Dahlia Maxwell POV: I bolted upright on my velvet bed, gasping for air as the stench of my own charred flesh and illicit silver dust lingered in my nostrils. My chest heaved violently, my lungs burning as if they were still filled with the toxic smoke of the Cantrell Pack's underground dungeon. Shaking uncontrollably, I looked down at my hands. The faint, silver-white wolf birthmark on the webbing between my thumb and forefinger—the mark of the rightful heir to the Maxwell fortune—was completely intact. There was no jagged, mutilated scar where the flesh had been ruthlessly gouged out. Morning sunlight from the Capital District filtered through the sheer curtains. I whipped my head toward the antique brass calendar on my nightstand. It read October fourteenth, my twentieth birthday, and the exact second day after my entire family Pack relocated to the capital. A cold wave washed over my scalp, making every hair stand on end. I had come back. I was twenty years old again, waking up on the very morning the Cantrell family would arrive at our gates to drain our blood and swallow our billions. I swung my bare feet onto the freezing hardwood floor and walked briskly to the full-length mirror. Staring at my pale, striking reflection, I pressed a trembling hand against my sternum to force down the suffocating terror churning in my stomach. In my past life, it was on this exact morning that my fiancé, Kerr Cantrell, used the Werewolf Council's mandatory genetic blind-matching law as leverage to force me into his estate as an unmarked breeder. In werewolf society, a mate who has not received the permanent Marking—The Bite on the neck—cannot even establish a Mind-Link and holds the exact same legal status as a powerless slave. Worse, his family colluded with the Council to revoke our residency sponsorship, issued a Pack expulsion order, and planted ten crates of contraband silver dust in our trucks to have my entire bloodline executed for treason. But the Moon Goddess send me back. The heavy walnut door clicked open, and my mother, Evelyn Maxwell, walked in carrying a steaming porcelain cup of calming herbal tea. As the fierce Beta Female who managed our family's commercial empire, she rarely showed softness, except to me. Spotting my bare feet on the floorboards, she immediately frowned, set the cup down, and hurried over to wrap a thick cashmere shawl around my shoulders. "My little darling, why aren't you wearing slippers?" she scolded gently. Feeling the familiar warmth of her palms through the wool, my nose stung. I lunged forward and threw my arms around her waist, burying my face against her collarbone. Mother stiffened in surprise for a second before her hand came up to pat my back in slow, protective circles. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. Mom is right here," she murmured, her voice steady and fierce. I inhaled her warm scent of vanilla and ink, silently swearing to the Moon Goddess that I would tear anyone who touched my family limb from limb in this life. In my past life, when she collapsed in front of me, I failed to protect her. Mother stroked my hair and let out a heavy sigh. "The Cantrell motorcade just pulled up to the main fountain. That arrogant bastard Kerr is downstairs demanding to see you." At the mention of his name, the hidden White Wolf dormant within my bloodline let out a low, agitated growl, which I quickly locked behind my mental shields. I stepped back from my mother's embrace, the corner of my mouth curving into a razor-thin sneer, that man—the man who drove me to my death—has come! "Let him wait," I said, my voice flat. "The Maxwell drawing room isn't a public kennel he can barge into whenever he pleases." Surprise flickered across my mother's eyes at my sudden hostility, but she nodded firmly. "Good. I'll go downstairs and block him." Once she left, I walked into my walk-in closet and bypassed the soft pastel dresses I used to wear to please him. Instead, I pulled out a sharp, high-fashion black tailored suit dress. I swept my long hair into a high twist, exposing my neck, and secured it with a solid silver hairpin. In our world, silver is the only substance fatal to werewolves; wearing it openly was the most arrogant provocation I could offer an uninvited guest. A fine, netting burn crept from the pin's tip into my scalp, like an ember buried in my hair roots. The White Wolf bloodline had granted me a silver resistance far beyond my kind—an ordinary wolf holding bare