C4

"Get your filthy hands off me, Malcolm!" I barked, my voice ringing out across the grand entryway of Calloway Manor with the raw command of an elite war leader.

The air in the foyer turned ice-cold. My newly awakened wolf stirred in my chest, sending a surge of territorial dominance through my blood. I stared straight at Malcolm Calloway, my blue eyes hollow, lightless, and dead set on his face.

Malcolm flinched, his Alpha posturing faltering for a split second. His skin drained of color as he met my gaze, genuinely creeped out by the sudden, lethal aura radiating off the heavy-set daughter he had spent years belittled as a weak human-born.

I let a cold, ruthless smile curl my lips. "Since you like playing the tyrant so much, Malcolm, I will make sure to build a very quiet cage for you in the pack dungeons once I take control of the family territory."

Tessa Calloway shuddered sharply beside him, clutching her emerald robes as she backed away from me.

At that exact moment, light footsteps tapped down the grand spiral staircase. Mallory Callahan floated down the steps, wrapped in a powder-blue silk gown, holding a leather handbag made from rare leviathan hide. Her hair was styled to perfection, her soft makeup highlighting her tear-filled, innocent eyes. She looked like a helpless little lamb—the exact act she used to fool the entire Nightcrest Pack.

Mallory smiled softly at me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Harper, do you like my new gown? Grayson had the Mercer Security Detail bring it directly from the Crownmere fashion vaults just to make me smile."

She paused, her eyes flashing with a sharp spark of malice before she quickly covered it. "It is such a shame about your blood-will. You were so close to marking Grayson as your mate, but after those sickening photos hit RavenNet, you lost everything. But do not worry, sister. Even though you are a disgraced human-born with no pack rank left, I will ask Grayson to find you a nice low-tier warrior to take care of you. I would hate for you to end up abandoned in Hollowfang Woods."

I stood there, my hand resting against the strap of my bag, completely unbothered. My pulse didn't even spike.

Mallory’s smile faltered slightly when she realized her petty taunts weren't drawing the hysterical tears or desperate rages she usually got from original Harper.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear. "How is your head feeling, Harper? Grayson didn't even check on you at St. Catherine Royal Hospital. He spent the entire night in my VIP suite, holding my hand and feeding me broth while the medical staff hovered outside. He couldn't stand the thought of me being stressed after I 'fell' down those stairs."

I looked at her, my blue eyes narrowing into razor-sharp points. "How much did you pay those mercenaries to drug my drink at the hotel?"

The memory of original Harper's last birthday at The Grand Ravenshire Hotel burned in my mind. She had waited hours in a reserved suite for Grayson, only for Mallory to stage a sudden illness to pull him away. Then came the rogue wolves barging into the room while original Harper's senses were blunted by wolfsbane-laced wine. She had fought her way out, bare-handed and terrified, only for Mallory's hidden photographers to capture misleading shots of her fleeing through Eastvale Streets, making her look like a unfaithful whore.

It had destroyed her reputation. It had broken her spirit. It had killed her.

Mallory's lips twitched upward into a triumphant, wicked smirk. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of the front heavy iron doors opening made her expression turn instantly fragile.

In a fraction of a second, tears welled up in Mallory’s eyes. She let out a soft, sob, reaching out to grab my hand with a dramatic, trembling motion. "I am so sorry, Harper! It was all my fault! I shouldn't have gotten sick on your birthday! I shouldn't have called Grayson away from your party! If I knew those rogue wolves were waiting in the hallway, I would have taken the wolfsbane myself..."

I scowled, my stomach turning at the nauseating display.

Every single time this manipulative snake reached out her hand in public, original Harper ended up beaten, humiliated, or cast out by the pack. This delicate, helpless front was the exact weapon Mallory used to turn the entire Calloway Bloodline against her sister.

I didn't hesitate. I swung my forearm with everything I had and slapped her hand away.

SNAP!

The sharp, brutal crack echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer.

