Aden POV

The heavy oak door rebounded off the concrete wall with a sickening thud, but the sound barely registered over the roaring in my ears.

"Sylvia?" My voice cracked, betraying the devastating tremor in my chest. I stared at the girl I had spent the last two years loving, the girl I had scrubbed floors to buy gifts for.

Dixon Cooper didn't even flinch. A cruel, arrogant smirk spread across his handsome face. Instead of stepping away, he pressed his hips harder against her, deliberately releasing a suffocating wave of his Alpha pheromones. The scent of dark pine and dominance flooded the small room, a heavy, invisible weight designed to force an Omega like me to my knees.

I fought the urge to submit, my eyes locked on Sylvia. I needed her to explain. I needed her to tell me this was a mistake.

But Sylvia didn't look guilty. She looked annoyed.

She rolled her eyes, running a manicured hand down Dixon's muscular chest. "Oh, grow up, Aden," she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. She inhaled deeply, burying her face in the crook of Dixon's neck. "God, do you have any idea what a real wolf smells like? His Alpha aura makes my *Inner Wolf* purr. You?" She turned her gaze back to me, her eyes cold and empty. "You smell like nothing. Like a pathetic human."

The words felt like a silver blade twisting in my gut.

"Two years," I choked out. "You said you loved me."

Sylvia let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I needed a real Alpha, Aden. Someone who can actually *Shift*. Someone who can give me the *Marking* and make me a Luna. Not a scentless, wolfless puppy. Did you honestly think I'd settle for the bottom of the pack? You were just a bet to see how long I could stomach a loser."

Every syllable shattered whatever was left of my heart. The illusion of love evaporated, leaving behind a cold, hollow void. But that void didn't stay empty for long. A dark, ancient heat began to claw its way up my throat—a violent, predatory fury that felt entirely too massive for my frail body.

Dixon chuckled, his eyes dropping to the package tucked under my trembling arm. "I see Brennon played his part perfectly. I told him to make sure you delivered my new cleats right on time."

My breath hitched. Brennon. The extra shift. The fifty bucks. It was all a meticulously crafted stage just to break me.

Dixon reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. He flicked his wrist, letting the money flutter to the damp tile floor between us.

"Here's your payment, Omega," Dixon sneered, his eyes flashing with a cruel, golden light. "Go buy some scent-blockers, so no one has to smell your weakness."

The thread of my sanity snapped.

With a guttural roar that tore my vocal cords, I lunged at him. I didn't care that he was a trained Warrior. I didn't care that he was the future Alpha. The volcanic rage boiling in my blood demanded violence.

But I was still just a wolfless boy.

Before my fist could even connect, Dixon moved with terrifying, supernatural speed. His fist buried itself into my stomach with the force of a freight train. All the air violently left my lungs. As I doubled over, his knee slammed upward into my jaw.

The world spun into a blur of pain and blinding white light. I crashed hard onto the cold, wet tiles, tasting copper and bile.

Before I could even gasp for air, a heavy combat boot slammed down on the side of my head, pinning my cheek to the filthy floor. The pressure was agonizing, grinding my jawbone against the ceramic.

"Did you really think you could touch me, you piece of trash?" Dixon spat, his weight pressing down harder.

I heard the squeak of a locker opening, followed by the sharp, chemical smell of a permanent marker. Dixon leaned down. I thrashed, trying to free myself, but his boot was an immovable anchor. Rough hands grabbed the collar of my cheap white T-shirt, pulling it taut.

The marker squeaked loudly against the fabric across my chest.

"There," Dixon said, finally lifting his boot. "Now everyone will know exactly what you are."

I lay there, gasping, my vision swimming. Dixon grabbed Sylvia's hand. She stepped over my legs without a second glance, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Stay away from my future Luna, Omega," Dixon warned, his voice echoing in the hallway. "Or next time, I'll break your neck."

The heavy oak door swung shut, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence. I forced my heavy eyelids open and looked down at my chest. Scrawled in thick, black ink across my heart were two words: *WOLFLESS LOSER*.

The fifty-dollar bill lay just inches from my bleeding face. Deep within my marrow, that strange, terrifying heat pulsed wildly, fighting against the cage of my flesh, waiting for the midnight of my eighteenth birthday.

Aden POV

I dragged my battered body up from the damp tiles of the Warriors' Changing Room. Every step back to my cramped dorm room felt like walking on shattered glass. The black ink on my chest—*WOLFLESS LOSER*—burned like a physical brand against my skin.

I locked the flimsy wooden door behind me and collapsed onto the thin mattress. The room was suffocatingly silent, smelling only of stale air and the bags of recyclable cans I hoarded in the corner.

Sylvia’s cruel laughter echoed endlessly in my skull. *Scentless, wolfless puppy... just a stupid bet.*

I wasn't crying over a lost love. I was suffocating under the crushing weight of my own pathetic existence. Two years of scrubbing floors, starving myself to buy her gifts, and swallowing my pride, only to prove I was exactly what they said I was: a bottom-feeder unworthy of a Mate. A strange, dark power churned deep within my veins, a violent heat that threatened to consume me, but I dismissed it as nothing more than the impotent rage of a broken Omega.

My phone buzzed against the cheap linoleum floor, jarring me from my misery. An unknown number flashed on the cracked screen.

With trembling, bloodied fingers, I swiped to answer.

"Aden," a woman's voice spoke. It was calm, elegant, and laced with an unquestionable, terrifying authority. "I am Evangeline. Your trial is over."

I froze, my breath catching in my bruised throat.

