Amira POV: "Madam Amira, the Alpha is already waiting for you downstairs," a sharp voice called through my bedroom door. I gasped for air, sitting bolt upright on the cold mattress as the phantom stench of my own blood filled my throat. My fingers twisted into the silk sheets. I looked down at my hands. The skin was smooth and pale, completely free of IV tubes or the dark purple bruises left behind when my life-saving healing plasma had been forcefully cut off and rerouted on the operating table. Even the Pack's surgeons had prized that plasma above my life — the one gift this defective body had ever given anyone, and the reason they had let me bleed dry on that table. "I didn't die?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turned my head toward the vintage clock on the wall. The calendar display read five years ago to the day—the afternoon of the Sacred Spring Auction, the exact starting point of my tragedy. "Madam Amira, stop dragging your feet!" Martha, one of the Higgins manor maids, banged on the wood again. Even through the heavy panel, her contempt for me—the disgraced Sherman heiress diagnosed as a wolfless freak without an inner wolf—was unmistakable. In werewolf society, being born wolfless was a permanent genetic defect that meant no shifting and no status. I threw off the covers and stepped onto the floor. My legs trembled from lingering weakness, and my knee slammed hard against the nightstand with a dull thud. I bit my lower lip until it tasted like copper, refusing to let out a single groan. Closing my eyes, I reached into my mind to test the Higgins Pack mind-link. Every werewolf in a pack could project their thoughts to communicate telepathically, except for wolfless defects who normally felt only a hollow void. Nothing from my husband, Alpha Brayden Higgins, came through the channel—just dead, suffocating silence. A cold laugh escaped my throat. I yanked open the wardrobe, my gaze sweeping over the row of cheap white dresses I used to wear just to imitate Brayden's precious charity case, Doreen Herrera. My fingers shoved the hangers aside, the fabric ripping with a sharp screech. I marched to the door, wrenched it open, and looked down at Martha, who stood there holding a steel breakfast tray. "Take all that white trash in the closet and burn it," I said, my voice as cold as a silver blade. "Madam, have you lost your mind? Those are the styles the Alpha likes best!" Martha raised her voice, staring at me in disbelief as she tried to me down with her usual arrogance as a Beta-born servant. "I am the Luna of this Pack. Since when does a maid teach me how to behave?" I took a step forward, letting the ruthless authority I had forged in my past life bleed into my eyes. Martha froze, her face draining of color under the murderous pressure in my gaze. Her knees buckled, and the steel tray crashed to the floor, splashing hot milk all over her shoes. "In thirty minutes, I want a custom red evening gown delivered to this room. Get out." I slammed the door in her shocked face. Walking to the full-length mirror, I picked up a pair of shears from the vanity and sliced through the heavy, waist-length hair I had grown out for Brayden. Silver-white locks fell to the carpet. Next, I grabbed the bottles of cheap herbal essential oils I used to mask my natural scent and smashed them into the sink, sharp fumes rising from the shattered glass. Half an hour later, I slipped into an aggressive, backless burgundy gown that burned like wildfire. I pushed open the door, ignoring the guards in the hallway who stared at me like they had seen a ghost, my heels clicking sharply down the marble stairs. When I reached the first-floor lobby, a suffocating wave of Alpha dominion washed over me. Brayden, the billionaire CEO of Higgins Global, stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, impatiently tugging at his tie. Hearing my footsteps, he turned around. His cold, dark brown eyes shrank the second they hit my fiery red dress. "What is the meaning of this outfit? Are you trying to embarrass the Higgins Pack?" he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Embarrass you?" I curled my lips into a mocking smile, meeting his glare head-on. "Compared to bringing a lowborn Rogue to a high-society event, at least I have a legitimate title." Brayden's face turned livid, and he strode forward to grab my wrist. I sidestepped him smoothly, dodging his touch. "Don't touch me. Your scent makes me sick." His hand hung frozen in midair, looking as if he couldn't believe the woman who used to beg for his attention had just defied him. "Amira, do not test my limits," he ground out, the air around him rippling with his inner wolf's rage. "You crushed my limits a long time ago." I turned my back on him and walked straight toward the black sedan parked outside. The Beta driver stood frozen by the car, glancing anxiously between me and the furious Alpha behind me, unsure whether to open the door. "Do I need to teach you how to do your job?" I swept a chilling glance over the driver. The invisible pressure in my voice made him bow his head instinctively and pull the door open. I bent down, slid into the backseat, and slammed the door shut, cutting off Brayden's twisted face on the other side of the glass. As the car rolled out of the estate, I leaned back against the leather seat, mychest rising and falling as my taut nerves finally loosened. I was going to win that barren land tonight and tear their pride to pieces. Suddenly, the car's intercom lit up with Brayden's icy warning. "If you dare cause any trouble at the auction, I will make sure you learn the price of angering an Alpha." "We'll see about that." I snapped off the intercom, a cold smile touching my lips as the grand dome of the Sacred Spring Auction appeared in the darkening sky. When the car stopped, I pushed the door open, the night wind whipping my red hem like a war banner. Just as my heel touched the edge of the red carpet, a heavily modified black Hummer screeched to a halt right beside me. The heavy door flew open, and a terrifying, unfamiliar aura instantly swallowed the entire plaza.

