From the top of the grandstand, the Duke of Devonshire, Rowan, watched the racetrack with the same meticulous attention he usually devoted to the affairs of his duchy. He was a man of elegant bearing, his presence commanded respect, and his gaze, always alert, seemed to pick up on even the subtlest of details. But that afternoon, in the heart of the English countryside, something broke his usual composure. A heady, warm, and deeply familiar scent pierced the bustle of the crowd, like an irresistible whisper of destiny.

The air seemed to vibrate with a different energy, and Rowan, almost without realizing it, followed the trail of that perfume until he found its source. Amid the crowd, he saw her. The woman to whom that scent belonged stood, her figure wrapped in a long, white dress that shimmered in the sunlight, and a delicate umbrella held gracefully in her hand. Despite the distance, her green eyes caught Rowan's gaze, and in that instant, he knew he had found his mate. His she-wolf.

However, the joy welling up in his chest was immediately quelled by a bitter realization: she was not free. She was married, and not to just any man, but to another alpha, his birthright rival. A marriage arranged to strengthen the bonds between two powerful wolf lines. Rowan felt hope crumble inside him, but he did not give up. He was not a man to be easily intimidated; he had always gotten what he wanted, and this time would be no different.