silver for a minute would have its palm split open; I only had to endure this dull, ember-like ache. I deliberately left it in. The pain was the only thing that can keep me clear-headed. I wanted the man downstairs to read the message at first glance: I was far stronger than he believed—and I was no longer that groveling girl who lived to please him. Stepping out of my bedroom, I walked down the carpeted hallway toward the grand staircase. The Maxwell Pack guards stationed along the corridor bowed with their fists pressed to their chests as I passed. As I reached the top landing of the stairs, a heavy, suffocating scent of rain and cedar drifted up from the first floor. It was Kerr's Alpha pheromone. That scent had driven me to madness during my years of captivity, and right now, it made my stomach violently cramp with nausea. I halted at the top of the mahogany balustrade, looking down at the tall man standing with his back to me in the center of the drawing room. Sensing my gaze, Kerr Cantrell slowly turned around, his ice-gray wolf eyes locking onto mine. When he registered my black suit and the glint of the silver pin in my hair, a flash of irritation crossed his face before he forced his lips into his signature, disgustingly gentle smile. "Dahlia, you kept me waiting far too long," he said, tilting his chin up. I rested my hands on the mahogany railing, my thumb slowly rubbing the carved wood as my voice dropped to a freezing chill. "Why, Young Master Cantrell, is your collapsing Pack in such a rush that you can't even spare ten minutes of patience?"

Dahlia Maxwell POV: Kerr's fake smile froze on his face at my words. I didn't wait for him to recover, stepping onto the spiral staircase in my stilettos. The sharp clicking of my heels against the marble steps echoed through the vast drawing room like a countdown. His ice-gray eyes tracked my descent, his brows furrowing tightly as if he couldn't comprehend why the timid girl who used to trails after him suddenly carried the suffocating presence of a ruler. When I reached the bottom step, Kerr stepped forward and extended his right hand, expecting me to place my fingers in his palm like a submissive pet. I looked right through him, brushed past his outstretched arm, and sat down in the central leather armchair. Crossing my legs, I leaned back lazily. Kerr's hand hung awkwardly in mid-air for two seconds before he yanked it back. His Adam's apple bobbed violently as he swallowed his humiliation. "Dahlia, you seem... quite different today," he said, forcing a fond, indulgent tone into his voice that made the bile rise in my throat. "Save the performance, Kerr," I cut in without looking up, picking up a porcelain teacup a maid had just poured. "Your Cantrell Pack didn't bring four armored SUVs to my front door just to compliment my wardrobe." The gentle mask on Kerr's face cracked completely. His expression darkened as he sat down on the sofa opposite me, spreading his arms across the backrest with the entitlement of an old-money Alpha heir. Standing beside my chair, my mother Evelyn let out a cold snort and slammed her own teacup onto the marble coffee table with a loud clatter. "Young Master Kerr, if your noble Cantrell house thinks our newly arrived merchant Pack is beneath your station, spit it out," Mother mocked sharply. "Don't sit in my house speaking in riddles." Kerr shot my mother a venomous glare. The next second, the air in the room grew thick and suffocating as he released his Alpha's Command—a genetic aura designed to force lower-ranking werewolves to their knees. My mother's face paled slightly under the crushing weight, her shoulders stiffening. Yet as the wave of dominion hit me, it washed over my skin like a harmless breeze. An Alpha's Command only works on lower-ranking wolves within their own Pack or weak outsiders, and it is utterly useless against a hidden White Wolf—the direct royal bloodline of the Moon Goddess flowing secretly in my veins. I sat completely still, taking a slow sip of my black tea. Seeing that I hadn't even blinked under his aura, shock flared in Kerr's eyes. He hastily retracted his pressure, cleared his throat, and leaned forward. "Dahlia, you know the Werewolf Council has been strictly enforcing the genetic blind-matching decree lately," he said, shifting into a tone of fake concern. "You turned twenty today without a mate bond. If the Council steps in, you'll be married off to some brutal border warrior." I blew gently on the