The Lycan Princess They Underestimated

I’d barely unpacked my things in the Neutral Zone’s werewolf penthouse when someone tagged me on the pack forum. "Hey, you. The nobody rogue in the penthouse. You don't even have a mate, yet you're hogging the Moon Terrace just to store your trashy liquor bottles? What an insult to the Moon Goddess!" "My husband is the Gamma of this zone. We're hosting the full moon banquet on the terrace tomorrow night. Move your booze today and clear the space. We’ll give you 300 bucks out of goodwill. A mateless female like you should be grateful for the chance to contribute." I stared at my screen. What a joke. As the only princess of the pureblood Lycan Royals, I was sick of the court's power plays and bloodline dominance. I hid my scent and moved here just to find some peace. I just wanted to chill on my terrace with my rare vintage liquors—drinks specially brewed to calm a werewolf’s primal rage—and enjoy my life. That Moon Terrace wasn't a public area. I paid a million dollars for it. I bought the permanent property rights and the top-tier security access. And now, a few low-ranking wolves thought they could hijack a Lycan Princess’s private territory for 300 bucks? I didn't have the patience to argue. I just typed back: "Keep dreaming." I didn't expect the building manager to show up at my door the next day with two massive werewolf guards. They accused me of "selfishly hoarding public space." In the name of "pack unity," they demanded my scent-access codes. Fine. I always hated using my bloodline to crush others. But if they insisted on forcing a peace-loving apex predator to bare her fangs... They were about to learn exactly what absolute Royal aura felt like.