Amira POV: The door of the modified Hummer was kicked wide open, and a towering man in a pitch-black shirt stepped out onto the pavement. Under the neon lights, a jagged old claw scar across his right thumb and index finger caught my eye. He casually lit a cigarette, his sharp, cold gray eyes sweeping lazily over the crowd. Several low-ranking guards nearby turned pale and stumbled backward, unable to withstand the suffocating pressure rolling off him. They couldn't name what they were feeling. I could — and only because I had died once already: pure Lycan blood, an ancient, immortal lineage that stood above even the strongest Alphas. "That's the tyrant from the Dillon Pack..." someone whispered in terror behind me. I narrowed my eyes as memories from my past life clicked into place. Callen Dillon, the ruthless warlord who had just returned from the overseas wastelands. Ignoring the commotion, I turned and continued walking down the red carpet. Before I could reach the steps, a stretched Lincoln bearing the Higgins Pack crest swerved in front of me, its tires screeching against the asphalt to block my path. The door opened, and Brayden stepped out with a dark expression. Clinging affectionately to his arm was a petite woman in a pure white dress who looked like a startled deer—Doreen Herrera, the orphan Healer he sponsored. "Amira, have you had enough of this tantrum?" Brayden stepped right in front of me, releasing his heavy Alpha aura to force my knees to bend. "Sister, please don't be mad at the Alpha," Doreen said, biting her lower lip as tears pooled in her light brown eyes. "It's all my fault. I insisted on coming tonight just to see the world..." Around us, the wealthy guests began pointing and whispering. "Look, that's the wolfless waste from the Sherman family. How dare she throw a fit at Alpha Higgins in public?" "If I were her, I'd hide at home instead of embarrassing myself next to a talented Healer like Miss Herrera." "Get out of my way," I said, my gaze sweeping over the pair without sparing a single glance for Doreen's pathetic act. "What kind of attitude is that?" Enraged by my dismissal, Brayden lunged forward to clamp his hand down on my shoulder. Right before his fingers touched my skin, a large, calloused hand carrying the crisp scent of tobacco and pine shot out like an iron clamp, catching Brayden's wrist midair. "Alpha Higgins, treating a beautiful lady this roughly is beneath you," Callen said, appearing beside me as his low, gravelly voice carried a lethal edge. Brayden's expression shifted violently as he tried to wrench his arm back, only to find the man's grip immovable. "Callen, this is my family matter. An outsider like you has no business interfering." "Family matter?" Callen let out a low laugh and flung Brayden's arm aside like a piece of garbage. "All I see is a rabid dog barking in the street." Doreen shrank back into Brayden's chest, peeking up at Callen before dropping her head in terror the second she met the bloodlust in his gray eyes. "Thank you for stepping in, Alpha Dillon," I said, giving Callen a polite nod before moving to walk past them toward the entrance. As I brushed past Callen's shoulder, a gust of night wind blew away the last traces of herbal oil on my skin. A faint, pure scent of white lilies drifted straight into his nostrils. Callen's massive frame went rigid. His cold gray pupils contracted to pinpricks, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as his gaze locked onto the side of my face. For an adult werewolf—and especially a pureblooded Lycan—meeting one's fated mate triggered five undeniable soul and bodily reactions: the intoxicating scent, the physical surge of boiling blood, the sudden peace of a completed soul, the inner beast's roar, and the electric shock of touch. "Mine," a guttural, barely audible growl rumbled from deep within his chest, vibrating with terrifying possessiveness. The air between us seemed to catch fire. Alarm bells rang in my head, and I instinctively took half a step back to escape his scorching stare. "What is your name?" Callen's voice was horribly hoarse. He leaned down slightly, his hot breath brushing directly against the shell of my ear with an undeniable force. A sharp jolt of electricity zapped from my ear down my spine, making my fingertips tingle. Suppressing the urge to flee, I met his eyes coldly. "Amira Sherman." "Sherman..." He rolled the surname over his tongue, the corner of his mouth lifting into a dangerous curve as if he had already marked me as his private territory. Watching us, Brayden's eyes flashed with a sudden, inexplicable flare of jealousy. "Amira, get inside with me right now!" "Sorry, I don't walk with trash," I replied coldly, turning on my heel to climb the grand steps. At the top of the stairs, a burly security guard noticed I wasn't wearing a Higgins family badge and reached out to block my path. I stopped dead in my tracks, my icy stare piercing straight into the guard's eyes. "Let's see who dares to touch me." Even without an inner wolf showing, the sheer killing intent I had accumulated as a shadow empress in my past life — the title the underworld had given me during the five years after this Pack cast me out, before they dragged me onto that operating table — made the six-foot-three warrior shudder. He stumbled back a step, dropping his arm to clear the way. Lifting the hem of my red gown, I walked proudly through the grand doors under the stunned gazes of the crowd—and one burning stare that felt like it was branding my bare back. Behind me, Doreen's soft sobs faded into the distance. Inside the brightly lit hall, a massive electronic screen scrolled through tonight's auction items. Skipping past the rare herbs and ancient weapons, my eyes locked onto the final lot: the deed to the heavily polluted wasteland in East Oakhaven, with a starting bid of one billion dollars. I walked to the front row of the VIP section and sat down, tapping my fingertips against the armrest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Callen's tall figure enter the hall and take a seat diagonally behind me, his beastly gray eyes never leaving my skin.

