The party at the Gagosian Gallery in SoHo was thick with the arrogance of new tech money and the scrutiny of old-money families.

The air was a mix of champagne, cologne, and wolf pheromones—a hunt disguised as a social gathering.

I was wearing a simple black slip dress, leaning against a floor-to-ceiling window, watching the traffic flow on the street below.

I didn't need to dress up; being the Winston heiress was the only armor I needed.

But I could feel him—Finn was here.

Even with my back to the entire party, I could feel his gaze on me like a physical touch, sliding down my spine, over my shoulder blades, and down the backs of my legs.

My skin was getting hot, and a familiar warmth pooled in my stomach.

Damn instincts.

"I'll bet a million she won't last three months."

The voice came from behind me, not loud, but clear enough.

I turned around. Three young Alphas were huddled together, whiskey glasses in hand, their eyes scanning me—evaluating me like a piece of property up for sale.

They were from a pack affiliated with the Carlisles, Kyle's "friends."

"Little Miss Winston thinks breaking a contract makes her independent?" one of them sneered. "She can't even manage a full wolf shift. She's as skinny as an Omega."

"I heard she's shorting the Carlisle family's stock," another added. "Pathetic revenge. She doesn't have a clue how Wall Street really works."

I put down my champagne flute.

The crisp sound of glass on marble made the three of them turn their heads.

"Sorry," I said with a smile as sweet as poison. "I think I heard someone... talking about me?"

They froze. No one expected me to walk right over.

"Claire," the one in the lead—Max, the son of some real estate developer—forced a smile. "We were just..."

"Evaluating my chances of survival?" I finished for him, taking a step forward. "Betting a million I won't last three months? How cheap."

I pulled out my phone, opened the Robinhood app, and pulled up my real-time positions.

"How about this," I said, turning the screen toward them. "I just used my personal account to short the stock of all three of your family's companies. Total position size... five million dollars."

The color drained from Max's face.

"You're insane! Those companies are—"

"Over 80% leverage, negative cash flow, and suspected fraud on last year's financial reports," I recited the data flawlessly. "The investigation notice from the SEC should be arriving on your fathers' desks next week."

The other two Alphas took an involuntary step back.

"Now," I put my phone away, my smile never wavering, "the bet has changed. I bet that your three companies will be bankrupt within six months. And when I win..."

I leaned in close to Max, my voice a whisper only he could hear.

"I want you to kneel before my brother Derek and admit that your family has only survived for three generations by licking the boots of the Carlisles."

His pheromones exploded—a scent of rage, fear, and the humiliation of a crushed Alpha ego.

But he didn't dare move.

Because behind me, Finn Hunter had just walked up.

He didn't say a word. He just came to stand by my side.

It was a simple action, but it made the air freeze.

The aura of a top-tier Alpha was like an invisible wall, pressing down on the three of them until they could barely breathe. Max's knees were visibly trembling—the primal fear of a lesser wolf in the presence of a superior.

But what was even more intense was the rush of Finn's pheromones as he stood next to me.

Bourbon. Amber. Desert storm.

And—possessiveness.

A raw, undisguised possessiveness radiated from him, completely enveloping me.

My body had a shameful reaction: my legs felt weak, my heart raced, and that familiar warmth deep in my belly grew hotter, wetter.

My wolf was snarling, wanting to release my own scent in response, to tangle with his, to mark him.

But I bit my lower lip, using the pain to stay in control.

"Playtime's over, boys," Finn's voice was lazy, but his eyes were locked on them like a predator on its prey. "Get lost. Before I decide I need a little... exercise tonight."

They practically ran away.

Finn turned to me, a smile in his eyes. "A five-million-dollar short? Seriously?"

"I had some spare cash in my account," I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. "And I was telling the truth. Those companies are on the verge of collapse."

"I wasn't talking about that." He stepped closer, his fingers gently tilting my chin up—a deeply possessive gesture. "I was talking about the way you looked when you provoked them."

His thumb brushed across my lower lip, smudging my lipstick.

"Your eyes turned gold, little wolf," his breath, smelling of bourbon, fanned across my face. "The hunt excites you."

I wanted to step back, but my back was against the glass window. There was nowhere to run.

And my body—shamefully—didn't want to.