The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the human town's market square as I wandered between the stalls, breathing in the mingled scents of fresh bread and blooming flowers. Here, among humans who knew nothing of pack hierarchies or mate bonds, I could pretend to be just another woman selecting roses for her dining table. My fingers traced the velvet petals of a deep crimson rose, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine Ethan's face when he saw them on our table tonight. Three years together, and I still hoped for those rare moments when his cold facade would crack, revealing glimpses of the mate bond I believed lay dormant beneath. "Beautiful choice," the elderly vendor said, her weathered hands wrapping the stems in brown paper. "Someone special?" "My mate," I replied softly, the word still sending a flutter through my chest despite everything. The woman's knowing smile faltered as a chill swept through the warm evening air. The market sounds—haggling voices, children's laughter, the clink of coins—seemed to dim as four figures materialized from the crowd. Victoria Taylor stood at their center, her blonde hair catching the dying light like spun gold. Three Delta wolves flanked her, their presence turning the peaceful market into a hunting ground.