Harper Alvarado POV:

Two days had passed since my letter was dispatched by the Shadow Sentinels. The Royal Court hadn't replied yet, but I wasn't anxious. A petition of that magnitude took time.

For the past forty-eight hours, I had barricaded myself in my freezing chambers. Whenever the servants pounded on my door, demanding I come out and scrub the new Luna's bedsheets, I simply ignored them. Fletcher and Darla were too busy preparing for her grand installation ceremony to bother with me, likely assuming I was huddled in a corner, crying my eyes out in utter despair.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

The heavy oak door to my quarters shuddered under an impatient fist. Clara, the personal maid of the dowager Luna, Genevieve, stood in the hallway with her nose pointed at the ceiling.

"Miss Alvarado," Clara announced, deliberately dropping my title. "The old Luna requests your presence in the grand parlor. Immediately."

Phoebe bristled beside me, her eyes flashing with a protective growl, but I simply gave her a calming glance. I smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on my elegant, dark velvet gown—one of the few things they hadn't managed to steal yet. I knew exactly why I was being summoned. The financial freeze had finally hit them where it hurt.

When I stepped into the lavish parlor, Genevieve Terrell was sitting in the center of a plush sofa. The moment my eyes landed on her, a wave of pure, unadulterated nausea twisted my stomach.

Around her wrinkled neck rested the exquisite, blood-red ruby necklace that belonged to my martyred mother.

"Harper, my dear child, come sit," Genevieve cooed, her voice dripping with artificial, sickening affection as she patted the seat closest to her.

I didn't move closer, opting instead to remain standing, my posture straight and regal. Her fake smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before she sighed, shaking her head like a helpless, benevolent elder.

"I heard about what Fletcher did. That boy is young, reckless, and easily seduced," Genevieve began, her tone soft and placating. "I know you feel wronged, Harper. But let's be honest between us women... Darla is just a rough, unrefined brute. She has spent her life rolling in the mud and blood with male soldiers. She has no aristocratic grace, no manners. How could a barbaric mutt like her ever compare to a delicate, noble flower like you?"

I watched her perform, my heart cold and detached.

"She might get the empty title of Luna because of her military merits, but she knows absolutely nothing of running an estate," Genevieve continued, leaning forward as if sharing a juicy secret. "So, my dear, why lower yourself to bicker with a brute? I heard you froze the pack accounts out of a little... childish jealousy. Unfreeze them. Pay for the merchants and the ceremony. Let her have her little moment of glory, and you be the bigger person. As long as you hold the purse strings, you will always be the true mistress of this Pack in my eyes."

I let out a soft, chilling laugh. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

"If Darla is just a rough, unrefined brute," I said, my voice eerily calm as I locked eyes with her. "Then you, Lady Genevieve, are a greedy, two-faced leech. And you certainly are not worthy of wearing my dead mother's rubies."

Genevieve's face darkened, the benevolent mask slipping entirely to reveal her ugly, aristocratic entitlement.

"Harper! I am speaking to you nicely, do not test my patience!" she snapped, slamming her teacup onto the saucer with a sharp clatter. "You are Fletcher's woman! The Alvarado wealth belongs to the Terrell Pack! You have no right to freeze the accounts! Fletcher needs her strength on the battlefield, and he needs your wealth to secure the Pack's future! It is your duty to fund this Pack, concubine or not!"

"My duty?" I took a slow, deliberate step forward, my Alpha bloodline flaring, casting a sudden, suffocating pressure over the room. "I dragged you out of the grave with my gold. I fed your starving wolves. And you use my money to fund a party for your son's mistress, while wearing my slaughtered mother's jewelry?"

Genevieve instinctively shrank back into the sofa, her face turning pale.

"My duty to this parasitic Pack ended the moment your son demanded my Luna ring," I declared, every word dripping with lethal intent. "From this moment on, the Terrell Pack will not see a single copper coin from me. And I will be taking back every single thing you stole. Starting with those rubies."

"You can't do this!" Genevieve shrieked, finally realizing the absolute gravity of the situation. Panic flooded her eyes. "Your marriage to Fletcher is bound by Pack Law! You are trapped here! If you dare leave, Fletcher will have you hunted down!"

"Then let us see if the Alpha King sides with a pack of thieving betrayers, or with the orphaned daughter of six martyred generals," I replied coldly.

Genevieve's eyes widened in sheer terror. All the color drained from her face. "The... The Alpha King? What... what have you done?!"

I turned my back on her, refusing to look at her pathetic, dread-twisted face for another second.

At the doorway, I paused and looked over my shoulder, offering a mocking smirk. "Oh, and by the way, my lady. Good luck paying the merchants for tomorrow's grand feast. I'm sure Darla's 'rough manners' will impress them when you tell them the Pack vault is completely empty."