Chapter 3

Amira POV:

The crystal chandeliers in the auction hall dimmed, leaving a sharp spotlight on the stage as the auctioneer in a tailored suit struck his gavel.

Brayden walked down the aisle with Doreen on his arm. Using his status, he forced a minor pack businessman two seats away from me to give up his spot, sitting down with a dark scowl.

"Amira, you had better remember your place tonight. Stop throwing yourself at other Alphas," Brayden's cold voice exploded inside my head through a forced mind-link projection.

In our world, while a wolfless person couldn't initiate a mind-link, a powerful Alpha could still force his telepathic voice into their head to issue orders. A sharp stabbing pain accompanied his mental intrusion as he tried to crush my will.

I sneered inwardly and raised an impenetrable mental barrier—a hidden gift of my dormant White Wolf bloodline—slamming his mental energy straight back at him like an iron door.

Two seats over, Brayden let out a muffled groan. His face turned ashen from the mental backlash, and he whipped his head around to glare at me in pure disbelief.

"What's wrong, Alpha?" Doreen asked softly, wrapping her delicate hands around his bicep.

"It's nothing," Brayden gritted out, staring at me as if trying to figure out how a genetic defect had just severed his link and made his head throb.

I didn't spare him a single glance, taking my bidding paddle from an attendant and keeping my eyes on the stage.

In the row ahead, a socialite in a diamond necklace turned around and raised her voice. "Oh my, isn't this the useless ornament from the Higgins manor? Why did she come here tonight? Can a wolfless freak even read a land deed?"

"She probably wants to buy some cheap weeds to fumigate her room, considering how sour she smells," the woman beside her giggled.

I tilted my head slightly, my gaze slicing across the two women. "If your brains are as cheap as the synthetic perfume you're wearing, I suggest you shut your mouths before you pollute the air in this VIP section."

The two socialites choked on their laughter, their faces flushing bright red before they spun back around in humiliation.

A low, amused chuckle sounded from diagonally behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it came from Callen. His crisp pine and tobacco scent wrapped around the back of my neck like a predator circling its chosen prey.

The auction officially began. The first few lots were rare healing herbs and combat gear, drawing fierce bids from the surrounding Packs. Soon, an attendant brought out a glowing plant said to boost inner wolf vitality—a Moonlit Herb.

Doreen's eyes lit up, and she tugged gently on Brayden's sleeve. "Alpha, doesn't that herb help with old silver wounds? It would be so good for your health..."

To show off his wealth and his favor toward her, Brayden raised his paddle without hesitation, winning the herb for twenty million dollars. Flattery immediately erupted from the nearby seats, and Doreen shot me a smug, victorious glance.

I rubbed my temples, hiding a cold smile. That plant was nothing more than common grass soaked in fluorescent potion; it would rot into black mud within three days. In my past life, Brayden had become the laughingstock of the entire business district over that exact weed.

"Next up is the final lot of the evening—the land deed to the abandoned heavy-metal mining zone in East Oakhaven," the auctioneer announced over the speakers.

As the giant screen displayed miles of barren, toxic black soil, the entire hall burst into laughter.

"A poisoned wasteland where not even weeds can grow has a starting price of one billion? Have the organizers lost their minds?"

"Even if you gave it to a Pack for free, nobody would pay the cleanup tax on that dump!"

The auctioneer wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The starting price is one billion dollars, with minimum increments of fifty million. Bidding begins now."

Dead silence fell over the room. Everyone sat back, waiting to watch the lot go unsold.

I took a slow breath, tightening my grip on the paddle. My memories of the future were crystal clear: next month, the Supreme Council would issue a top-secret decree designating East Oakhaven as the sole ecological sanctuary and core commercial hub on the continent. That toxic dirt was about to multiply in value a thousand times over.

I slowly raised my paddle into the air and parted my red lips. "One billion."

The auctioneer's voice trembled with excitement. "One billion! This beautiful lady bids one billion! Do I hear any higher?"

Brayden jerked his head toward me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Amira, are you insane? Put that paddle down right now!"

"You worry too much, Brayden," I replied flatly.

"One point five billion," a lazy, gravelly voice carrying absolute dominance rang out from behind my left shoulder.

The crowd gasped in unison. I whipped my head around, locking eyes with Callen's smirking gray gaze.

He leaned back lazily in his leather chair, his long fingers flipping a black titanium lighter—since silver was the only fatal poison to werewolves, no one ever carried silver items in daily life.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Higgins?" Callen drawled, his eyes glinting under the dim lights. "Is that all the courage you have?"