Amira POV: The crystal chandeliers in the auction hall dimmed, leaving a sharp spotlight on the stage as the auctioneer in a tailored suit struck his gavel. Brayden walked down the aisle with Doreen on his arm. Using his status, he forced a minor pack businessman two seats away from me to give up his spot, sitting down with a dark scowl. "Amira, you had better remember your place tonight. Stop throwing yourself at other Alphas," Brayden's cold voice exploded inside my head through a forced mind-link projection. In our world, while a wolfless person couldn't initiate a mind-link, a powerful Alpha could still force his telepathic voice into their head to issue orders. A sharp stabbing pain accompanied his mental intrusion as he tried to crush my will. I sneered inwardly and raised an impenetrable mental barrier—a hidden gift of my dormant White Wolf bloodline—slamming his mental energy straight back at him like an iron door. Two seats over, Brayden let out a muffled groan. His face turned ashen from the mental backlash, and he whipped his head around to glare at me in pure disbelief. "What's wrong, Alpha?" Doreen asked softly, wrapping her delicate hands around his bicep. "It's nothing," Brayden gritted out, staring at me as if trying to figure out how a genetic defect had just severed his link and made his head throb. I didn't spare him a single glance, taking my bidding paddle from an attendant and keeping my eyes on the stage. In the row ahead, a socialite in a diamond necklace turned around and raised her voice. "Oh my, isn't this the useless ornament from the Higgins manor? Why did she come here tonight? Can a wolfless freak even read a land deed?" "She probably wants to buy some cheap weeds to fumigate her room, considering how sour she smells," the woman beside her giggled. I tilted my head slightly, my gaze slicing across the two women. "If your brains are as cheap as the synthetic perfume you're wearing, I suggest you shut your mouths before you pollute the air in this VIP section." The two socialites choked on their laughter, their faces flushing bright red before they spun back around in humiliation. A low, amused chuckle sounded from diagonally behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it came from Callen. His crisp pine and tobacco scent wrapped around the back of my neck like a predator circling its chosen prey. The auction officially began. The first few lots were rare healing herbs and combat gear, drawing fierce bids from the surrounding Packs. Soon, an attendant brought out a glowing plant said to boost inner wolf vitality—a Moonlit Herb. Doreen's eyes lit up, and she tugged gently on Brayden's sleeve. "Alpha, doesn't that herb help with old silver wounds? It would be so good for your health..." To show off his wealth and his favor toward her, Brayden raised his paddle without hesitation, winning the herb for twenty million dollars. Flattery immediately erupted from the nearby seats, and Doreen shot me a smug, victorious glance. I rubbed my temples, hiding a cold smile. That plant was nothing more than common grass soaked in fluorescent potion; it would rot into black mud within three days. In my past life, Brayden had become the laughingstock of the entire business district over that exact weed. "Next up is the final lot of the evening—the land deed to the abandoned heavy-metal mining zone in East Oakhaven," the auctioneer announced over the speakers. As the giant screen displayed miles of barren, toxic black soil, the entire hall burst into laughter. "A poisoned wasteland where not even weeds can grow has a starting price of one billion? Have the organizers lost their minds?" "Even if you gave it to a Pack for free, nobody would pay the cleanup tax on that dump!" The auctioneer wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The starting price is one billion dollars, with minimum increments of fifty million. Bidding begins now." Dead silence fell over the room. Everyone sat back, waiting to watch the lot go unsold. I took a slow breath, tightening my grip on the paddle. My memories of the future were crystal clear: next month, the Supreme Council would issue a top-secret decree designating East Oakhaven as the sole ecological sanctuary and core commercial hub on the continent. That toxic dirt was about to multiply in value a thousand times over. I slowly raised my paddle into the air and parted my red lips. "One billion." The auctioneer's voice trembled with excitement. "One billion! This beautiful lady bids one billion! Do I hear any higher?" Brayden jerked his head toward me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Amira, are you insane? Put that paddle down right now!" "You worry too much, Brayden," I replied flatly. "One point five billion," a lazy, gravelly voice carrying absolute dominance rang out from behind my left shoulder. The crowd gasped in unison. I whipped my head around, locking eyes with Callen's smirking gray gaze. He leaned back lazily in his leather chair, his long fingers flipping a black titanium lighter—since silver was the only fatal poison to werewolves, no one ever carried silver items in daily life. "What's wrong, Mrs. Higgins?" Callen drawled, his eyes glinting under the dim lights. "Is that all the courage you have?"