Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Dimitri’s POV
I stared out at the city through the floor-to-ceiling window of my office without really seeing any of it—the tall buildings, the bustling city, none of it. One thing clouded my thoughts. One woman. Isabella.
It had been a little over twenty-four hours since my encounter with her, and I hadn’t been able to think about anything else.
I remembered the moment I stepped into the executive lounge. Something felt different. My wolf had stirred, which was saying something, because I hadn’t felt him in five years.
I’d gotten used to the oppressive silence that had become my constant companion.
Living without him had been torture, like walking around with half my soul ripped out, leaving nothing but a gaping wound that never healed.
I could still shift—barely—but it was agony.
It was like trying to force something out that didn’t want to come.
Like dragging a blade from bone. My wolf was there but unreachable, locked away behind walls I couldn’t break through, no matter how hard I tried.
I’d read a few books at the pack library about my condition and scoured the internet for answers, but it all said the same thing: the bond between wolf and human was supposed to be unbreakable. Losing that bond usually meant death or madness.
And since I wasn’t dead—at least physically—and I wasn’t insane, I’d been living somewhere in between.
But the moment my eyes locked on Isabella across that ballroom, everything changed. It started with a stir. And then my wolf began clawing his way to the surface from the depths he’d been buried in for the last five years—as if trying to see something, to find something.
She’d changed. Gone was the tiny, delicate thing I remembered.
In her place stood a woman—all sharp cheekbones and defined features that spoke of strength rather than fragility.
Her figure had filled out into soft curves and full breasts that the elegant dress she wore did nothing to hide.
I noticed the color of her eyes had changed from their usual green to hazel.
Contacts, maybe. But even with all the changes, I could still recognize Isabella.
My wolf could still recognize her as mine.
Even in the midst of all those people bathed in expensive perfume, I could still make out her scent.
It had changed—sharper, mature, with an undertone of strength—but beneath it, I could still recognize the same familiar warmth that was Isabella.
I’d clung to that scent for years, replaying it in my mind, desperate to remember every note.
I’d lost her hair tie—the only thing tethering me to her—one night when my mother had one of her cleaning fits and had the entire east wing cleared out.
I hadn’t realized it was gone until it was too late.
Since then, I’d been groping for any trace of Isabella in the mansion, in Ravencrest, anywhere—but my mother had managed to erase it all.
Still, I refused to let her memory fade. On those endless nights that felt like torment, when sleep refused to come, I’d go to her room. Her scent had long since vanished, but I could still feel her there, like an echo in the walls, in the sheets, in the air itself.
And when even that wasn’t enough, I’d end up in my study—the place where I’d bonded with her—sitting on the same chaise lounge, my hands tracing the worn fabric her fingers once clutched. It was the only part of the house that still felt…alive.
When my eyes landed on the woman in the yellow dress, I knew instantly it was her. Yellow had always been her favorite color. She’d always glowed in it—radiant, like sunlight made into flesh. No one wore yellow like Isabella did. And that is how I knew it was her without even seeing her face.
The curve of her back, the tilt of her shoulders, the graceful confidence in her posture—it all hit me like a punch to the chest. And the moment she turned and our eyes met, my wolf roared to life.
Five years of silence shattered in an instant as my wolf howled with recognition, with joy, with desperate, clawing need—the kind of bone-deep relief that comes from finding something you thought you’d lost forever. It was like learning to breathe again after years of suffocation.
Even now, I could still feel him pacing beneath my skin with a determination I hadn’t felt in years. Or ever. And now that I’d had a taste of that feeling again—now that I knew what it was like to be whole—I’d be damned if I let it slip away.
Now I knew why I hadn’t been able to find her all these years. She’d changed her name to Estelle Crawford.
But it didn’t matter. She was still my Isabella.
My beautiful Isabella. She’d shed the softness of youth and emerged sharp, refined. Her jawline was more defined. Her body was leaner but with curves that made my mouth go dry. The way she carried herself was confident and powerful, like she owned every room she walked into.
And every man in that hall had noticed. I’d seen the way they looked at her—the hunger in their eyes—and my wolf had snarled with possessive rage.
Especially when I saw her goddamn date, Marcus William, or whatever the fuck he called himself.
I’d looked him up when I got back home. The bastard ran a fledgling tech start-up—flashy branding, inflated valuations, the kind of company that survived on hype and angel investors.
Not even remotely close to what Ravencrest Global was.
To what I was. He was still a child playing at power while I built empires.
And a woman like Isabella deserved to stand beside a king, not a man still learning to crawl.
Just thinking about it now made my fists clench by my sides.
She’d changed so much. It wasn’t just her appearance—it was everything.
Her entire demeanor, her personality. I’d admired how she’d politely shut down Selene’s digs, how she’d maintained such calm composure during our conversation in the restaurant.
