when softening the crowd before a kill. "Alright, Aysel. Let's not make a scene. Alan's just emotional. I'll reprimand him later."I smiled at her - soft, harmless, deadly. "There's no need," I said lightly, turning to the trembling Beta. "It's understandable. A wolf born of a fallen bloodline often grows defensive. That's instinct." His jaw locked. His wolf bristled under his skin. I took a step closer, eyes bright with mock innocence. "Right, Alan Wilson? Or should I call you... Alan Holland?" The hall fell silent. He froze, color draining from his face. No one outside the southern territories was supposed to know that name. Around us, the daughters of the higher packs gasped and whispered, tails flicking with excitement. "Aysel- why did you call him Holland?" Celestine's polite mask faltered. Even she didn't know. I let the silence stretch, my wolf humming with satisfaction. Know your enemies, Skylar used to tell me. And never waste a kill when a whisper will do. The Wilsons had once been the Hollands - an old Pack that had fallen after betrayal and blood-debt. Their Alpha, John Wilson, was a former bonded mate to the Holland heiress, Sophia Holland. When she died of the wasting curse, he took her fortune, her name, and their child, burying the bloodline beneath a new surname. It was said that he had sired half a dozen bastards in secret before she'd even turned cold in her grave. The elders of Moonvale still whispered her name like a warning: Don't trust a Wilson. They carry old blood and older lies. Alan's throat worked, rage and shame twisting his scent sharp. He couldn't speak - not without exposing the rot beneath his father's golden crest. I tilted my head and smiled sweetly. "Thought so." The crowd stirred - excitement, fear, reverence. The Moonvale ballroom suddenly felt too small for the ghosts we'd awakened. Celestine's hand tightened on her glass. I caught her scent - faint jealousy threaded through rose perfume and deceit.