Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dimitri’s POV
Within two hours, I pulled up in front of the three-story glass building with a gold placard at the top that read: Crane Internationale—Virginia Tech Division.
Just seeing the name Crane made the hackles of my wolf rise.
My grip tightened around the steering wheel.
Fuck, it should have been me. Not some smug, over-polished bastard of a CEO—someone who should have been focusing on business instead of ogling Isabella during the three weeks I sent her to Zurich.
Regret slammed into me with full force.
When Edmund had come to me with the idea of letting Isabella follow the team for the merger, I’d thought it was perfect timing.
I thought while she was away, I’d handle everything like I promised.
She wouldn’t have to face the backlash in that moment when they found out she is my Fated Mate.
And when she returned, she wouldn’t just be coming back as my executive assistant, but as my Mate, the woman I intended to marry.
If I’d known I was sending her straight to a man who would try to take what was mine, I never would’ve let her go.
But now wasn’t the time for regrets. I’d done nothing but regret for the last five years.
Now was the time to get my woman back, to show Crane that he might have had her in those five years, a thought that genuinely made me want to retch—but Isabella was always going to be mine. Whether she carried his child or not. Damn it.
I killed the ignition and was just about to step out of my car when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. Mother.
I considered letting it go to voicemail. But knowing Maia, she’d just keep calling until I answered.
So, I hit the answer button. “What?”
“Dimitri, darling.” Her voice was syrupy sweet as always, but there was a hint of tentativeness—something that had crept in about a year after Isabella left. “I was thinking we should have dinner tonight. As a family. It’s been so long since we’ve all sat down together.”
I’d moved out of the Ravencrest mansion a year after the Alpha Ceremony because I couldn’t stand the sight of my own mother anymore.
I couldn’t look at her without seeing the woman who’d threatened to murder Isabella, who’d forced my hand and smiled triumphantly as I destroyed the best thing in my life.
“I’m busy,” I said flatly.
There was a pause on the line. Just when I thought she’d let it go, her voice came again, softer this time. “How was the gala the other night?”
Since when did Maia Ravencrest care about galas I attended?
Then it clicked.
Selene.
Of course.
My dear wife and my mother were practically best friends—they ran that godforsaken Beta Wives Association together like it was their personal kingdom. So, Selene must have gone ahead and yapped about my run-in with Isabella at the gala.
“I know Isabella’s back,” Maia said, confirming my suspicions.
My jaw clenched. “So? You going to make good on that threat you made five years ago?”
“Dimitri—”
“Because if you even think about touching her, I swear to God, Mother, I wouldn’t care that you gave birth to me.”
I heard her breath hitch over the line.
“Dimitri, you have a wife,” she said, her voice hardening. “Selene loves you very much. She’s devoted to you, to this pack…”
I almost laughed. Selene, devoted? The same woman who’d been conspiring with Ethan Thorpe for five years to undermine everything I’d built?
“Look, Mother, I’m in the middle of something.” My tone left no room for argument. “Don’t bother with dinner. I won’t be showing up.”
I ended the call before she could respond and shoved the phone in my pocket.
Taking a breath, I stepped out of the car and walked into the building.
It had only been two weeks since Isabella started this subsidiary, and already the place looked alive.
People were moving purposefully through the glass-walled lobby, phones were ringing, the hum of productivity was filling the air.
That’s what she did. She brought things to life.
My eyes swept over the lobby until they landed on the receptionist behind a sleek white desk, typing away.
I approached, schooling my expression into something charming. “Good afternoon.”
She looked up, eyes widening slightly as she took me in. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”
“Dimitri Ravencrest, CEO of Ravencrest Global.” I flashed her a polite smile. “I’m here to see Isa—Ms. Crawford.” Damn that name.
She smiled back, a flush creeping into her cheeks.
“Ms. Crawford is currently in a meeting with investors. If you’d like to wait, I can let her know you’re here once she’s available.
” She gestured toward the waiting area with sleek leather chairs.
“Please, have a seat in the lobby, Mr. Ravencrest.” She let my name roll off her tongue, her braces glinting as she smiled.
I glanced at the chairs, then back at her. “Actually, I was hoping to wait in her office. You see…it’s been so long since I’ve seen my stepsister—she just flew in from Zurich, as you know, so I wanted to surprise her. Now, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if you alerted her, would it?”
The woman blinked. “Your…stepsister?”
I nodded slowly, propping my hands into the pockets of my black slacks as I leaned against her desk.
“Isabella and I grew up together. We sort of lost touch over the years, but I heard she was heading up this new division, and I couldn’t resist stopping by.
” I tilted my head, letting my teeth flash in a smile.
“You understand me, right? You strike me as a family person.”
She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You can tell?”
“I have a sixth sense for that kind of thing.” I smirked. “Look, I know it’s against policy,” I continued, “but between you and me? Isabella works herself too hard. Always has. She could do with a little surprise—a reminder of her childhood.” I paused. “What’s your name?”
“Victoria.” Her entire face was turning red at this point.
“Victoria.” I held her gaze. “I’d really appreciate it if you did me this solid.”
She bit her lip, then nodded. “Okay, but just this once. Ms. Crawford’s office is on the tenth floor. Take the elevator to your right.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Victoria.” I straightened, flashing another smile. “I owe you one.”
As I walked toward the elevator, I felt her eyes on me. I stepped in and turned to wave as the doors slid shut—there was disappointment in her eyes, like she’d been expecting more. Perhaps she had wanted me to ask for her number to continue this conversation over dinner or something.
The elevator doors opened onto a hallway lined with offices. A placard pointed toward Executive Offices, and I followed it until I reached a door with a nameplate: Estelle Crawford, Vice President.
I pushed it open and stepped inside.
