Chapter 1
Chapter One
Isabella’s POV
Seven Years Later
You better not be late for the presentation, or I’m going to personally fire your ass, no matter what Bancroft thinks.
And good morning to you, too, asshole. I said in my head, dreading yet another day I would have to face my problematic supervisor.
I stared at the framed diploma on my nightstand—Summa Cum Laude, Business Administration—and felt nothing. I didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment, just the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who’d fought for everything they had.
The Ravencrest name had opened doors. The finest prep school, an Ivy League education, opportunities most wolf shifters could only dream of. But every door came with a price tag written in blood: charity case, bastard child, the whore’s daughter.
I could still hear their voices in my head, like permanent ink etched into my skull.
“Must be nice getting everything handed to you.”
“I heard she’s not really a Ravencrest. That she’s just some stray Dimitri’s father felt sorry for.”
“Charity project.”
By senior year of high school, Charity Project had become my nickname. The popular wolf shifters whispered it loud enough for me to hear, wrote it on my locker, made sure I never forgot exactly what I was: an obligation. A burden. A debt being reluctantly repaid.
My alarm beeped, dragging me out of my thoughts. 7:45 AM.
Shit.
I threw on some makeup to hide my pale, hollow face, grabbed my nearly worn-out blazer and my one-size-fits-all bag, and dashed out of my room in the arctic wasteland that was the third floor of Ravencrest mansion.
Make no mistake—I was no Cinderella. Not even remotely close. And I didn’t believe in the fantasy of finding a prince charming. Not because I didn’t want to, but because people like me didn’t dare to dream of that kind of life.
I wasn’t running because I was late for work—that didn’t start until nine, and Ravencrest Global was only thirty minutes away at most. I was running because breakfast in the mansion was at eight, and the last thing I wanted was to share a room with Maia Ravencrest.
Or Dimitri.
I’d spent the last seven years like a ghost in this mansion.
The insults and constant reminders that I was a bastard child, unwanted and barely tolerated, still came regularly.
But I’d learned to avoid situations that invited them.
Which meant skipping breakfast, lunch, dinner—anything that would put the three of us in the same room.
I made it down the grand staircase and straight to the dining room. Empty. Thank God.
I didn’t need to survey the array of foods to know what I’d stuff into my mouth. Bacon and pancakes. And coffee, obviously.
I checked my watch. 7:56 AM. Four minutes to eat and get out.
I shoved a full pancake into my mouth, threw in some bacon, and tried to flush it down with lukewarm coffee. I might choke to death, but honestly, that seemed preferable to any interaction with Maia.
I was munching so loudly—etiquette be damned—that I didn’t hear the door open.
“What are you doing?”
I froze mid-chew.
That wasn’t Maia. That was Dimitri.
I would recognize his deep, rich voice anywhere. Even in my dreams. And fuck me, he’d just caught me with a whole pancake stuffed in my mouth like a chipmunk.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to look at him.
Dimitri leaned against the doorframe like he owned every oxygen molecule in the room.
He was dressed in a charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms, the fabric pulling taut across his shoulders.
His tie hung undone around his neck—as if even formalwear didn’t dare tell him what to do—and his black slacks fit in that maddening way that suggested they’d been tailored with sinful precision.
He looked infuriatingly put-together for someone who definitely hadn’t planned on walking into a pancake massacre at eight in the morning.
His face was confused—those perfectly carved brows arched up, a questioning look in his dark eyes.
Behind him, Maia’s expression was one of pure disgust.
Just like that, I felt small. Like the thirteen-year-old girl Uncle Asher had brought into a home where she didn’t belong.
“The bastard is eating at the table again,” Maia said, her eyes sweeping over my outfit with undisguised contempt. She wrinkled her nose as though my presence physically offended her before moving toward her designated seat beside Dimitri’s at the head of the table. “How very generous of us.”
I suddenly lost my appetite. The food in my mouth tasted like ash, refusing to go down, but I forced myself to swallow.
Dimitri was still staring at me, brows cocked, waiting for an answer. What are you doing?
“I…” My voice came out small, trampled. “I’m going to be late.”
Dimitri’s gaze moved lazily to his wrist, pulling back the sleeve of his charcoal suit to check his watch. “It’s only eight. Sit and have breakfast. You can ride with me to the office.”