Mallory let out a sharp, genuine shriek of pain as her hand bounced back, the skin instantly swelling into a deep, dark red welt. Tears flooded her eyes for real this time as she stumbled backward.

"Mallory!"

A fierce, furious roar boomed from the doorway behind me.

Grayson Mercer strode into the hall, flanked by four members of the Mercer Security Detail. The moment his eyes caught the red mark on Mallory's wrist, his Beta aura exploded into the room, his eyes flashing a fierce, dangerous amber.

Tessa lunged forward at the same time, her face twisted in rage. "You ungrateful pig! Your father was ready to throw you into the pack cellar for dishonoring us, and Mallory begged him to let you keep a room here! Is this how you repay her kindness?"

Tessa raised her arm, her long, silver-tipped claws extending as she swung her palm violently toward my face.

I didn't panic. My combat instincts from the Ironfang Front took over instantly. I slid half a step back, angling my head just enough to avoid the force of the strike. Tessa’s claws grazed across my cheek, cutting a shallow red line near my jawline.

I didn't scream. I didn't even wince. I reached up with a finger, wiped the drop of blood from my jaw, and licked it off my skin, my cold gaze locked on Tessa's pale face.

"Get out!" Tessa screamed, her hands shaking with a mix of fury and sudden terror at the dead look in my eyes. "Get the hell out of Calloway Manor right now!"

Grayson stepped in front of Mallory, shielding her curves with his body while glaring at me as if I were a rabid stray. "You truly are a monster, Harper. You bring shame to your bloodline, you ruin our betrothal, and now you attack your own sister in her own home?"

He paused mid-sentence.

His amber eyes locked onto my face, and the harsh words stuck in his throat.

Without the garish, clown-like makeup original Harper had been tricked into wearing, my true features were completely exposed. My dark hair fell in soft, thick waves around my shoulders, framing a face with high, elegant cheekbones, full lips, and sharp, piercing blue eyes. My broad, plus-size body filled the midnight-blue dress with an undeniable, regal presence that commanded the entire room.

Grayson’s chest heaved as he stared at me, completely stunned. He had spent years looking at a girl who hid behind heavy paint and desperate, clingy behavior. He had never seen me like this.

Mallory saw the sudden hesitation in Grayson’s eyes, and her face turned pale with pure jealousy. She immediately sank her nails into Grayson’s arm, letting out a soft, painful whimper. "Grayson... my hand hurts so bad... please don't be mad at Harper. She is just upset because of what happened..."

Tessa spat on the floor. "Do not defend her, Mallory! She is a vicious, ungrateful parasite!"

I arched a single eyebrow, looking at the three of them as if they were nothing more than insects beneath my boots. In my past life, I had dealt with elite military strategists and ruthless high-ranking warlords. Watching Mallory’s amateur drama routine was almost laughable.

She used her tears to look weak, used her weakness to manipulate Tessa’s anger, and used Tessa’s anger to keep Grayson tied to her finger. It was a simple, repetitive trap.

And I was about to break it into pieces.

I turned away, pulling my leather gloves onto my hands, intending to head upstairs to retrieve the locked safe containing my mother’s personal war journals.

"Stop right there!" Grayson snapped, his voice tight with an odd, frustrated edge as he tried to regain control of the situation. "You do not just walk away after hitting Mallory! Apologize to her right now, Harper!"

I stopped at the base of the staircase. I turned my head slowly, looking back over my shoulder.

The cold, absolute contempt in my eyes made Grayson step back half a pace, his breath catching in his throat.

I looked at Grayson, then shifted my gaze to Mallory, my voice dropping into a clear, mocking purr that echoed off every stone in the hall.

"Save your breath, Beta," I spat out, my words cutting through the air like thrown daggers. "A dog and a bitch deserve each other anyway."

Without waiting for their reaction, I turned and walked up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, I walked back down the grand staircase carrying a heavy iron chest bound in silver runic locks.