"You are a Sharpe," she continued, her tone smooth as silk. "A royal bloodline that bows to no Alpha. Everything you have endured was to awaken the Lycan dormant within you. You are coming home."

A bitter, hysterical laugh tore from my chest. A Lycan? A royal? It was the most absurd, sadistic script Dixon could have possibly written. They weren't done breaking me. They wanted to build me up with a fairy tale just to watch me crash back down into the dirt.

"Tell Dixon his joke isn't funny!" I roared, my voice cracking with raw agony. "Tell him he won!"

I didn't wait for her response. I hurled the phone across the room. It slammed into the wall and dropped to the floor. I curled into a tight ball, letting the darkness and physical exhaustion finally drag me under.

Morning light stabbed through the grimy window, waking me with a pounding headache. My jaw throbbed violently where Dixon's boot had pinned me. I groaned, rolling over to retrieve my battered phone from the corner. The screen was spider-webbed with new cracks, but it still worked.

There was a notification. Not a mocking text from Dixon or Brennon. A banking alert.

I blinked, my blurry eyes struggling to focus on the screen. I rubbed them, my heart suddenly stopping in my chest.

*Available Balance: $100,000,000.00.*

I stopped breathing. One hundred million dollars.

This couldn't be a prank. Dixon was rich, but the Black Moon Pack didn't have this kind of liquid cash to throw into a fake app interface. This was real. The cold, hard numbers stared back at me, violently clashing with the pathetic reality of my dorm room.

My hands shook violently as I dialed the unknown number from last night. It rang only once.

"I see the trust fund has been activated," Evangeline's voice answered, completely unbothered by my outburst the night before.

"Who... who are you?" I choked out, staring at the impossible string of zeros on my screen.

"I told you. I am your sister, Evangeline," she said, her tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather. "I will be returning to Jork tonight to see you. I just have to finish dealing with the North American Alpha King. He’s been a bit... disobedient lately."

The casual mention of disciplining an Alpha King—a being whose mere command could force an entire Pack to their knees—shattered the last remnants of my reality.

The phone slipped slightly in my sweaty grip. I looked down at my chest. The black marker was still there, but the despair that had chained me to the floor was evaporating. In its place, that ancient, dormant heat flared into a raging inferno, whispering promises of absolute power.

Aden POV

The phone slipped slightly in my sweaty grip. I stared at the glowing screen until my eyes burned, half-expecting the string of zeros to vanish into thin air. One hundred million dollars. It wasn't a cruel glitch. It was a weapon.

I slowly lowered the device and looked around my pathetic dorm room. The peeling wallpaper. The garbage bags overflowing with crushed aluminum cans I’d collected just to survive. And then, my eyes fell to my own chest. The cheap white fabric of my T-shirt was stained with dried blood and dirt from Dixon’s combat boot, the thick black ink screaming *WOLFLESS LOSER*.

Yesterday, those words had broken me.

I closed my eyes, and the memories from the locker room flooded my mind. Sylvia’s sickeningly sweet moan against Dixon’s neck. Her mocking laughter as she called me a scentless, wolfless puppy. The suffocating, arrogant weight of Dixon’s Alpha pheromones trying to force me into submission, and Brennon’s cruel fifty-dollar tip fluttering to the wet tiles.

But the crushing despair that had choked me for two years was entirely gone.

In its place, a terrifying, glacial calm settled over my mind. Deep in my marrow, the dormant Lycan stretched its massive, shadowy limbs. The heat in my veins wasn't the impotent frustration of an Omega anymore; it was the ancient, calculating fury of an apex predator waking up to a world of prey. I didn't want to weep over a broken heart. I wanted to hunt. I wanted to watch Dixon Cooper choke on his own arrogance.

I clenched my fists, feeling a terrifying new strength humming beneath my bruised skin. I could destroy them. With this money and the Sharpe name, I could buy the Black Moon Pack and burn it to the ground.

But as the violent fantasies flared in my brain, a different memory pierced the darkness.

A warm smile. A gentle hand offering me a sandwich when I hadn't eaten in two days.

*Brooklyn Taylor.*

The university basketball coach. In a world ruled by vicious Alpha pheromones and brutal Pack hierarchies, she was the only one who looked at me like a person, not a disease. She was a Healer from a neutral Pack, and she had stepped between me and Dixon’s Warriors more times than I could count, demanding they treat me with basic dignity.

Today was her twenty-eighth birthday.

I took a deep breath, forcing the predatory red haze back down. If I let this ancient rage completely take over, I would be no better than Dixon—just a monster with a bigger bank account. Before I tore my enemies apart, I needed to anchor my humanity. I needed to honor the one person who had shown me grace when I had absolutely nothing.

I was going to buy her the greatest gift this city had to offer.

I gripped the hem of my ruined T-shirt and ripped it over my head. I threw the marked fabric into the trash can, watching it crumple among the empty beer cans. It felt like shedding a dead, pathetic skin. I walked to the tiny sink, splashing freezing water on my face and scrubbing the dried blood from my jaw.

I pulled on a clean, faded gray hoodie and my worn-out sneakers. They were still the clothes of a beggar, but the boy wearing them was dead.

I shoved my cracked phone into my pocket and unlocked my door. I was heading to The Azure Galleria, the most exclusive luxury shopping district in Jork City. It was a sanctuary for high-ranking wolves, a place where the air was thick with expensive perfumes and pure Alpha dominance. A place where a "wolfless" stray like me was strictly forbidden.

I stepped out into the crisp morning air, my jaw set. Let them judge my clothes. Let them sneer at my lack of scent. The trial was over.