His voice was devoid of emotion, of warmth.
“Um n-no. That won’t be necessary. I—”
“What? It’s not enough that she sits at the same table as us?” Maia’s voice rose. “Now you want to invite the trash into your car? Aren’t you tired of seeing her cheap face?”
“Enough, Mother.” Dimitri’s tone was casual, dismissive, as he took his seat.
Without any fight left in me, I dropped my bag and sat through breakfast in silence.
I’d learned over the years to keep my head down, my mouth shut, my pain invisible. Even when Maia’s words cut sharper than any blade or claw ever could.
The drive to Ravencrest Global was torture.
Dimitri had discarded his suit jacket in the back seat and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Now he gripped the steering wheel with capable hands that made my mouth go dry.
I should have been reviewing my presentation notes. Instead, I was ogling my stepbrother’s forearms.
The way the muscles flexed when he shifted gears. The dusting of dark hair. The silver watch catching the morning light.
I was pathetic.
“Isabella.”
I jerked my gaze away, heat flooding my face. “Huh?” I blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He shot me a brief glance, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have said there was worry etched on his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, his mask of neutrality sliding back like a permanent feature.
“I said you shouldn’t rush while you are eating.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me.” His jaw tightened. “Just act right. You’re supposed to be the Alpha’s…stepdaughter. Alpha stepdaughters do not act uncouth.”
My throat tightened and the backs of my eyelids burned, but I bit back the emotion and nodded.
For seven years, Dimitri kept his deathbed promise to Uncle Asher.
Every time Lady Maia lost it, screaming and ready to tear into me, he showed up, cool, steady, stepping in, shutting it down.
I told myself it was an obligation, not…
affection. He wasn’t shielding me; he was silencing a liability, sparing the pack the scandal of its dirty secret.
That truth should have numbed me. Instead, it lodged like a splinter under my ribs, a dull, stubborn ache that hurt worse for being nameless.
Despite the hollowness in my chest, I wouldn’t break. I had something to prove—to Edmund, to the pack, to myself.
And to Dimitri.
And that started with nailing this presentation.
By noon, the executive members of Ravencrest Global were gathered in the boardroom.
Dimitri sat at the head—CEO and Alpha-in-waiting.
Edmund Bancroft to his right. He was the pack’s Beta, Uncle Asher’s best friend, and a gift from the Moon Goddess to me, because he’d ensured I had all the resources I needed to thrive in high school and college.
He was also the one who secured my internship at Ravencrest Global—and the only person who didn’t look at me like I was the epitome of hatred.
Maia was there too, because she held shares in the company and would never miss an opportunity to watch me crumble. Other pack members filled the remaining seats, all watching me with varying degrees of hostility.
And finally, Marcus Chen, who’d made the impossible choice this morning: he’d assigned me, an intern, to lead the full due-diligence report for the Castellanos acquisition in Texas.
A report that would determine whether the company moved forward with a deal worth tens of millions—work normally reserved for senior analysts.
And he’d given me two weeks.
It was a setup. I knew it. Marcus never forgave me for pointing out an error in one of his reports during a partner review, even though I’d meant it as a way to help, not embarrass him.
Since then, he’s made it his mission to prove I’m unworthy of the position I was “handed”. The Castellanos deal was just another setup to watch me crash and burn so spectacularly that even Edmund couldn’t save me.
And Dimitri would see. Dimitri would witness my failure and confirm what everyone already believed: that I was dead weight, a charity case who didn’t belong.
I had two choices. Prove them wrong. Or prove them right.
With unsteady hands, I set up my laptop and the projector. Every sleepless night and sacrificed weekend had led to this moment—countless hours dissecting financial records and running scenarios until the numbers became as familiar as my own reflection.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “I’m here to present the revised terms of the Castellanos merger.”
I watched their expressions shift as I laid out my findings—the hidden debts buried in their books, the toxic assets we would have absorbed, the restructured terms that would protect Ravencrest Global while still offering the Castellanos a lifeline.
My projections showed how my version would save the company millions.
When I finished, silence hung in the air.
Oh God. Had I miscalculated? Missed something obvious? My palms were sweating, my heart hammering so loud I was certain everyone could hear it.