She’d been respectful even though she had every right to hate me.
Though it made me realize something else: Isabella was no longer the sister who needed my protection, but rather an independent, charming woman. One I couldn’t control.
I didn’t hear the knock on the door until I heard a voice from behind me.
“Dimitri?”
I turned to see Edmund, his weathered face carefully neutral in that way that meant he had information I wasn’t going to like. He carried two manila folders, both thick with documents. I’d asked him to look into the name Estelle Crawford immediately after Isabella left that restaurant.
I ran a hand through my hair, shaking off the fog clouding my thoughts as I turned from the window. “Edmund,” I said. “Tell me you have something.”
“Yes.” He set both folders on my desk as I sank into my chair. “This is everything on Estelle Crawford. And this one is—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I grabbed the first folder and flipped it open.
A photograph of Isabella was attached to the right corner of the front page. She was in professional attire—charcoal blazer, white blouse—standing in front of a gleaming glass building with Crane Internationale emblazoned across it. Her hair was pulled back, her expression confident and serene.
I scanned the file quickly, my wolf pressing forward, hungry for every detail.
She’d moved to Zurich from Virginia, risen through Crane Internationale as a junior analyst, and climbed to VP in just five years.
The file listed her accomplishments—deal after deal, success after success.
Pride swelled in my chest as I read each word, but I couldn’t help the feeling of dismay that came with it.
She’d done all of this. Without me. And Alexander Crane had been the one to give her that opportunity. My hands clenched around the folder, crinkling the edges.
I now understood why he’d suddenly pulled out of that merger five years ago.
He must have known what happened, must have helped her disappear, given her a new identity and a new life.
Given her everything I should have been able to give her.
The file noted she was in Virginia now because Crane Internationale was opening a major subsidiary to tap into American tech markets, and she was heading the project.
I flipped to the next page and froze when I saw the contents.
One child, gender and age unknown. No photographs available. Father rumored to be Alexander Crane.
My gaze snapped to Edmund. “Isabella has a child?”
“Yes.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I couldn’t get any pictures. She’s managed to keep the child completely out of the public eye. But according to my sources, Crane is romantically involved with her. He’s believed to be the father.”
The folder crumpled in my grip.
My wolf howled in anguish and rage that echoed through my entire being. Another man had touched her. Had been inside her. Had given her a child.
While I’d spent five years alone. Five years, unable to so much as look at another woman without revulsion. And she’d just…moved on. Found someone else. Built a whole fucking family with him.
The betrayal was irrational, I knew. I had no right to feel it. I’d been the one to reject her, to sever the bond, to destroy what we had.
But logic didn’t touch the fury burning through my veins.
“Dimitri.” Edmund’s voice cut through the red haze. “There’s another folder.”
I slammed the first one shut, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. “What?”
“The second file. You should look at it.”
I grabbed it, flipping it open with more force than necessary.
Selene’s name was printed across the tab. Surveillance photos of Selene and Ethan Thorpe spilled out—meeting in cafés, restaurants, hotel lobbies. The timestamps stretched back months, years, even.
None of it surprised me.
The tracking chip embedded in Selene’s wedding ring had been feeding me data for five years. I knew about every meeting, every secret rendezvous between my wife and my business rival.
I’d let it happen.
I’d let Ethan buy into Crescent Tech. Let him think his infiltration of my board was working.
I’d even played into it, made deliberately poor business decisions, planted false information that made me look distracted and weak.
Because I’d wanted them to be overconfident.
I wanted them to reveal the full scope of their plan before I struck and destroyed them both.
I was patient. Strategic. Waiting for the right moment.
“Keep the surveillance active,” I said, closing the folder. “Plant listening devices in Selene’s car, her office, anywhere she goes regularly. I want to know their endgame.”
“And when they make their next move?” Edmund asked.
“Let them. I want to see how far they’re willing to go. Then I’ll end it.”
Edmund nodded slowly. “And Selene? She’s going to notice if you’re…distracted.”
“Let her notice.” I stood, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. “We haven’t been intimate since the wedding. She knows I only tolerate her presence for appearances.”
And it was true. Five years of marriage and I’d never touched her beyond what was absolutely necessary for public functions.
Every attempt she’d made at seduction had been met with cold rejection.
Her touch made my skin crawl. She knew—had to know—that our marriage was nothing but a political arrangement.
That I felt nothing for her beyond mild irritation.
We lived separate lives. Separate bedrooms.
“She’s not going to stop me from getting Isabella back,” I said, my voice hard with certainty. “No one is.”
I headed for the door, my wolf surging forward with purpose for the first time in years.
“Where are you going?” Edmund asked.
“To see Isabella.” I didn’t look back. “And get some damn answers.”