Elodie POV
The Omega wing of the Silver Creek Pack Manor smelled of damp rot and forgotten sorrows. I knelt on the dusty floorboards of my old, cramped room, prying up the loose plank beneath the narrow cot. My fingers brushed the cold metal of a faded tin box. Inside lay my mother's sapphire necklace—the only artifact capable of suppressing the latent, dangerous scent of my White Wolf bloodline.
"Well, well. The Pack disgrace returns."
Clotilde’s cloying scent of wilted roses and pure entitlement filled the doorway. My half-sister stood there, flanked by two burly she-wolf maids. Her eyes locked onto the tin box. "Take whatever garbage she's holding. Nothing of value in this house belongs to a wolfless freak."
One of the maids lunged, her hand outstretched.
I didn't flinch. Moving with a fluid, calculated precision, I sidestepped her clumsy grab, caught her wrist, and twisted it into a brutal, bone-straining joint lock. The maid yelped, dropping to her knees as I pinned her arm against her back.
Clotilde gasped, stepping back.
Without releasing the whimpering maid, I pulled out my phone with my free hand and brought up the digital Blackwood-Silver Creek marriage treaty.
"Clause four, section B, drafted by Kingsley's legal team," I said, my voice deadpan. I turned the screen toward Clotilde. "Any infringement on my personal property is a direct provocation against the Blackwood Pack, triggering immediate and devastating territorial sanctions."
Clotilde paled, her eyes darting from the legal text to my unyielding grip on her maid. She couldn't comprehend how a wolfless Omega had just overpowered a trained wolf.
"When Kingsley gets tired of a useless wolfless," Clotilde spat, her voice trembling with venom, "you’ll be thrown out to feed the Rogues!"
I released the maid, ignoring the threat, and walked past them with the tin box clutched to my chest.
As I navigated the shadowed hallway toward the exit, the sound of Luna Victoria’s voice drifting from the parlor made me pause.
"Yes, the wolfless condition is making her unstable," my stepmother purred into her phone, speaking to another Pack's Luna. "She might even be a danger to the Alpha. We are simply heartbroken over her mental decline."
I stood in the shadows, my expression entirely blank. I didn't barge in to defend myself. Instead, I pulled out my phone, hit the record button, and captured fifteen seconds of her venomous slander. A perfect, quiet weapon. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and walked out the front doors.
By the time I returned to the Alpha's Aerie, the foyer was thick with the oppressive scent of cedarwood before a thunderstorm.
Kingsley was pacing the black marble floor. His inner wolf, *Rage*, was practically vibrating beneath his skin, furious and frustrated after three weeks of failing to find his mysterious savior. When he saw me, his storm-gray eyes narrowed, instantly zeroing in on the battered tin box.
"What is that?" he sneered, his voice dripping with ice. "Did you go back just to drag more Omega trash into my home?"
He reached out to snatch the box. I instinctively yanked it behind my back.
Kingsley’s large hand clamped down hard on my bare forearm.
*Zap.*
A violent, scorching current of electricity ripped through my skin, shooting straight to my core. My breath hitched. The shock was so intense, so overwhelmingly intimate, that my carefully constructed mask shattered. I snapped my head up, glaring at him. The look in my eyes wasn't empty or submissive—it was a raw, unyielding fire, a mixture of exhaustion and suppressed, lethal fury.
Kingsley froze. His pupils dilated, swallowing the gray of his irises. The air between us crackled, heavy and breathless. I could almost hear the monstrous roar echoing in his mind: *'Her! Same fire! MATE!'*
Panic spiked in my chest. I immediately dropped my gaze, slumping my shoulders and forcing the void back into my eyes. I suffocated my aura, instantly reverting to the pathetic, scentless wolfless wife.
Kingsley blinked, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile. He snatched his hand back, his jaw clenching as his rational mind violently rejected what his Lycan instincts had just screamed at him. He couldn't reconcile the powerful ghost he was hunting with the empty shell standing before him.
"Get out of my sight," he growled, rubbing his temple in deep agitation.
I bowed my head and hurried to my suite, locking the door behind me.
The humiliation from Clotilde and the disdain from Kingsley formed a lethal cocktail in my veins. I sat at my desk in the dim light and opened my encrypted laptop. The screen bathed my face in a cold blue glow as I logged into the secure terminal: *THE ZERO - QUANTITATIVE TRADING*.
My fingers flew across the keys with blinding speed. I bypassed the standard firewalls and targeted Schmidt Industries, specifically the subsidiary managing Clotilde’s precious lifestyle brand. I didn't hesitate. I executed a massive, devastating short-sell order.
I leaned back in my chair and watched the stock graph plummet, a beautiful, vertical red line wiping out the foundation of her wealth.
