ISLA'S POV
"Well, well. Look who came crawling back."
Celeste's voice cuts through the lobby like a knife through silk. She's standing five feet away, looking like she stepped out of a magazine—perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
I force myself to breathe. To think. To not shift and rip her throat out right here in front of human security guards.
"I didn't crawl anywhere," I say, keeping my voice level. "I'm here on business."
"Business." Celeste laughs, but it sounds like breaking glass. "Is that what you're calling it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're sniffing around my fiancé again."
"Ex-fiancé," I correct before I can stop myself.
Her smile sharpens into something dangerous. "Oh, sweetie. Did Rowan tell you he called off the wedding? That's adorable. But let me fill you in on something he probably forgot to mention—he never stopped looking for you because he never got over the humiliation of being rejected. This isn't about wanting you back. It's about his wounded pride."
The words hit exactly where she meant them to, digging into insecurities I thought I'd buried years ago.
"I don't care why he's looking for me," I say, moving toward the exit. "I'm here to do a job, then I'm gone."
Celeste steps into my path. "Six months is a long time, little sister. Plenty of time for old wounds to reopen. Plenty of time for accidents to happen." She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I almost destroyed you once. Don't think I won't finish the job."
Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a countdown timer.
My hands are shaking. I make it outside before my knees give out, and I lean against the building, gulping air.
"Ma'am? Are you okay?" A security guard approaches, concerned.
"Fine," I manage. "Just need a minute."
I pull out my phone and call Maya. She answers immediately.
"What happened? You sounded terrified—"
"Coffee. Now. I'll explain everything."
Thirty minutes later, I'm sitting across from Maya in a small café three blocks from the Blackwood building. She's staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"Let me get this straight," Maya says slowly. "Your ex-mate—the one you rejected five years ago—bought an entire company to trap you into working for him. And your psychotic sister, who tried to poison you, just threatened you in a hotel lobby."
"That about sums it up."
"We're leaving. Tonight. I don't care about the contract—"
"Two million dollars, Maya." I grip my coffee cup. "That's what we'd owe if I break the contract. That's everything we have, plus everything we don't have."
Maya's face falls. She knows I'm right. Our firm is successful, but not "pay a two million dollar penalty" successful.
"So what do we do?" she asks.
"I survive six months. Keep my head down. Do the job. Then I never look back." I take a sip of coffee, hoping it will steady my nerves. "I can handle Rowan. He's just a client."
"And your sister?"
"I can handle her too." I don't sound convincing, even to myself.
Maya reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "You're not alone this time, okay? If things get bad—if either of them crosses a line—you call me. I'll drive up here and we'll figure something out together."
I squeeze back, grateful. "Thank you."
We spend another hour strategizing—setting boundaries with Rowan, avoiding Celeste, focusing on the work. By the time Maya has to leave to catch her train back home, I feel slightly more in control.
That feeling lasts exactly until the next morning.
I arrive at the construction site at seven AM, hoping to get some work done before Rowan shows up. The lot is empty except for a few early workers setting up equipment.
I'm reviewing my tablet, double-checking measurements, when a familiar voice says, "You're here early."
I spin around. Rowan is standing ten feet away, holding two coffee cups. He's wearing jeans and a work shirt instead of yesterday's suit, and somehow that makes him more dangerous. More real.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
"I'm the client. I need to approve the plans." He holds out one of the coffee cups. "Peace offering?"
"I don't want your coffee."
"It's a latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso. Your usual order from Riverside Café, five years ago." He pauses. "I'm guessing you still drink it the same way?"
Something twists in my chest. He remembered. After all these years, after everything, he remembered how I take my coffee.
I don't take the cup. "How did you know I'd be here this early?"
"Because you're always early. You like to get a head start before other people show up." Rowan sets both cups on a nearby table. "You used to do the same thing at pack functions—arrive early, disappear before anyone noticed you were there."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Stop acting like you know me. You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."
Rowan's jaw tightens. "You're right. I didn't know you. I never bothered to learn. But I'm trying to fix that."
"I don't want you to fix anything!" My voice rises, and a few workers glance over. I lower it to a hiss. "I want you to leave me alone. I want to do this job and go back to my life."
"Okay." Rowan holds up his hands. "Okay. Show me the plans. That's all. Business only."
I take a deep breath and pull up the designs on my tablet. For the next hour, I explain my vision—a building that works with the natural landscape instead of against it. Green spaces. Sustainable materials. Community areas where humans and werewolves could interact without realizing they're from different worlds.
