The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 170

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 170**

In the dimly lit hall of Mistyhowl Mountain Lodge, Wren moved with urgency as Aysel finally ceased her barrage of drinks. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she extended a delicate handkerchief toward the Moonvale she-wolf, instinctively bowing her head in a gesture of submission, acknowledging Aysel’s undeniable status.

As she straightened, her expression hardened, a fierce determination igniting within her as she turned her attention to Aaron, who remained firmly pinned to the polished stone floor beneath him. Two imposing security enforcers from Mistyhowl Mountain Lodge loomed over him, their half-shift forms radiating an intimidating presence, claws partially extended—a clear warning.

“Mr. Aaron,” Wren spoke with measured authority, each syllable dripping with the respect due to the true power standing beside her, “allow me to clarify a few things. Our Lord Magnus is by no means an old man. Furthermore, Miss Aysel is destined to be his rightful Luna.” She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle in. “This lodge is in the midst of a transfer of ownership, and Miss Aysel is the legitimate incoming proprietor. I advise you to choose your words carefully.”

The distinction between a mere guest and a future Luna was stark and undeniable.

Mistyhowl Mountain Lodge had long been the exclusive domain of Magnus Sanchez—a sanctuary nestled within the Shadowbane Alpha territories, safeguarded by ancient lupine wards and the protective embrace of the surrounding mountains. The crisp winds and mist-laden springs of this region had made it a sought-after summer retreat for numerous packs. When the lodge was originally constructed, a private villa was carved into the cliffside, a testament to Magnus’s status—a throne fit for a wolf king.

Upon receiving the invitation to this evening’s gathering, Magnus had made a decisive choice:

He would transfer the entire lodge to Aysel.

Under Shadowbane law, all that belonged to him would rightfully become hers after their marriage. However, for a young she-wolf like Aysel, personal assets prior to marriage offered a layer of protection that shared marital territory could not. Magnus had already begun the process of transferring several prime properties, each boasting stunning landscapes and formidable defenses, into her name. Mistyhowl was merely the most illustrious of these holdings.

Though the paperwork was still in progress, all upper-management staff—including Wren—had been made aware of the impending change.

Even if Aysel never wed Magnus, she would still hold the title of their incoming Alpha-level proprietor.

Her authority eclipsed that of every guest in attendance.

As Aaron lay on the ground, dirt and spilled wine marring his cheek, he jerked his head upward, disbelief etched across his features. “M-Magnus…? Which Magnus are you referring to?”

Before Wren could respond, Emma, one of Aysel’s classmates, let out a derisive snort.

“Which Magnus do you think?” she retorted, her tone laced with mockery. “Of course, it’s Magnus Sanchez. Aaron, when you returned to the continent, did no one bother to inform you about the true predator lurking here?”

Aaron’s body went rigid.

His pupils dilated in shock.

He stared at Aysel as though she were a ghostly apparition, a wolf clad in youthful skin.

This was unfathomable.

Completely unfathomable.

Meanwhile, Aysel remained unfazed, calmly conversing with Wren while ignoring Aaron entirely.

“If the lodge no longer wishes to host a client,” she inquired, her voice steady, “what is the standard protocol in such cases?”

Wren stood taller, her demeanor shifting to one of professional precision. “Compensation according to the contract,” she replied without hesitation.

In the world of lodges, breaches of agreement were rare; the issue at hand was not merely the penalty, but the impact on reputation.

Yet this particular guest had crossed a line, offending their future Luna.

Wren quickly assessed the situation. “Miss Aysel, please rest assured. I will have him escorted out immediately.”

Her gaze shifted to the struggling Aaron, still pinned to the floor like a disgraced omega.

“Mr. Aaron,” she said, her tone icy, “your penalty fee will be processed without delay.”

Then, surveying the gathering hall, she continued, “However, your entire guest list must also vacate the premises. I suggest you act swiftly.”

The weight of humiliation crashed down upon him.

An unparalleled humiliation.

Not only was he being expelled, but every guest he had invited was being thrown out alongside him. In a single evening, Aaron found himself experiencing every conceivable form of social demise.

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