Chapter 2

Valerie POV：

Thirty minutes later, the private VIP diagnostic wing on St. Jude’s top floor.

A clear medical sealant was already drying over the cut above my brow. Beside me, the automated gene-pulse sequencer let out a low, rhythmic drone as its cryo-probe pressed against the inside of my wrist.

It was supposed to be a standard baseline workup. But as the countdown hit zero, the sharp crash of breaking glassware echoed from the adjacent lab.

Footsteps scrambled frantically down the hall.

The triage nurse wrenched the door open. Her face was bleached bone-white, her chest heaving, staring at me as if I were a ghost stepping out of a myth.

"Miss Sinclair… please stay seated! Do not move!" Her hands shook so violently she dropped the digital chart. "Your… your blood sample just triggered an automatic Tier-Zero Red Lockdown. The Chief of Medicine is on his way!"

Before I could answer, the hallway erupted with the sharp rhythm of boots on tile.

Within five minutes, the entire private floor was locked down. Three department directors—the kind whose names only appeared on international medical journals—strode down the hall, flanked by plainclothes Federal Health Security officers who silently sealed off every exit.

On the sequencer’s own display beside my wrist, the waveform had gone berserk—a blinding, rhythmic golden spike hammering across the screen in violent bursts. Through the interior observation window partitioning off the adjacent lab, a cluster of gray-haired geneticists stood rooted to the floor, their faces frantic as they tracked the same impossible pattern on their monitors.

Ten minutes later, the door locked from the inside. Full acoustic dampeners engaged.

Professor Vaughn, the hospital's Chief Medical Consultant, stepped into the room. His hands were trembling as he slid a red-stamped classified dossier across the table toward me.

In the section designated for Inner Beast Classification, there was no rank. No Alpha, Beta, or Omega. Just a single, glowing line of ancient ancestral code.

"You’re not defective, child," the old professor whispered, his voice trembling with reverent dread. "Standard bio-scanners couldn't read your frequency because they're tuned for mortals. You are a Primordial Lunar Ancestor. The first to awaken in over two centuries."

I arched a brow. "And in plain English?"

"It means your biological profile can purge cellular necrosis, stabilize shattered cores, and force high-tier Alphas into ancestral bloodline evolution." Vaughn swallowed hard, his fingertip tapping the crimson federal decree stamped at the bottom of the page.

"A Primordial bloodline is classified as a sovereign strategic asset. Under the Federal Goddess Protection Accord, to guarantee your lineage thrives, you are not subject to standard marriage limits. In fact, federal law explicitly entitles you to take multiple lawful consorts—whether they are high-ranking warlords, pack commanders, or corporate titans. And should you claim them, they have no legal right of refusal. They will be bound to you as your subordinates."

Multiple legal consorts?

The very Alpha overlords who looked down on the world, forced to their knees before me?

Dorian POV：

The penthouse suite of Croft Tower was thick with the scent of my favorite Cuban cigars and Evelyn’s sickeningly sweet French perfume. Outside, rain whipped against the panoramic glass, but in here, I felt like a king.

I swirled my double scotch, watching the liquid catch the amber glow of the chandeliers.

"Dorian, baby..." Evelyn purred, gliding across the Persian rug. She wore only one of my black silk dress shirts, unbuttoned just low enough to bare her pale throat. Her lips pouted in an exquisite, rehearsed display of grievance. "Was I too harsh in the lounge earlier? You know... with that glass? What if Valerie actually gets furious and has her family's lawyers freeze our joint accounts?"

I let out a loud, mocking laugh, hooking an arm around her waist to pull her onto my lap.

"Furious? Let her be," I sneered, burying my face into the crook of her neck. "Valerie is a wolfless stray, Evelyn. The Sinclair name may be ancient, but her branch of the family treats her like spoiled milk. Who else in this city would spare a single glance for a defective female who can't even shift? Nobody. Only I was generous enough to keep her around for three whole years."

Evelyn giggled, tracing the sharp contour of my jaw with a manicured nail. "You're so cruel. But what about that stabilizing medicine she makes? Tomorrow morning is your grand CEO inauguration..."

"She’ll come crawling back before daybreak," I scoffed, taking a long, dismissive drag of my cigar. "She loves me like a starving dog loves a bone. Right now, she’s probably shivering on some curb, crying her eyes swollen, realizing she has nowhere to go. Give her two hours. She’ll be on her knees outside my lobby doors, begging me to take that vial."

I tossed my phone onto the coffee table. The screen lit up endlessly with group chat notifications from the elite pack heirs:

“Did you hear? Dorian finally dumped the wolfless deadweight.”

“Three years of free room and board, flushed straight down the toilet.”

“Saw her getting into a cheap yellow cab in the rain. She’s probably heading to a homeless shelter to beg for bread.”

I smiled, thoroughly savoring the spectacle.

Then, without warning, a white-hot wave of agony slammed through my left temple.

Crack.

The scotch glass slipped from my fingers, shattering violently against the hardwood floor.

My breath caught in my throat. A terrifying, burning agony clawed its way up my spinal cord. The slate-gray veins beneath my collar suddenly hardened like molten lead, pulsing at a vicious, erratic tempo. My vision blurred into static.

"Dorian?!" Evelyn shrieked, scrambling backward off my lap as I crashed to the floor on all fours. "What's wrong with you?!"

I tried to push myself up, but my right arm locked into a violent, uncontrollable tremor. Blood—dark, foul, and boiling hot—surged into my mouth. I coughed, spraying it across the rug in crimson splatters.

The medicine.

Over those three years, the daily herbal infusions that useless girl had quietly forced down my throat... they weren't just useless tea. They were the only thing that had been holding back the rot.

"Call her..." I gasped, my fingernails splintering against the oak planks as violent convulsions tore through my chest. "Evelyn... call Valerie! Get her back here right now!"