The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 92

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 92**

In the dimly lit room, Damon’s heart raced as he suddenly grasped the true nature of his competition. A chill crept up his spine, and he felt an overwhelming urge to retreat, to withdraw from this escalating battle. Yet, before he could voice his intentions, Celestine’s sharp gaze caught him, a silent plea urging him to hold his ground.

“Three million,” Celestine declared, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

Damon turned to her, his eyebrows arching in surprise. The sound of her laughter, tinged with desperation, echoed in his ears. “Damon, Aysel doesn’t really care about that vase. But this coin…” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it must be spent.”

The charity auction had been orchestrated by Alpha Blackwood and Alpha Remus with a clear directive: they were to spend lavishly, to make a statement that would resonate throughout the pack. The earlier bids had merely served as a warm-up, a soft prelude to the grand spectacle that was yet to unfold. If Aysel managed to intercept their bids, if she thwarted their efforts to spend, the entire evening would devolve into a farce, a mockery of their carefully laid plans.

Celestine’s heart thudded in her chest; she could not bear the thought of Aysel’s triumphant gaze boring into her, a look of superiority that made her skin crawl. In the past, Celestine had always been the one to cast judgment from a position of power, but now Aysel’s amber eyes felt like daggers, piercing through her defenses.

For the sake of her pride, for the sake of the evening, Celestine steeled herself. “I have another concern,” she said softly, her voice taking on a more persuasive tone. “You know Aysel doesn’t have that kind of money herself. Even if she wins, it will be Magnus who pays. And… if their bond only leads to financial entanglement, the fallout could be disastrous.” She hesitated, her voice wavering slightly. “It could spark… rumors.”

Damon’s expression darkened at the implications of her words.

Celestine had struck a chord; the thought of Aysel receiving financial support from another Alpha was unbearable to him. Magnus’s intentions were shrouded in mystery, and Damon was resolute in his refusal to be outmaneuvered in front of Aysel.

When Aysel boldly raised the bid to eight million, Damon retaliated with ten, his determination hardening. He perceived Aysel’s actions as spiteful, a deliberate attempt to make the evening more challenging than it needed to be. Yet, he reminded himself of his other obligations that night. If Aysel truly desired the vase, he could always relinquish it to her later.

As the price soared, reaching dizzying heights far beyond the vase’s actual worth, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Whispers rippled through the crowd, fueled by the latest gossip that had been circulating like wildfire.

Sandy, watching Aysel bid with unwavering confidence, smirked. “He really does spoil her,” she commented, her tone dripping with disdain.

The Sanchez family had risen to unprecedented heights under Magnus’s influence, while others had gradually faded into the background, their power reduced to mere shadows of what it once was.

Celestine’s brow furrowed as she watched the bids escalate, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. She could not allow Aysel to win so easily; the stakes were too high. However, they couldn’t exhaust their resources on a single item either; overspending on subsequent items could jeopardize their entire strategy.

When the auctioneer called out fifty-five million, Aysel’s bidding suddenly ceased.

Magnus, ever composed, refilled her tea with a casual grace. “Not interested in winning him?” he asked, his tone light yet probing.

Aysel rested her chin on her hand, her fingers toying with her bidding paddle as a sly smile danced on her lips. “Watching them bleed coin is far more entertaining than simply winning,” she replied, her tone laced with mischief. “After all, they’ve lost their sense of morality; let’s put some of that wealth to good use.” Her expression radiated self-satisfaction, a hint of glee sparkling in her eyes.

Magnus chuckled softly, peeling a grape with deliberate care before offering it to her. He didn’t need to say anything more; today, she was his future Lady, and her amusement was all that mattered.

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