The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 430

Chapter 430

Scarlett Vale never doubted her charm.

To her, men were puzzles-and she always held the final piece.

Lucien Duskgrave would be no different.

She had conquered Maddox.

She had bent Ronan Duskcliff to her will.

And now, she would make the Alpha Prince of the Stormridge Pack fall at her feet-just like the rest.

No man had ever resisted her for long. Certainly not one cursed by fate.

Finished

Scarlett cast a sidelong glance at the regal woman seated beside her in the luxury car. Clad in crimson velvet, with raven-black waves cascading down her shoulders and a golden lupine crest glinting at her throat, Lady Seraphina Duskgrave was the image of High Luna elegance-refined, authoritative, and cold as polished obsidian.

The world believed she was Lucien’s mother.

Scarlett believed it too.

In truth, Seraphina was his stepmother. And though she wore the Duskgrave name with pride, she bore no love for the bastard prince her husband had fathered before their union.

Lucien was a reminder of the one stain on her otherwise flawless lineage-a boy born of another she-wolf, fated by the Moon Goddess herself, and more beloved by the aging Alpha King than she could ever accept.

But Scarlett Vale? She didn’t know any of this. Not yet.

To her, Seraphina was a gateway. And she knew how to open gates.

She smiled sweetly, all softness and sunshine. “Lady Seraphina, why did you leave Stormridge so suddenly and come all the way to Mooncrest? We were having so much fun in the North.”

She used her title with respect-but not too much. A calculated closeness. Familiar, but not overreaching.

From the moment Scarlett met her, she had crafted the perfect role: the charming, unthreatening southern pup with wide eyes and silken praise.

And Seraphina had let her play it.

Scarlett remembered their first meeting-how she’d gasped in admiration, eyes sparkling like a pup seeing her first full moon. “Your skin’s unreal, your posture, your power… You walk like royalty. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the Moon Matron herself.”

Flattery-expertly dosed.

And Seraphina, who was surrounded by wolves that feared her more than adored her, had found it… amusing.

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Chapter 430.

Now, Seraphina’s crimson lips curved slightly. “My mother-in-law’s birthday. The old matron turns eighty today. I came out of duty.”

Scarlett widened her eyes with feigned surprise. “What? You’re married? Gods, I was about to introduce you to my brother. He’s going to be devastated when he hears Stormridge’s most beautiful she-wolf is already

claimed.”

A ghost of laughter escaped Seraphina’s throat. “You truly think I look young enough to be unmarried?”

Scarlett tilted her head and pouted. “You don’t look a day over thirty, I swear. I’m twenty-three-you couldn’t be more than three or four years older.”

Seraphina let out a soft exhale. Not quite a laugh. More like a breath caught between indulgence and

weariness.

“Scarlett, there’s something you should know.”

Scarlett leaned in eagerly. “What is it?”

“I’m forty-eight. I married into the Duskgrave.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened in dramatized disbelief. “No way. If you’re forty-eight, then I must be a century old.”

Seraphina’s gaze drifted out the window for a brief moment-toward the distant tree line of Mooncrest, where the estate loomed like a shadowed fortress. “I’ve had many years to learn the art of appearances.”

Scarlett clutched Seraphina’s arm. “You have to teach me your secrets. If I can age like you, I’ll have Alphas fighting duels over me until I’m ninety.”

Seraphina gave her a long, unreadable look. Her smile was polite, but her eyes held something else- calculating. Cold. Amused.

She knew what Scarlett was doing.

And she wasn’t stopping her.

“You’re a clever girl,” Seraphina said quietly. “But cleverness isn’t everything in the North. You’d do well to

remember that.”

Scarlett blinked, momentarily thrown. “Of course, Lady Seraphina. I’m only trying to learn from the best.”

She tucked herself closer, resting her head lightly against the woman’s shoulder with practiced familiarity. “Still, I meant it. You’re radiant. I hope one day I can carry myself the way you do.”

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