Rafael's POV:
I walked inside my room with a frown, stopping just before my bed, staring at the tuxedo laid perfectly on it. It was like trap, and I wanted to scream. This wasn't new, but I wasn't old Rafael either, who always chose to be a diplomat.
It was perfectly pressed, deep black with a subtle sheen, the family crest—a silver wolf with a flame-tipped tail—pinned to the lapel. The symbol of power. Of legacy. Of everything I should have been proud to represent.
But all I could feel was dread coiling through my stomach. Something felt wrong...
This party wasn’t just a celebration—it was a declaration. A display of influence, alliances, and a thinly veiled auction of future loyalties. Packs would come from all across the territories. Some to impress. Others to be impressed. And my
