The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 114

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 114**

In the dim light of the room, Magnus’s eyes flicked down to Aysel, whose stomach let out a soft, discontented growl. He instinctively placed a gentle hand over her abdomen, feeling the slight tension there.

“Hungry?” he inquired, his voice low and smooth, as if he were coaxing a shy animal from its hiding place.

Aysel offered a slight nod, her gaze momentarily drifting off as she contemplated her hunger. “I ate dinner too early,” she admitted, her tone laced with a hint of regret.

Magnus shot a quick, irritated glance at the live-stream flickering on the screen before them. The chaotic scene unfolding was a distraction he could do without. “Their death throes,” he remarked flatly, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. The absurdity of the situation was grating on his nerves, especially since it was delaying his carefully laid plans to whisk his little wolf away for a late-night hunt—or rather, a supper that promised to be more thrilling than the stale drama on the screen.

Aysel, sensing his frustration, reached out to pat his hand reassuringly. “It’ll end soon,” she promised, her voice softening the tension in the air.

She then picked up her phone, the screen lighting up with an incoming message. Aysel’s lips curved into a smile, a flicker of excitement dancing in her eyes. “They’re here,” she announced, her voice tinged with anticipation.

**Inside the Grand Theater**

Giovanna stifled a laugh at Celestine’s latest outburst, her amusement barely contained. Just as she prepared to voice her thoughts, the theater doors swung open with a sudden force, causing a hush to fall over the audience.

In the doorway stood several silhouettes, dramatically backlit, resembling a pack of wolves poised for a hunt. The cameraman, reacting instinctively, zoomed in on the scene unfolding before them.

And then, as if summoned by fate, the girl from the infamous leaked video—the one whose dance had sparked a scandal that rippled through the community—stepped into the spotlight. The audience erupted in a frenzy of chatter.

“HOLY—she’s here in person?!”

“Support the confrontation! Let them fight!”

Agnes, with her chin lifted in regal defiance, resembled a small yet fiercely proud swan. There was no trace of the “timid plagiarist” Celestine had painted her to be. “If I hadn’t shown up, Miss Celestine Ward, would you have smeared all eighteen generations of my ancestors next?” she declared, her wolfish tone slicing through the tension like a knife.

“You. Thief,” she added, her voice a low growl that resonated with the audience.

Her arrival was akin to the blast of a warrior’s horn, igniting a spark of determination among the supporters of the “little junior wolf.” But Celestine’s gaze was fixated on something else entirely: the thick, mismatched bandages wrapped around Agnes’s leg, partially hidden beneath her dress.

A few sharp-eyed viewers caught sight of it. “Wait—did she get hurt?”

“Why is her leg wrapped like that?”

Giovanna blinked, taken aback by her niece’s bold entrance. She had expected Agnes to leave the mess for her to handle, not to charge in with such fervor. As for the bandaged leg? She wasn’t concerned. She had personally witnessed Agnes wrapping it earlier that day, each circle of the bandage dramatic and deliberate. She had assumed Agnes was simply preparing for another performance class, not this theatrical showdown.

Regaining her composure, Giovanna raised an eyebrow, silently challenging Agnes with a look that said: Let’s see what performance you’ve cooked up now, little wolf.

Agnes stepped forward, her movements fluid and dramatic. She pointed an accusatory finger at Celestine, whose furious gaze seemed capable of piercing stone, and took a bold stride to the side. “Officers! It’s her! She’s the one who harmed me! Arrest her!”

The room erupted into chaos.

It was the first encounter between Agnes and Celestine, the recording revealing the truth in stark clarity. In the studio, it was Agnes dancing with grace, while Celestine stood outside, watching obsessively—completely opposite of what Celestine had portrayed.

Throughout their conversation, Celestine had subtly probed, extracting personal details, and thanks to Agnes’s meticulous editing, all her leading remarks were conveniently removed, leaving only vague statements that made it seem as though Celestine had deduced those details herself.

The live chat erupted into a storm of reactions.

“So she thought Agnes was some powerless pretty girl and decided she could just steal freely?”

“Terrifying—the Celestine in the video feels like a completely different wolf.”

“When Agnes refused to let her use the choreography, the look Celestine gave—Goddess above, I felt a chill.”

“What if Agnes can’t dance anymore because of that injury?!”

“This is vile. If even Giovanna’s niece gets treated like this, imagine how she treats ordinary wolves.”

“Celestine finally crashed. It wasn’t her first plagiarism incident anyway.”

The truth could no longer be ignored. The wolf responsible had been cornered, and the entire hall could sense it—the unmistakable scent of downfall, sharp and cold as the winter wind, enveloped them all.