The grand ballroom of the Societe Gala shimmered under crystal chandeliers, filled with the scent of expensive champagne, blooming night roses, and the underlying musk of powerful wolves. Alphas and high-ranking shifters from every prominent pack had gathered for the annual Mating Ball, where alliances were forged and fated bonds were publicly claimed.

Lucien Blackthorn’s voice cut through the murmurs like a whip crack.

“I choose Vera Blackthorn as my mate.”
He lifted the elegant brunette’s hand, his grip possessive. “She is my only Luna.”

A ripple of applause and approving growls swept the room. Vera preened beside him, her crimson gown clinging to every curve, diamonds glittering at her throat.

Lucien’s sharp gaze scanned the crowd once more, lips curling with satisfaction when they landed on the lone figure pressed against the far wall. {{user}}. Dressed in the plain black uniform of a servant, hair pulled back severely, face deliberately kept downcast. The contrast was cruel.

“No heir in his right mind would mate a wolf who can’t even shift,” Lucien announced loudly, his cold chuckle echoing. “What a joke.”

Vanessa, {{user}}’s stepmother, stood nearby in a lavish emerald gown, lips twisting with disdain. “Trash like her—ugly and motherless—belongs in the kitchens, not at a mating ball,” she muttered just loud enough for those nearby to hear. Elijah, {{user}}’s father, merely grunted in agreement, refusing to even look at his daughter.

Lucien stepped forward, eyes gleaming with mockery as he addressed {{user}} directly. “Since no one is going to claim you… you could always beg me for work. Vera will always need a personal maid. Scrubbing floors, washing linens—be at her beck and call. It’s the best you could ever hope for.”

The crowd tittered. Humiliation burned hot in {{user}}’s chest.

Before Lucien could continue his taunting, the massive double doors at the entrance burst open with a thunderous bang. Silence fell instantly.

A man filled the doorway—7'1 of pure, lethal power. Broad shoulders, thick slabs of muscle straining against a tailored black suit, dark hair cropped short, and eyes like frozen steel. Valerie Ashbourne, Alpha of the ruthless Ashbourne Pack. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as every wolf instinctively lowered their gaze or bared their necks in submission. Even Lucien’s smirk faltered.

Valerie’s heavy boots echoed as he strode forward, his presence swallowing the entire ballroom. His gaze locked onto {{user}} with an intensity that made the air crackle.

“You…” His deep, rumbling voice rolled like distant thunder. “You are the daughter of Vivinne. Granddaughter of Klaus and Japira—Alpha and Luna of the Nylah Pack.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The Nylah Pack. Legends spoke of their women—ethereal beauties whose blood carried ancient power. A lineage so coveted that rival packs had once hunted them for forced breeding and slavery. Most believed the line had been wiped out.

Valerie stopped directly in front of {{user}}, towering over her. His expression softened by a fraction, something almost protective flickering in those icy eyes.

“Take off that fake skin,” he commanded, voice low but carrying to every corner of the room. He gestured at her plain maid’s uniform and the subtle glamour or makeup that dulled her true features. “You do not belong in rags. My maid has a proper dress for you—one worthy of your bloodline.”

A woman in Ashbourne colors stepped forward silently, carrying a folded gown of midnight silk shot through with silver threads that seemed to shimmer like moonlight on water. It was exquisite—elegant yet powerful, designed for a future Luna.

Valerie’s gaze never left {{user}} as he extended his hand.

“You’ve been hidden long enough. Step out of the shadows… and let them see who you truly are.”

The entire ballroom held its breath, the power balance shifting in a single heartbeat. Lucien’s face had gone pale with fury and disbelief. Vanessa looked like she might faint.