The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 94

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 94**

As the tension in the room reached a boiling point, the intended outcome had already been secured.

Aysel, with a flick of her hair that spoke volumes of her indifference, chose not to waste her breath on Damon. Her demeanor radiated an effortless disdain, and the aura surrounding her was as steady and cool as a wolf on a moonlit night.

“Why would someone like me—an orphan from Moonvale—care about the parents of others?” she challenged, her voice laced with a playful mockery. “Alpha Damon, I know you’re eager to defend your fiancée, but the auction isn’t finished yet. Perhaps you should refrain from commandeering someone else’s arena to preach about morality.”

Her words were sharp, cutting through the air like a well-honed blade, yet her tone remained light, almost teasing. It was infuriatingly logical, leaving no room for rebuttal.

Damon, the instigator of this confrontation, found himself silenced as Aysel closed her VIP balcony window with a cheerful snap, effectively ending the debate. The sound echoed ominously in the hall, leaving Damon’s response caught in his throat. He and Celestine were left to swallow the bitter taste of humiliation, their wolves stirring restlessly within them, feeling the weight of their pride.

The auction host, sensing that the power struggle between the affluent Alphas had temporarily subsided, breathed a sigh of relief and motioned for the final artifact to be brought forth. However, the crowd remained intoxicated by the earlier scandal, their attention still lingering on the drama that had unfolded.

The last piece—a painting steeped in the rich history of the pack—was met with barely a glance. Some wolves exchanged furtive looks, glancing from the Blackwood pair’s dark expressions to the tightly shut window of the VIP balcony. A thrill of primal anticipation rippled through the hall as they speculated whether the two factions would clash once more.

Yet, as the bidding progressed, that once-arrogant balcony remained eerily silent. Celestine, clearly itching to place another bid, felt her pride clawing at her insides. She believed that if she kept her guard up, she could best Aysel in a true contest. But Aysel chose not to engage, her absence from the bidding war only fueling Celestine’s frustration.

Zark, seated nearby, finally felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. Had the bidding reached the fevered heights of earlier rounds, he would have hesitated to make a move. The only reason he was willing to participate in this indirect method—donating an artifact to charity and then buying it back at a respectable price—was to impress an investor, an infamously incorruptible elder of the Thornwild Pack.

His lineage from the Sanchez line granted him a certain status, yet it was not enough to approach the investor openly. Zark had meticulously crafted this moment: to compete fairly among numerous bidders, to win with calm authority, and then to present the relic as a token of respect to the esteemed elder. However, that carefully laid plan now lay in ruins, shattered by the earlier disruptions.

The vibrant mood had dissipated, leaving the atmosphere sour and heavy. The effect of the evening had diminished beyond repair, and Zark found himself grinding his teeth in silent frustration as he forced down his irritation.

When the host finally announced that the last bid had been settled, Zark turned to the man beside him, a forced smile plastered on his face. “Mr. Smith, as the saying goes, a blade seeks a worthy warrior, and a masterpiece seeks one who can truly appreciate it. I purchased this tonight solely for charity. I fear my unrefined eye will fail the painting—so perhaps it belongs better with an expert like you…”

The painting had already been brought into the room in advance, and Mr. Smith reached out to accept it—

“Wait!”

A clear, ringing voice sliced through the hall, piercing the air like a knife. The sharp echo of heels resounded—thud, thud, thud—as the auction doors swung open.

A woman in a fitted white suit strode in, her short hair sharp as a blade, flanked by enforcers from the Thornwild Pack. Wolves who had been preparing to leave immediately retreated back into their seats, the atmosphere thick with tension.

The woman paid no mind to the heated stares directed her way as she ascended to the second floor with the unyielding confidence of an Alpha who was acutely aware of her strength. Moments later, a resounding slap reverberated through the VIP corridor.

All windows had been left open earlier, thanks to the drama that had unfolded between Aysel, Damon, and Celestine, allowing every elite pack member present to witness the scene unfold.

Louisa of the Thornwild Pack struck Zark across the face without a moment’s hesitation.

Accalia Sanchez and Sandy, who had been bewildered since Louisa’s explosive entrance, shot to their feet in shock.

“Spirits above—who is she? That’s still a Sanchez wolf she slapped!”

Although Zark’s standing within the Sanchez family was not particularly remarkable, especially in the shadow of someone like Magnus Sanchez, even the most minor descendant of Bastien was due respect. To strike someone publicly? Unthinkable.

Yet a few recognized her.

“That’s Louisa of the Thornwild Pack. The heiress.”

The Thornwild Pack was a dominant force in Evermere territory. Under Louisa’s leadership, their influence nearly rivaled that of the first-tier packs in the capital.

“What grudge could she possibly hold against Zark? Why slap him like that?”

Before the questions could settle, a voice rang out—bright, insincere, and dripping with mischief.

“Second Brother—what did you do to anger this beautiful sister? If you’re feeling wronged, tell Magnus. He’ll ensure justice is served.”

The VIP balcony, which had been decisively closed off earlier, swung open once more.

Aysel stood framed in the light, a pleasant smile gracing her lips, clearly having observed the entire scene unfold. Behind her loomed Magnus—towering, cold-eyed, his presence engulfing Aysel entirely.

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