The foyer was dead silent now. Malcolm Calloway stood by the front entrance alongside the Blackwell Legal Team, his face dark with suppressed rage. Grayson was still holding Mallory’s hand, but his eyes stayed glued to me the entire time I descended the steps.

"You think you can just leave with family property, Harper?" Malcolm demanded, stepping into my path with his claws partially bared. "That chest belongs to the Calloway Bloodline!"

"This chest belonged to Eleanor Calloway," I said smoothly, stopping two feet from his chest. "And everything inside it was sealed under her personal blood-mark. Touch it, and the runes will incinerate your hands."

Malcolm’s jaw clenched, but he didn't dare reach for the silver bindings.

Instead, senior council member Blackwell stepped forward, opening a thick manila folder. "Miss Calloway, as the legal representative of the Calloway Family, I must inform you that your father has filed an emergency petition with the Bloodfang Assembly to invalidate your mother's blood-will. Until that hearing takes place, your twenty percent territory shares are frozen."

"They were frozen," I corrected, pulling a thick crimson document stamped with the official wax seal of the Nightcrest Pack from my coat. "Until 5:15 PM yesterday."

Grayson frowned, stepping forward with his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? The shares can only be unlocked through a legal marriage recognized by the Dominion State!"

"Exactly," I replied, snapping the document open and holding it directly in front of Grayson's face.

Grayson’s eyes scanned the heavy parchment. The moment his gaze landed on the signatures at the bottom, his breath hitched violently. His face drained of all color, turning a sickening shade of grey.

"This... this signature..." Grayson stammered, his fingers trembling as he reached out toward the paper. "This is impossible! Asher Whitmore?!"

"What?!" Malcolm roared, shoving past the lawyers to snatch the paper from my hand.

Mallory gasped, her fake tears disappearing instantly as she stared at the document in pure horror. "No... no, Alpha Whitmore is the head of the Nightcrest Pack! He would never marry a human-born! This is a fake!"

"Check the blood-ink registry seal at the bottom, Mallory," I said softly, my voice dripping with cold satisfaction. "It was stamped at the Blackridge Investigation Bureau yesterday afternoon. The twenty percent shares of Calloway Global Holdings are fully unlocked, and as of this morning, they have been transferred into the master ledger of Whitmore Global Holdings."

"You... you married the Apex Alpha?!" Tessa shrieked, her knees visibly shaking.

Grayson stepped toward me, his amber eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of shock, rage, and an sudden, intense wave of regret. "Harper... why would you do this? You married Asher Whitmore? Do you have any idea what kind of monster he is? His inner wolf is unstable! He will kill you!"

"He treats me far better than a weak Beta who throws silver lilies in the dirt," I replied, stepping right into Grayson’s space until his scent was completely overwhelmed by the lingering smell of Asher’s silver pine on my coat.

Grayson flinched, his jaw tight as he stared at the faint red mark on my cheek where Tessa had scratched me.

"And as the primary shareholder of this territory," I added, turning my gaze to Malcolm and Tessa, "I am giving you seven days to pack your belongings and vacate Calloway Manor. If you are still here by next Monday, the Whitmore Security Detail will remove you by force."

Before anyone could speak, my encrypted comms unit chimed in my pocket. I pulled out the device and swiped the screen.

A new high-priority notification from St. Catherine Royal Hospital flashed across the display, sent directly to my private inbox by Dr. Nathaniel Brooks:

URGENT MEDICAL NOTICE: HARPER CALLOWAY WHITMORE.

ADDITIONAL BLOODWORK COMPLETED FROM YOUR ADMISSION SCANS.

LATENT SECONDARY SHIFT CONFIRMED: ANCIENT APEX SILVERSHIFT GENE.

TOXICOLOGY RESULT: TRACES OF HIGH-CONCENTRATION WOLFSBANE DETECTED IN YOUR SYSTEM FROM THE NIGHT OF YOUR BIRTHDAY.

SOURCE OF POISON: REGISTERED PRESCRIPTION BOTTLE ISSUED TO MALLORY CALLAHAN.