---- Yeats glanced at her again and thought, Bonding with Lily and making her Luna... maybe that's the better choice now. Just then, there was a knock at the door. The Beta stepped in with urgency. "Alpha, the press is gathering outside. They're demanding a statement." Yeats nodded calmly. "Let them in." Within minutes, reporters flooded the office. Cameras flashed, microphones were raised. Yeats, Lily, and Yelena settled on the plush couch, their posture perfect, smiles composed. "Alpha Yeats," one reporter asked, "there's a trending story about your helper trying to claim the position of Luna. How are you addressing this?" Yeats smiled with polite detachment. "The helper has already been dismissed." Gasps rippled through the reporters. "Does that mean you've found your new Luna?" another asked, eyes darting toward Lily. ---- Though the question was indirect, everyone turned their attention to her. Lily looked down shyly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, playing to be modest. Before Yeats could respond, Yelena leaned forward with enthusiasm. "I've told Daddy so many times-I want Aunt Lily to be my mom!" Laughter broke out among the reporters. All eyes turned back to Yeats, waiting for confirmation. He smiled broadly, warmth in his gaze. "If it's possible, I hope the relationship between me and Lily can grow into something more." Applause erupted. Cameras clicked frantically. Someone shouted, "First Family of CrimsonMoon!" as photo captions lit up with the headline. The room was basked in celebration-until a sudden shout silenced everything. "Check the trending feed! That helper... she might be ---- dead!" The room went still. Reporters stared at their phones. Murmurs grew. Brows furrowed. The Beta walked quickly to Yeats and handed him a phone. Avideo was playing. Yeats stared, confused. The footage showed the outside of the den-their den. A crowd of strangers blocked the narrow entryway. They were screaming, holding signs, and chanting insults. Jasmin stood at the door, cornered. They hurled rocks at her, buckets of red paint splattering across her body. She stumbled again and again, her clothes soaked, her skin bloodied. She pulled out her phone, desperate. Her mouth moved-silent in the video-but her face said everything: despair. Fear. Betrayal. ---- Then, a final rock hit her head. She staggered forward, eyes fluttering, and collapsed. Her head hit the ground hard. Blood pooled behind her skull, mixing with the red paint into a dark, spreading stain. In the middle of that crimson pool, I lay motionless- eyes slowly closing. Yelena screamed. "Mother!" Her voice pierced through the room. Cameras captured it all. Reporters froze, recording her cry. Every device in the room caught the moment, their earlier excitement now drowned in horror. Yeats's hands trembled. The smile that had once played on his lips vanished. The image on screen burned into his mind-Jasmin lying in a pool of her own blood, betrayed, forgotten, and dying alone.