CHAPTER 3

I felt the corners of my mouth lift in a secret, predatory curve. I lowered the hem of my silk gown, moving with a silent, feline grace toward the shadows of the rafters. The gold filigree mask pressed against my skin, hiding the face of the woman Blake Turner thought he had broken. He had forgotten one thing: three years ago, before I retreated into his shadow, the Pacific Crown Gala whispered my name in awe. My scent and my stride were legendary among the high-ranking packs.

Just as the audience of elders and pack leaders reached the peak of their boredom, I descended. I didn't just sit on that chair; I reclaimed a throne. As I was lowered into the glare of the silver spotlights, a collective gasp rippled through the hall. The Crown Star—the sacred jewelry meant to be the climax—was nowhere to be seen.

Panic erupted backstage. I could scent Gary’s sweat from fifty feet away. Stylists and enforcers scrambled, eyes darting, thinking the treasure was lost. They even rushed the stage, frantically lifting my sleeves and raising the hem of my gown, exposing my legs—pale, toned, and marked with the strength of a true hunter.

The murmurs died instantly. With a flick of my wrist and a tilt of my chin, I shifted into a pose that defied gravity. I lifted my left leg in a slow, hypnotic arc, and there it was: the Crown Star wasn't on my wrist. I had fastened it around my ankle. It caught the light, refracting like a supernova against my skin.

The silence broke into a thunderous roar. The pack elders stood, their wolves howling in approval. In the back of the darkened hall, I felt a heavy, familiar gaze. Connor Vale. My new "husband" was watching from the gloom, his presence like an anchor in the storm.

As the showcase concluded, Julius Taylor, the head of the Bel AME house, marched onto the stage. He was radiating triumph, unaware of the switch. He reached for my hand, leading me to the front of the runway with a deep bow.

"Thank you, everyone! And a special thank you to Riley Knox for a performance that will go down in pack history!"

I remained a statue of ice, offering only a sharp, regal nod.

"That isn't Riley!" A shrill, envious voice cut through the applause—Sloane Pierce, a rival who knew Riley’s scent all too well. "I know Riley’s aura, and she doesn't move with that kind of power! If you’re truly the pride of Turner Studios, unmask yourself!"

The atmosphere soured. Doubt spread through the room like a virus. "Show us your face!" Julius demanded, his voice trembling with sudden suspicion.

I didn't flinch. I slowly reached up and slid the gold mask away.

"It’s Ava Hart!" The name was whispered like a forgotten curse.

The room exploded. I had been exiled, blacklisted by the Nova Star Agency years ago. To the public, I was a ghost. To these wolves, I was an interloper.

"Ava Hart? The has-been?" Reporters from the pack journals swarmed the stage. "Are you so desperate for a scrap of glory that you’d steal Riley’s skin? Did you sabotage her just to crawl back into the light? Tell us, did you wait for her to be wounded just to scavenge this contract?"

The insults turned into snarls. "Scavenger! Exile! Give the crown back to Riley!"

Julius Taylor turned on me, his face contorted with rage. "I will have Turner Studios destroyed for this breach of blood-oath! I demanded a lead wolf, not some third-rate stray!" He didn't care about my past legend; he only saw the scandal. "Get off my stage! You aren't fit to walk in the shadow of this house!"

The humiliation burned, a physical heat under my skin. I stood my ground, my wolf, Kaia, baring her teeth inside my mind. I was ready to fight them all—until a voice like rolling thunder silenced the room.

"It seems to me," the voice growled, vibrating through the floorboards, "that the only one here who needs to vanish is you, Julius."

The crowd parted like sheep before a mountain lion. Connor Vale stepped into the light. The CEO of Vale Media Group, the man who despised the theatrics of the modeling packs, was walking toward me. The room held its breath, expecting him to tear me apart for the deception.

Instead, he stepped onto the stage and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me. His scent—dark cedar and ancient power—wrapped around me like a protective cloak.

"Her manners," Connor said, his eyes fixed on Julius with lethal intensity, "are far more refined than your hospitality. And her worth is far greater than your trinkets."

My heart hammered against my ribs. My "stranger" of a husband was standing in the line of fire for me.

Julius paled, bowing low. "Alpha Vale... I-I apologize. I didn't realize she had your protection. I didn't know your relationship with—"

"I have no 'relationship' with her," Connor interrupted, his voice cold and terrifyingly smooth. "I simply have a low tolerance for cowardice and poor judgment."

He turned to leave, but stopped at the edge of the stage, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Mark my words. This woman will not just return to the spotlight. She will be the sun that burns it."