Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Isabella’s POV
“Would you like anything else, ma’am?”
I accepted the glass of champagne the private jet attendant held out to me with an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Scott. And no, I’m good.”
“And how about little Miss Adele here?”
I followed his gaze to the small girl whose back was turned to us as she pressed her face against the window, taking in the sight of the clouds below.
I didn’t need to see her face to know her eyes were wide with wonder, her little jaw slightly open in awe.
It was an especially cloudy and beautiful evening—the kind where the sunset painted the sky in streaks of gold and rose, turning the clouds into something magical.
I laughed softly. “I think she’s occupied with more fascinating things right now.”
“All right then. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me, Ms. Crawford.”
I grimaced inwardly at the formality. “Please, Scott. Call me Estelle.”
“Right. Estelle.” He smiled warmly and walked away, disappearing toward the front of the cabin.
I took a sip of my champagne, then clicked open my iPad to continue the due diligence reading on what Alexander termed, “Crane’s next big project”. But the sound of Adele gasping over something she saw outside made me look up.
As I glanced out the window at the endless expanse of sky, I felt my own thoughts drift away.
It had been five years since I’d felt the Mate bond shatter, taking pieces of my soul with it.
Five years since I’d run from the Ravencrest mansion, feeling like my entire world had crumbled into ash and dust. Five years since I’d been Isabella Garrett.
The whore’s daughter. The charity case. The girl who didn’t belong anywhere.
Now, I was Estelle Crawford. Vice President of Crane Internationale, one of the most powerful tech conglomerates in Europe.
The name change had been a necessity, an armor against my past, representing everything Isabella Garrett never was and never could be.
Estelle was a woman who commanded boardrooms, closed multimillion-dollar deals, and earned every ounce of respect through sheer brilliance and relentless determination.
Plus, they couldn’t track Estelle Crawford. That was another crucial reason for the change. I didn’t want to be found. The night I left Virginia, I’d wanted to shed every trace of that weak, naive girl who’d been foolish enough to believe an Alpha could love her.
I took another sip of champagne, letting myself feel the quiet satisfaction of how far I’d come.
The transformation still felt surreal sometimes, like I was living someone else’s life.
But I’d learned that those motivational quotes weren’t complete bullshit after all—you really could become anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.
With the right motivation, of course.
It hadn’t made sense to me at eighteen. Back then, I’d spent my entire teenage years trying to be someone who could be accepted, respected. But what I’d realized, in the most painful way ever, was that I’d had the wrong motivation all along.
I glanced over at Adele, still staring in wonder at the clouds, her small hand pressed against the window. My daughter.
That right there was my motivation. The best motivation.
She was the ultimate reason I’d climbed from intern to Vice President in just five years.
It was unheard of in most companies, especially those dominated by wolf shifter hierarchy, where positions like mine were typically reserved for Betas or other high-ranked pack members.
But Alexander Crane was perhaps the most unbiased man I’d ever met, someone who believed in fairness and merit above all else.
In his company, any position was open to anyone willing to work hard enough and prove themselves capable.
He didn’t care about traditional timelines or corporate politics or pack status.
He cared about results.
And I’d delivered plenty of them.
The Bergmann merger that everyone said was impossible? I’d closed it in six months. The AI acquisition that was hemorrhaging money? I’d turned it profitable within the year. The expansion into Asian markets that the board called “too risky”? Now it was our fastest-growing division.
I’d proven myself over and over until even the old guard who’d resented my rapid rise had to admit I’d earned my position.
Six months ago, at Crane’s Annual Gala, Alexander had made the shocking announcement that left half the company stunned, naming me Vice President in front of hundreds of executives and stakeholders.
Yeah. I was pretty damn good at what I did.
I leaned back against the plush leather sofa, crossing one leg over the other, allowing myself a small, satisfied smile. A moment of pride. Thinking about how much I’d achieved in five years, and how Alexander Crane had been instrumental in that transformation, brought genuine warmth to my chest.