As I talk, I notice something strange. Rowan isn't just pretending to listen. He's actually listening. He asks smart questions. Points out potential problems I hadn't considered. Suggests improvements that actually make sense.
This isn't the cruel boy who used to mock my ideas before I could finish explaining them.
"This is incredible," Rowan says when I finish. He's looking at my designs with genuine admiration. "The way you've integrated the environmental systems with the structural design—it's brilliant."
I blink. "What?"
"You're brilliant." He looks up at me. "This isn't just architecture. It's art. It's vision. You're incredibly talented, Isla."
My throat tightens. In seventeen years of living with my family, no one ever called me talented. No one ever looked at my work—at me—the way Rowan is looking at me right now.
"Don't do that," I whisper.
"Do what?"
"Act like you see me. Act like I matter. You didn't think that five years ago."
Pain flashes across Rowan's face. "You're right. I didn't. I was blind and stupid and cruel. But Isla... when you rejected me and disappeared, it broke something in me. Made me look at the person I'd become. Made me realize—"
"Stop." I step back. "I don't care about your redemption arc. I don't care that losing me made you a better person. You don't get points for being decent now. That's the bare minimum."
"I know." His voice is quiet. "I'm not asking for points. I'm not even asking for forgiveness. I'm just asking you to see that I'm trying."
We stare at each other. Five years of distance. Five years of change. And underneath it all, that damn mate bond pulling at my chest like a second heartbeat.
"I need to get back to work," I finally say, turning away.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of measurements and meetings. Rowan keeps his distance, only approaching when necessary for the project. But I can feel his eyes on me constantly, watching, waiting.
At six PM, I'm packing up my equipment when Rowan appears beside me.
"Let me drive you back to your hotel," he says.
"I can get a taxi."
"It's on my way. Please."
There's something in his voice—not commanding, but asking. Actually asking, like my answer matters.
Against my better judgment, I agree.
The car ride is silent at first. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, trying not to think about how close Rowan is. How his scent—pine and winter air—fills the car and makes my wolf whimper.
"Celeste approached you yesterday," Rowan says suddenly.
My head snaps toward him. "How did you—"
"Building security cameras." His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I saw her corner you. What did she say?"
"Nothing important."
"Isla."
"It's Grey." I'm so tired of correcting him. "And it doesn't matter. I can handle my sister."
"She threatened you, didn't she?" Rowan's voice goes hard. "After what she did five years ago—the wolfsbane—she should be in prison, not walking around free."
"You can't prove she meant to hit me with that vial. She claimed it was an accident, remember? That she was trying to throw it at the ground, to stop me from running." I laugh bitterly. "Everyone believed her, of course. Perfect Celeste would never actually try to hurt anyone."
Rowan is quiet for a long moment. "I've banned her from all Blackwood properties. She won't be able to get near you again."
"Why do you care?"
He pulls the car over, parks it, and turns to face me fully. "Because you're my mate. Because I failed to protect you once and I won't make that mistake again. Because—" He stops, jaw working like he's fighting with himself over what to say next.
"Because what?"
"Because you deserve better than how I treated you. Better than how your family treated you. Better than this whole fucked up situation." His eyes are intense, burning. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. But I'm going to spend every day of the next six months proving I've changed. Proving I see you now. All of you."
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "You can't just—"
My phone rings, cutting me off. Maya's name flashes on the screen.
"Sorry, I need to take this." I answer quickly. "Hey—"
"Grey, thank god. Listen, something weird is happening. Our firm's website is getting hit with a massive DDoS attack. Someone's trying to take us offline, and they're also flooding our client list with fake reviews claiming we're unreliable." Maya sounds panicked. "This is professional sabotage. Someone's trying to destroy our reputation."
Ice floods my veins. "When did this start?"
"About an hour ago. Right after our biggest client called to 'reconsider' their contract because they heard 'concerning things' about your past."
I look at Rowan, then out the window. In the side mirror, I see a car parked behind us—a silver sedan with tinted windows.
The same car that was parked outside my hotel this morning.
"Maya, I have to go. Start documenting everything. I'll call you back."
I hang up and turn to Rowan. "Someone's been following me. And now someone's trying to destroy my business."
Rowan's face goes deadly serious. He looks in the rearview mirror, spots the sedan, and his eyes flash gold—his wolf rising to the surface.
"Stay in the car," he growls, reaching for the door handle.
But before he can open it, the sedan's door opens first.
And the person who steps out isn't Celeste.
It's a man I don't recognize—tall, wearing all black, with a face that's coldly professional.
He raises his hand, and I see the gun pointed directly at me through the windshield.