floating tea leaves, resting my chin on one hand as my fingers tapped the armrest. "Is that so? And how does the generous Young Master Cantrell plan to save me?" He lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming with naked greed as he delivered the exact line that had condemned me to hell in my last life. "Transfer the Maxwell family's genetic dowry and trust funds into the Cantrell account tonight. Once the assets clear, I will withstand my mother's pressure and take you into my estate as my exclusive unmarked breeder." He spoke as if offering me a life without The Bite, without a title, and without legal protection was the greatest charity on earth. My mother's entire body shook with rage. She slammed her palm on the table and pointed a trembling finger at his nose. "In your dreams! My daughter is the sole heiress of the Maxwell fortune! She will rot in the ground before she becomes a lowly breeding tool for a bastard like you!" Kerr sneered, dropping all pretense of warmth. "Mrs. Maxwell, wake up and smell the capital. Your family is nothing more than a fat sheep wandering into a den of lions without political backing. Without my protection, you won't survive the month." I set my teacup down on the saucer with a sharp clink, cutting off my mother before her blood pressure spiked further. Raising my eyes, I locked onto Kerr's greedy stare. "Your protection? By becoming a nameless plaything who can't even access your Pack's Mind-Link?" I asked, enunciating every syllable with open mockery. My undisguised contempt struck right at the deep-seated inferiority complex he hid beneath his noble title. Kerr's face twisted, and he shot to his feet, slamming both hands onto the coffee table as he leaned over to tower above me. "Don't push your luck, Dahlia!" he snarled through gritted teeth. "Except for me, no high-ranking Alpha in the Capital District would dare touch a merchant family reeking of cheap copper!" I looked at his bulging neck veins, every detail of their impending betrayal crystal clear in my mind. I knew for a fact that the Cantrell vault was so empty even the rats had abandoned it. "Really?" I let out a soft laugh, standing up smoothly. Though he was a head taller than me, I didn't tilt my chin up. I walked slowly around the edge of the coffee table, closing the distance between us until we were only half a step apart. Caught off guard by my aggressive advance, Kerr instinctively took half a step backward, his imposing stance crumbling instantly. "You want my family's billions, Kerr, I get it," I murmured, my hands clasped behind my back. "But trying to swallow the entire Maxwell conglomerate with an empty threat is a bit too ambitious, even for a shameless parasite." His pupils flickered wildly. "I don't know what nonsense you're talking about." "You don't?" I leaned in closer, lowering my voice so only the two of us could hear. "Then let me refresh your memory about what you have planned for next Tuesday."

Dahlia Maxwell POV: Standing inches from Kerr, I could clearly see the tiny muscle beside his left eye twitching uncontrollably. A cold thrill of vengeance coursed through my veins, warming my freezing fingertips. "Your Cantrell Pack has already bribed Elder Knowles at the Werewolf Council to unilaterally revoke our capital residency sponsorship next Tuesday morning, haven't you?" I whispered, my voice smooth and conversational. Kerr's breath hitched. His ice-gray pupils shrank to pinpricks, and he stared at me as if a corpse had just crawled out of its grave to speak to him. I didn't give him a single second to catch his breath. "The moment our sponsorship is revoked, you'll have the Council issue an emergency Pack expulsion order, forcing my family to liquidate all our real estate and mineral shares within seventy-two hours at a tenth of their value." Kerr sucked in a sharp, rattling breath, stumbling over his tongue. "What kind of lunatic ravings are these? Who fed you these lies?" I took a step back, putting distance between myself and his nauseating cedar scent, and crossed my arms over my chest. "That's not even the best part," I said, raising my voice so my mother standing by the armchair could hear every word clearly. "To make sure the Maxwell family can never appeal or demand our money back, your mother prepared a parting gift for our departure." I stared dead into his panicked eyes and dropped the final hammer. "Ten crates of military-grade illicit silver dust, already sitting in