"Damn her," Erica snapped, her frustration flaring like unstable pack energy. "My father only has Anastasia in his eyes. I might as well not exist."
Her voice carried the kind of emotional imbalance younger wolves often showed when they couldn't secure Alpha attention within their own bloodline.
She turned abruptly. "Hayley, let's go shopping. We'll watch a movie too."
"Alright," I replied calmly. "I'll follow your plan."
Outwardly, I matched her pace. Inside, I was already calculating time, opportunities, and proximity. I had nothing urgent anchoring me anymore—only space to observe, wait, and reposition.
Erica continued complaining about Francis, her father, but I barely listened. Her emotions were loud, but unfocused. My mind stayed elsewhere.
After the conference, Francis called for a lunch gathering. No one declined. In pack-run corporate territory, refusal from an Alpha elder was not an option—it was a silent breach of hierarchy.
Anastasia followed without resistance.
