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.

Aden POV

The Azure Galleria was a temple of excess, a sprawling indoor sanctuary of marble and glass where Jork City's elite came to flaunt their wealth. The air here was thick, suffocatingly heavy with the meticulously crafted pheromones of dominant Alphas and high-society Lunas. It was an invisible, rigid hierarchy of scent, and as I walked through the gleaming corridors in my faded gray hoodie and worn-out sneakers, I was a ghost.

I stepped into Sanderson Profumeria, the crown jewel of the Galleria. The boutique was blindingly pristine, designed in stark, minimalist white that made the colorful, diamond-shaped perfume bottles pop under the spotlights.

Before browsing for Brooklyn's gift, I headed toward the back corridor to use the restroom.

"Excuse me, sir."

A female sales associate stepped into my path. Her makeup was flawless, her smile entirely synthetic. As her eyes dropped to my scuffed sneakers, the smile vanished. I watched her perfectly contoured nose twitch slightly as she took a subtle breath, searching for an Alpha or even a basic Warrior scent. Finding nothing, her eyes hardened with undisguised contempt.

"The restrooms are strictly reserved for our esteemed guests," she said, her tone dripping with polite venom.

The old Aden would have flushed with shame and walked away. But the dormant Lycan in my blood stirred, sending a wave of glacial, calculating anger through my veins. I didn't argue. I just met her gaze with a dead, cold stare.

"I am browsing," I said flatly, stepping around her and continuing down the hall.

As the restroom door clicked shut behind me, I heard her mutter to a colleague, "Scentless and shameless."

I splashed cold water on my face, letting the chill center me. I had a hundred million dollars in my pocket. Their petty judgments meant nothing anymore.

But as I pushed the restroom door open to return to the showroom, a sound froze the blood in my veins. A familiar, breathy giggle.

I stopped behind a sleek display pillar. There, standing at the main counter, were Sylvia and Dixon.

Sylvia was wrapped around Dixon's arm like a parasitic vine, her body pressed flush against his side as she greedily inhaled the dark pine and heavy musk radiating from him. Dixon had his large hand resting possessively on her hip, deliberately pushing his Alpha pheromones into the air to claim his territory.

The mixture of his arrogant musk and her sweet vanilla scent hit the back of my throat. Yesterday, it would have broken my heart. Today, it just made me physically nauseous. Looking at her flushed, fawning face, she looked terrifyingly like a stranger. She wasn't a girl I loved; she was just a hollow shell chasing the strongest scent in the room.

My Lycan roared in the back of my mind—a primal, territorial fury demanding I tear the throat out of the male touching what was once mine. I forced the beast down, watching them closely.

"Oh, Dixon, look at this one," Sylvia cooed, pointing to a stunning, diamond-shaped purple bottle resting on a velvet pedestal under a spotlight.

The sales associate—the same one who had stopped me—beamed. "Ah, the *Liquid Diamond*. Crafted by the legendary perfumer Adelard. It contains pure Moonpetal extract, designed to amplify and beautify a dominant wolf's pheromones to absolute perfection. It is our most exclusive piece."

Dixon puffed out his chest, eager to play the omnipotent future Alpha. "Wrap it up. Only the best for my future Luna."

"Right away, sir," the associate purred. "That will be three hundred thousand dollars."

Dixon's arrogant smirk instantly evaporated. His hand, reaching for his wallet, froze mid-air. He stared at the bottle, his jaw tightening as the reality of the price tag hit him. The Black Moon Pack was wealthy, but dropping three hundred grand on a whim for a college girlfriend was clearly beyond his limit.

Sylvia looked up at him, her eyes wide with greedy anticipation.

Dixon cleared his throat, his face flushing slightly. He quickly pulled his hand back. "Actually... no. That scent doesn't suit you, babe. It's too... aggressive. Let's look at the jewelry store next door."

He tugged her arm. Sylvia's face fell, a flash of bitter disappointment cracking her perfect, submissive mask before she quickly hid it.

Dixon was embarrassed. His Alpha pride had just taken a massive hit in front of his new prize and the store staff. He needed to reassert his dominance, to find someone lower on the food chain to crush.

As he turned, his golden eyes locked onto me standing by the pillar.

His posture instantly straightened, the humiliation morphing into a cruel, predatory grin. He let go of Sylvia and took a step toward me.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Dixon sneered, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet, pristine boutique. "A 'wolfless' stray sniffing around places he doesn't belong?"