The office was spacious but not ostentatious—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a wide view of the city.
My eyes swept over everything, hungry for traces of the life she’d built without me.
Framed certificates lined one wall—awards for business excellence.
There were photographs of her shaking hands with executives, cutting ribbons at grand openings.
In every picture, she looked confident, powerful, and successful.
I moved toward the large white oak desk in the center.
It was organized but looked lived in—a laptop, stacks of files, a coffee mug with a faint lipstick stain on the rim.
A few personal items stood on the desk, neatly arranged: a silver pen, a leather-bound planner, and a deep blue silk handkerchief.
I couldn’t help myself. I picked it up, brought it to my face, and inhaled.
It carried her scent—a scent I’d been clinging to for years, one that had haunted me every night as it faded a little more.
My wolf whimpered, desperate and aching.
Then my eyes caught a photograph in a simple frame, partially hidden behind her laptop.
It was Isabella. And a child.
It was a little girl with dark hair and brown eyes, maybe four or five years old, laughing up at the camera. Isabella crouched beside her, both of them covered in paint, grinning like they’d just had the best day of their lives.
My heart stopped.
I picked up the frame, staring at the child’s face. She had my dark brown eyes. The same defined jawline. The same stubborn set to her chin that I saw in the mirror every morning. My entire being stilled.
Before I could process the image staring back at me, the door burst open. A child ran in—the same little girl from the photograph—dark hair flying behind her as she giggled and darted toward the desk. A harried woman, whom I presumed to be her nanny, followed, breathing heavily.
“Adele, please! You can’t run off like that!”
“I told you that you can’t beat me at hide and seek!” Her voice was bright and bubbling with laughter.
And then, as though they both sensed my presence, they turned to look at me.
When her eyes landed on me, they went wide. I don’t know how many seconds passed—maybe it was actually minutes. But we just remained like that, as though the world had come to a complete standstill.
And in that moment, I knew.
Wolf shifters had a keen sense for many things. We could sense, with an instinct that preceded conscious thought, our pack, our own blood. My wolf surged forward, recognition slamming into me so hard it nearly drove me to my knees. Something primal and absolute flared inside me.
My daughter. This girl was mine.
She stepped forward confidently, tilting her head as she studied me with curious eyes. Then she smiled, jutting her small arm forward.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Adele. Who are you?”
I crouched, bringing myself to her eye level. My throat was so tight I could barely speak.
“I’m Dimitri,” I managed. “It’s…it’s very nice to meet you, Adele.”
Her smile widened, and something in my chest cracked open.
“I know that name.”
I arched a brow. “You do?”
“It sounds like a prince’s name. From one of Mommy’s stories.”
“Your mommy tells you stories?” Stories about me, apparently.
Adele nodded eagerly. “All the time. She does all the voices and everything. She’s really good at the dragon voice.” She paused. “Do you know my mommy?”
“I…yes. I do.”
“Are you friends?”
Were we? Had we ever really been friends?
“We used to be,” I said carefully. “A long time ago.”
“How old are you?” she asked, with the blunt curiosity only children possessed.
A smile tugged at my lips. “How old do you think I am?”
She squinted, thinking hard. “Um…fifty-four?”
I laughed—really laughed—for the first time in years. “Not quite. I’m thirty.”
“That’s still pretty old,” she said matter-of-factly.
“How old are you?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Four!” She held up her hand, fingers spread wide. “I had my birthday last month. Mommy got me a big cake, and Uncle Alexander let me stay up late.”
Uncle. She called Alexander Uncle, not Dad. She was four years old.
The timeline lined up perfectly. Isabella had gotten pregnant that night in my study, had carried my child, given birth to her, raised her alone for five years while I…
While I’d been playing house with Selene. Living in ignorance. Missing everything.
The nanny stepped forward quickly, her hand going protectively to Adele’s shoulder. “Excuse me, sir,” she said cautiously, eyes flicking from me to the little girl. “Can I help you? Adele, you know you shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
Adele frowned, looking between us. “But he’s not a stranger,” she said confidently. “He knows Mommy.”
The woman’s brows furrowed. “You…know Ms. Crawford?”
“Yes,” I said evenly, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I’m an old friend. We grew up together.”
She hesitated, clearly debating whether to believe me. Adele tugged her hand and said, “You said you have class soon, remember? You’re going to be late, and Mommy says it’s not good to be late.”
“I can’t leave until your mommy returns.”
“It’s okay,” I said, not taking my eyes off my daughter. “I’m…I’m a friend of her mother’s. I can wait with her.”
The nanny looked uncertain, but Adele had already plopped onto one of the chairs, pulling out a coloring book from her bag.
“Do you want to color with me?” she asked, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
“I’d love to.”
We sat on the floor of Isabella’s office, Adele chattering away about her favorite colors—purple and gold—her favorite food, mac and cheese (but only if Isabella made it), and her best friend at her school in Zurich—a boy named Nathan who could do a backflip.
And I soaked in every word like a man dying of thirst.
This was my daughter. My child. And I’d missed five years of her life—five years of first words and first steps and bedtime stories and scraped knees. Five years during which Isabella had done things all alone because I’d been too much of a coward to choose her.
The door opened, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I looked up to find Isabella frozen in the doorway, her face draining of color as her eyes landed on me and Adele. Together.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air between us cracked open with guilt, shock, love, pain, all tangled into one unbearable silence.
Adele shot up and ran to Isabella with a grin.
“Mommy, look! I made a new friend. His name’s Dimitri.”
Isabella’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her gaze flicked from her daughter’s beaming face to mine—two identical pairs of brown eyes staring back at her.
And in that moment, the world tilted.
Because the truth she’d hidden from me for five years was suddenly standing between us—alive, breathing, and calling me friend.