Third Person's POV Rumors, in the werewolf dominion, spread faster than wildfire under a blood moon. Within an hour, every hall and courtyard of Moonvale echoed with whispers - the Alpha's daughter betrayed, the Eastern heir and his chosen mate's sister entwined beneath the moonlight. Gossip among wolves was more potent than venom. What began as murmurs grew claws. The same voices that once defended Celestine and Damon now fell silent, as though their tongues had been scorched by truth. They had once said the two were "fated," that Aysel, proud and cold, could never understand Damon's gentleness. Yet now that the scandal had broken - that her sister, not she, had shared her mate's promise - no one dared repeat those words. It was one thing to ship a pair of lovers in the dark of fantasy; it was another to watch them bare their betrayal beneath the goddess's light. The illusion of romance shattered, and all that remained was the taste of ash. At the high tables, the eldest Alphas - Remus of Moonvale and Alpha of Blackwood - knew they had no time to dwell on the mystery: who had switched the moon-scry, who had planted the recording, who had dared turn their children's union into humiliation before every pack in the continent. They could only act. To salvage what was left. The old wolves moved quickly, voices low but decisive. They would twist the narrative before it could twist them. Remus spoke first, his tone grave but controlled. "The Moon Goddess knows the truth of hearts. The scene we witnessed was but the flame of affection-misunderstood by spell and circumstance. Damon and Celestine share an ancient bond, blessed by fate. Tonight, under Luna's eyes, let their souls be joined rightfully." A ripple of disbelief, then obedient applause. The scandal of infidelity transmuted, through the tongues of powerful wolves, into a tale of predestined lovers reunited. The audience followed the lie with ease - for in the world of Alphas and alliances, appearances were more sacred than truth. The pack's pride demanded it. Luna Evelyn's face was pale as bone. She could not tell whether the rebranding of her elder daughter's disgrace as "destiny" soothed her or damned them all.Beside her, Fenrir's jaw was clenched. He knew his father's strategy: bury the wound beneath ceremony. Pretend it never festered. But when the ripple of congratulatory howls began, when the hall echoed with laughter once more, something inside him twisted. Across the vast moonlit hall stood Aysel - the rightful Luna who had just been replaced. Under the silver chandeliers, her moonlight gown shimmered with cold brilliance. Her skin, pale and flawless, caught the light like frost on the mountains. Her expression betrayed no rage, no sorrow - only the serenity of a wolf who had accepted the bite of betrayal long before it came. Those who once mocked her for her arrogance now found themselves unable to meet her gaze. And yet the storm was not done. From the cluster of nobles, a wolf in a black silk gown-Mary raised her voice. "Forgive me, but... I heard that Alpha Damon's heart once belonged to the younger Vale daughter. Aysel, was it not?" Her tone was soft, curious - but the glint in her eyes gleamed like a drawn dagger. The hall froze. Mary had once pursued Damon herself and had lost to Aysel. Her wound, though old, still bled when she saw the Moonvale heiress standing unbroken. Now she saw a chance to drag them all into the same ruin. Whispers burst like sparks. Yes, wasn't it Aysel's birthday feast? Weren't they once promised? Dozens of eyes turned toward her - the abandoned heiress, the ghost of the celebration. Even Damon's mother, Luna Blackwood, turned ashen. She had resisted Aysel once, called her too proud, too feral - but at least that union had been clean. Now, with her son's betrayal displayed before all, the farce of switching brides tasted like bile. She could only pray Aysel would hold her tongue. But Aysel's calm gaze flicked across the room, past the nervous Vales and the trembling Blackwoods, past her father's warning glare. Her eyes found her brother. "Perhaps," she said softly, "my brother Fenrir should answer that." The crowd's attention shifted, every gaze landing on the Moonvale heir. Fenrir froze - the weight of the packs pressing upon him. If he confirmed Aysel's bond with Damon, Celestine would forever wear the mark of betrayal - the mate-thief, the cursed Luna. If he denied it, he would brand his sister a liar before the packs and the Moon itself. The she-wolf smiled, her teeth glinting. "Is it so difficult, Fenrir Vale? Surely a brother remembers where his sister's vows once lay." Fenrir's throat worked, but no sound came. Above them, the moon hung full and merciless - the eternal witness to every oath, every deceit. And Aysel, beneath its cold light, stood silent and radiant, as if already shedding the last of her chains. For wolves could not lie to the Moon forever.