He’d changed my life. Pulled me out of a dark place I’d thought would swallow me whole, consume me until I lost all will to live.
But then the warmth faded, replaced by something colder. Darker.
My thoughts drifted back to that night, and my features clouded with the familiar mix of sadness and anger that still hadn’t fully left me after all these years.
I remembered running to the train station. Yes, running.
The Grace Train Station was at least three hours away from the Ravencrest mansion on foot, and I’d run the entire distance in heels and a formal dress.
The pain of my feet, the exhaustion, the stares from passersby who saw my disheveled state—none of it mattered.
No humiliation could possibly trump what Dimitri had done to me in front of the entire pack.
In front of hundreds of witnesses who’d watched him destroy me with a handful of words.
By the time I’d stumbled into the train station, it was nearly midnight. I’d collapsed onto a bench in the waiting area, my body finally giving out.
And then it dawned on me. I had absolutely nowhere to go.
I’d thought about going back to my mother’s hometown, the small cluster of houses near the Virginia border where we’d lived before she died. But that wasn’t far enough. Anyone looking for me would check there first, if anyone even bothered to look.
I was still sitting there at midnight, sobbing quietly into my hands, when an old woman approached me.
Her locs were threaded with cowrie shells, and she wore a long, flowing dress the color of deep amethyst—the exact kind you’d expect on a movie-set fortune teller. Her face was weathered but kind, her eyes sharp and knowing.
“You shouldn’t be like this in your state,” she said gently, holding out a bottle of water.
My state?
What did she know about my state? Had news of Dimitri’s rejection already traveled this far? Was I already the subject of pack gossip, social media posts, news headlines?
I felt myself shrink, my face falling, unable to meet her eyes.
But the woman sat down beside me and pressed the water bottle into my hands. “Here. Drink this. You look…exhausted, child.”
I looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, searching her face for recognition, for judgment. But there was only pity in her gaze. Concern.
“I don’t know what has you looking like this,” she continued softly. “But you should take care of yourself.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to my stomach. “If not for you, then for them.”
I blinked, more tears spilling involuntarily.
Them?
What did she mean by…
Then I felt it. A wave of nausea so sudden and violent it shook me. I lurched off the bench and stumbled to a nearby trash can, retching violently. There wasn’t much in my stomach to expel—I’d barely eaten at the ceremony—but my body heaved anyway.
When the nausea finally subsided, I slumped against the wall, trembling.
And that’s when it hit me.
I hadn’t had my period in over a month.
My hands flew to my stomach as my mind raced back through the past weeks. Dimitri and I had made love—no, he’d fucked me—in his study. And he hadn’t used protection. And he’d finished inside me, and—
Oh God.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I can’t be pregnant.”
An announcement crackled over the station’s speakers, alerting passengers to an arriving train.
The woman came up beside me. “I have to go now, child. But please, take care of yourself and your baby. You shouldn’t be out in the cold too long. Not in your condition.”
And then she was gone.
I was pregnant.
The words hit me like a freight train, and I stood there in that grimy train station, my heart pounding against my chest, my hands trembling.
What the hell was I supposed to do with this?
My thoughts were moving a hundred miles an hour, spinning through possibilities, none of them good.
I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay here—not with his shadow haunting every corner of Virginia, not with this secret growing inside me.
The memory of his mother’s bitter resentment, accumulated over years, weighed heavily on me.
I could still feel Selena’s grip in my hair, her mocking laughter as she humiliated me in front of everyone.
And Dimitri—his voice cold and detached as he recited his rejection vows, as though I were nothing more than a stranger. He hadn’t even flinched.
I couldn’t let this child grow up with a father like him. I couldn’t let him know. No one could.
I fumbled through my bag for my phone, desperate to buy a ticket to anywhere, as long as it was away from Virginia. A card slipped out, catching the weak light above, and that’s when I saw it: the business card Alexander Crane had given me on my last night in Zurich.
I picked it up, my fingers brushing over the numbers on the card. Was this my lifeline? Goddess, I hoped so.