Ronan Duskcliff had never been denied entry anywhere in his life.
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And yet here he was, standing at the edge of the Mooncrest Grand Hotel’s g hall, blocked by a glorified Beta with a clipboard <b>and </b>far too much self–importance.
His expression was storm–dark. The muscles in his jaw ticked dangerously.
<b>This </b><b>wasn’t </b>just any night. This was the Stormridge Matriarch’s eightieth year.
Every key figure in the werewolf world was inside that room. Investors. Alphas. Elders. Kingmakers.
And Ronan needed them..
The Duskcliff Pack had been hemorrhaging alliances for months. Stock value plummeting. Old partners backing out.
He needed to <b>mend </b>the cracks–and tonight was the perfect chance. If he could charm Lady Duskgrave, maybe even strike at deal for the Eastern Wastnds redevelopment, he could stop the bleeding.
He had to get inside.
But <b>no </b>matter <b>how many </b>credits he waved or how <b>low </b>his voice dropped, the security wolf didn’t budge.
<b>Then</b>, a <b>familiar </b>voice drifted toward him likevender smoke.
<b>“</b>Brother Ronan?”
He turned, startled.
Scarlett Vale stood a few paces away, arm linked with a strikingly regal she–wolf in deep crimson silk–Lady Seraphina Duskgrave herself.
Ronan blinked, “Scarlett? What are you doing here?”
The young she–wolf gave <b>him </b>a sweet, practiced smile. “I’m here with my dearest friend. Her mother–in–<bw </b>is the guest of
honor tonight<b>.</b><b>” </b>
She turned, yfully tugging on Seraphina’s sleeve. “Dearest, you’re the <b>Alpha </b>Prince’s <b>wife</b>. <b>Can’t </b>you help my poor <b>brother </b>
Brother‘ The guard’s ears twitched. <b>That </b>word <b>again</b>. Too <b>casual</b>. Too intimate.
Seraphina, ever the performer, smiled coldly. “The Matriarch is my <b>mother</b>–inw. You’re blocking her <b>bloodline</b><b>. </b>
The <b>Beta’s </b>face shifted from defiance to rm. “Apologies<b>, </b>Lady Seraphina! I didn’t realize–of course, I didn’t mean any disrespect. But I do still need to <b>confirm- </b>
She didn’t let <b>him </b>finish.
From her clutch<b>, </b>she produced a shimmering gold–embossed invitation–the unmistakable mark of a direct Duskgrave heir.
Most wolves had simple crimson parchments. Cold was for the bloodline.
The <b>guard </b>bowed deeply, inspecting the seal, then stepping aside. “My deepest <b>apologies</b>, Lady Duskgrave. Please, <be </b>in”
Seraphina raised her chin with cool elegance. “They’re both my guests. They enter with
There was a flicker of hesitation in the Beta’s eyes–but he nodded. “Of course
And just like <b>that</b>, Konan was in
They stepped through the arched doors into the grand ballroom–<b>and </b>were instantly swallowed by a <b>sea </b>of golden light and murmuring voices
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A massive crystal chandelier cast <b>halos </b>across the marble floor. She wolves in flowing gowns moved like colored mes between silk–draped tables. The <b>air </b>was thick with perfume and pheromones–power, beauty, and the unmistakable tension of a thousand hidden agendas.
Ronan’s eyes scanned the room. His <b>Alpha </b>instincts kicked in–sizing up rivals, sniffing our opportunity.
He spotted a few key investors from the Western Dominion, and with a brief nod to Scarlett <b>and </b>Seraphina, <b>moved </b><b>away </b>to
<b>engage</b><b>. </b>
Scarlett watched him go without a word. Her focus was elsewhere.
She was searching for him.
Lucien
Her breath hitched slightly. That was the only reason she hade tonight..
Not for the Matriarch. Not for some “celebration.” She wanted to stand beside Lucien Duskgrave–no, she wanted to <b>own </b>that space beside him.
But the ballroom was too full. Too loud. <b>And </b>he was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart, once light with anticipation, now sank with unease.
Why isn’t he here?
She excused herself from Seraphina with a soft, “I’ll just freshen up, and slipped out of the ballroom.
The corridor outside the banquet hall <b>was </b>quiet, gilded with antique sconces and lined with dark oak doors. Scarlett lingered near the restrooms, hoping he might pass by.
<b>Ten </b>minutes. Nothing
So she drifted toward the upper level, <b>where </b>the private lounges and guest suites were reserved for direct descendants and inner–circle guests.
<b>Just </b>as she turned the corner–she froze
From the end of the corridor, a door creaked open.
And out stepped Piley Vale.
Scarlett’s <b>breath </b>caught in her <b>throat</b><b>. </b>
She hadn’t seen her in days.
And yet, there she stood, bathed in soft gold light, dressed in a gown so ethereal it looked conjured from moonlight.
The pink chiffon fluttered around her inyered waves, like clouds dyed in dawn. Her <b>skin</b>, fair <b>and </b>huminous, held the faintest rosy
flush. Her lips, painted a soft cherry red, curved with serene detachment. Loose <b>tendrils </b><b>framed </b>her face, caught against a <b>tiara </b>of pale silver and crystal thorns.
Scarlett stood stunned.
Riley looked <b>like </b>a princess <b>from </b>an ancient prophecy. No–worse. She looked like something meant <b>to </b>be worshiped.
Behind her, a well–dressed male attendant–likely a steward or escort–was carefully adjusting her <b>train</b><b>. </b>
The contrast <b>was </b>unbearable
Scarlett’s jaw tightened.
What the hell is she doing here?
And why does she look <b>like </b>that?
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Riley met her gaze briefly. Cool Unmoved. A slight arch of her brow the only acknowledgment.
Then, without a word, she turned and descended the <b>stairs </b>toward the ballroom.
Scarlett remained frozen in ce, heart pounding <b>with </b>something between rage and dread.
She hade here to <b>shine</b>. To capture Lucien’s attention.
But now, a ghost from the <b>past </b>had returned–wrapped in silks and power–and threatened to steal the entire night.
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