Sylvia turned, her eyes widening in shock before twisting into a look of absolute disgust, as if she had just stepped in something foul.

I didn't flinch. I didn't cower. I just looked past Dixon's broad shoulders, my eyes locking onto the girl who had sold her soul for a man who couldn't even buy her a bottle of perfume.

*Bitch.*

Aden POV

Dixon’s cruel, predatory grin widened as he stepped toward me, eager to redirect the humiliation of his empty wallet onto an easier target. He gestured broadly to the gleaming glass displays and the pristine white marble of Sanderson Profumeria.

"This place reeks of power, Omega," Dixon sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. He deliberately pushed his dark pine pheromones toward me, trying to force my submission. "It must be suffocating for someone scentless like you. Go back to your trash cans; that's the only scent you'll ever be able to afford."

Beside him, Sylvia wrinkled her nose. She looked at me not with pity, but with raw, undisguised disgust, as if I were a cockroach that had just scurried across her designer shoes.

Yesterday, their words would have crushed me. Today, the dormant Lycan in my blood merely let out a low, calculating rumble. I didn't cower. I didn't look away. I walked right past Dixon’s broad shoulders, ignoring his Alpha posturing entirely, and stopped directly in front of the glass counter.

I pointed to the velvet pedestal under the spotlight. "I'll take the *Liquid Diamond*."

The snobbish female sales associate blinked, her synthetic smile twisting into a hard sneer. She took a subtle breath, confirming my absolute lack of scent, and crossed her arms. "Sir, this fragrance is crafted to amplify a dominant wolf's pheromones. On... you... it would be like putting a crown on a stray dog. Pointless."

I didn't argue. I reached into the pocket of my faded gray hoodie, pulled out the heavy, black Centurion Card, and placed it coldly on the glass counter.

Dixon barked a harsh, mocking laugh that echoed through the boutique. "A black card? You really expect us to believe a wolfless trash collector has a Centurion Card? It's a fake."

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed with venomous spite. She couldn't stand the idea that the boy she had discarded might dare to pretend he was anything more than dirt. She turned sharply toward the uniformed Pack Warrior standing on duty near the entrance.

"He's disturbing the future Alpha of the Black Moon Pack," Sylvia announced loudly, her voice shrill with malicious intent. "If his payment fails, he's not just a fraud, he's a challenger. You know the Pack law for dealing with insolent Omegas."

The Warrior’s eyes darkened. He stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding against the marble, his hand resting menacingly on his silver-tipped baton. The threat of violence hung thick in the air. Everyone in the store—the associate, the security, my ex-girlfriend, and my tormentor—waited eagerly for my destruction.

The sales associate picked up the heavy metal card with trembling, hesitant fingers. She swiped it through the terminal.

The machine processed. The silence in the boutique was absolute, broken only by the rapid, arrogant beating of Dixon's heart.

*Beep.*

The screen flashed a bright, undeniable green.

*Payment Approved: $300,000.00.*

The associate’s jaw practically unhinged. The color drained from her perfectly contoured face, leaving her looking like a ghost. Dixon’s mocking laughter died instantly in his throat, his golden eyes bulging as he stared at the terminal. Sylvia froze, her mouth slightly open, her brain completely short-circuiting at the impossible reality.

"S-sir," the associate stammered, her voice trembling with sudden, terrified reverence. She quickly boxed the perfume, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. "Your... your purchase."

I took the velvet box from her hands. The room was dead silent as I turned and walked slowly toward Sylvia.

Her eyes widened. A flicker of greedy, desperate hope suddenly replaced her shock. She thought I was still that pathetic, lovesick puppy. She thought I had just spent a fortune to win her back. As I extended the box toward her, she instinctively reached out, her manicured fingers brushing the velvet.

I opened my hand.

The box plummeted. It hit the marble floor with a sharp, explosive crash.

Purple liquid and shattered glass sprayed across the pristine white tiles, splashing violently onto Sylvia's bare legs and designer heels. The overwhelmingly potent scent of Moonpetal extract flooded the room, thick and suffocating.

Sylvia shrieked, jumping back.

I looked down at her, my voice dropping to a glacial, commanding octave that sent a visible shiver down her spine. "A scent to cover up the reek of desperation. On the house."

I didn't wait to see the furious, humiliated flush creeping up Dixon's neck. I turned my back on their stunned, pale faces and walked toward the exit, my worn-out sneakers crunching satisfyingly over the shattered glass of the *Liquid Diamond*.