your warehouse, ready to be stuffed into the false bottoms of the moving trucks you'll lend us." The words hit the room like a thunderbolt. All color drained from Kerr's face, leaving his skin a sickly gray-white. His knees buckled, and he staggered backward, his calves slamming hard against the edge of the sofa. My mother let out a horrified gasp, her hands flying to her mouth before she lunged forward. "You monsters! Planting military silver dust carries the mandatory penalty of whole-Pack execution! You weren't just trying to rob us—you wanted to slaughter my entire family!" Exposed to the bone, Kerr completely lost his aristocratic composure. Terror morphed into feral rage as he braced himself against the sofa and roared like a cornered mutt. "Shut your mouth, Dahlia! Stop spitting blood on my family's name!" he bellowed, his voice cracking at the end. "The Cantrell Pack is a founding noble house of this empire! Why would we ever stoop to framing a bunch of nobody merchants?" Watching the thick veins throb on his forehead, I felt nothing but disgust. In my past life, I had cowered before this pathetic excuse of an Alpha. "Whether I'm spitting blood or stating facts, your own racing heartbeat is answering for you," I said calmly, walking over to the mahogany bar cart and pouring myself two fingers of aged bourbon. Swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass, I looked at him over the rim. "You haven't paid your estate's lower-ranking patrol guards for three whole months, Kerr. The Cantrell treasury is drowning in so much debt that without slaughtering our fat sheep this week, your own warriors will mutiny before the next full moon." That final truth shattered the last shred of his sanity. His eyes turned bloodshot, and with a guttural snarl, he lunged across the rug with his hand raised to choke me into silence. "Shut up! What does a lowly merchant bitch know about noble finances!" Before his fingers could come within three feet of my collar, a dark blur shot out from behind the velvet pillar. My fiercely loyal Beta bodyguard and personal assistant, Cora Hayes, stepped directly between us, her left forearm knocking Kerr's arm aside while her right hand clamped onto the hilt of the tactical hunting knife strapped to her thigh. "Mind your hands, Young Master Cantrell," Cora said, her voice like grinding gravel as her cold eyes locked onto his throat. "You are standing on Maxwell territory." Kerr froze, his chest heaving as he glanced down at Cora's blade. Even as an Alpha, he knew that starting a physical brawl unannounced inside another Pack's heavily guarded main hall would leave him crippled before his men outside could react. He yanked his arm back, panting heavily as sweat matted the hair on his forehead. "Dahlia, I don't care which traitor leaked false rumors to you, but if you reject my offer today, you are signing your own death warrant!" I looked past Cora's shoulder and downed the burning bourbon in one swallow. The fiery liquor scorched down my esophagus, igniting the battle lust in my blood. "My death warrant?" I sneered, raising my hand and hurling the empty crystal glass onto the marble floor. It shattered into a thousand glittering shards between his shoes. "Go back and tell your mother Assunta that if she wants a piece of the Maxwell fortune, she can crawl over here and beg for it in person. As for you? You don't even qualify to sit at my table." Kerr trembled from head to toe, his fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood from his palms. Then, all of a sudden, the tension in his shoulders dropped. He threw his head back and let out a shrill, neurotic laugh that echoed eerily off the high ceiling. "Good. Very good, Dahlia. You really hid your claws well," he said, wiping a hand down his face as an ugly, malicious calm settled over him. I narrowed my eyes. I knew this look; the cornered dog was about to play what he thought was his ultimate trump card to break my spirit. He straightened his rumpled silk tie, smoothing down his suit jacket as he looked at me with cruel pity. "Since we're laying all our cards on the table, I won't bother sparing your feelings anymore. Do you really think I came here today just because I wanted your money?" He leaned forward slightly, the corner of his mouth twisting into a vicious smirk. "Seraphina Schaefer, the biological younger sister of Gamma General Dario Schaefer of the Border Defense Force, accepted my marriage proposal last night."