ISLA'S POV
The coffee cup slips from my hand.
I watch it fall in slow motion—expensive hotel coffee arcing through the air, about to ruin the white carpet of my luxury suite. My hand shoots out on instinct, catching it an inch before disaster.
Not a single drop spilled.
I stare at my steady hand and laugh bitterly. Five years ago, I couldn't hold a glass without dropping it. Now I catch falling objects without thinking.
Funny how running for your life makes you better at everything.
"Grey, you still there?" Maya's voice crackles through my laptop speakers.
I set the coffee down carefully and turn back to the video call. My best friend and business partner is glaring at me from her office three hundred miles away. Her dark hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she's wearing the "I'm judging you" expression she's perfected over our five-year friendship.
"I'm here," I say. "Just having second thoughts."
"Good. You should." Maya leans closer to her camera. "Do you know how close Crescent City is to Blackwood Pack territory? Twenty miles, Grey. TWENTY. What if you run into someone from your old life?"
I force a smile. "It's been five years. I look completely different. I use a different name. And I'm only here for the client meeting. Two hours max, then I'm back home."
Maya doesn't look convinced. "This project feels wrong. A mystery client specifically requesting YOU by your design signature? Offering triple our usual rate? Requiring on-site supervision for six months?"
"It's a career-making opportunity," I say, but my stomach twists with doubt. Maya's right—something does feel off. "Besides, what are the odds I'd actually run into anyone I know?"
"With your luck? Pretty high."
I laugh, but it sounds forced even to my own ears. The truth is, I've been having nightmares for three days straight. Ever since I accepted this project, my sleep has been filled with silver eyes and a voice that still makes my chest ache.
"Because you're mine to protect."
I shake my head, pushing away the memory. That was five years ago. I'm different now. Stronger. Successful. Free.
"I'll be fine," I tell Maya. "Trust me."
She sighs. "I trust you. It's fate I don't trust. That fickle witch has it out for you."
After we hang up, I stand and walk to the hotel window. Crescent City spreads below me—tall buildings, busy streets, humans going about their normal lives. No pack politics. No hierarchies. No one calling me defective.
This is the world I chose. The world where I'm worth something.
My reflection stares back at me from the window. Maya's right—I look completely different. My hair, once plain brown, now has natural silver streaks that I used to hide but now wear proudly. I'm taller, stronger, my shoulders back instead of hunched. Designer clothes instead of hand-me-downs.
I worked my ass off for this transformation. Took night classes while working three jobs. Built my architecture firm from nothing. Made "Grey" a name people respect.
The scared girl who jumped out a window? She's dead and buried.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
That night, sleep doesn't come easy. I lie in the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about tomorrow's meeting. Trying not to think about how close I am to Blackwood territory. Trying not to wonder if he's—
No. Stop. He probably married Celeste years ago. Probably has kids. Probably never thinks about the wolfless girl who rejected him.
When I finally fall asleep, the dreams come.
I'm running through the forest again. Behind me, something is chasing me—something powerful and desperate and familiar. My wolf howls inside me, torn between fear and longing.
"Isla." The voice echoes through the trees. "Stop running."
I run faster, but the forest never ends. The voice gets closer.
"ISLA!"
I wake up gasping, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. My hand automatically goes to my chest, to the spot where the mate bond used to pull. For a second—just a second—I swear I feel something there. A warmth. A tug.
Then it's gone.
"It's nothing," I whisper to the empty room. "The bond is broken. It's been five years."
But I can't fall back asleep.
At six AM, I give up and get ready for the meeting. Professional clothes. Perfect makeup. Hair styled to show off those silver streaks. I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the girl I used to be.
"You've got this," I tell my reflection. "It's just a business meeting. You're Grey—award-winning architect, confident professional, woman who takes no crap from anyone."
My wolf stirs inside me—a feeling I've gotten used to over the past five years. She's been restless since we arrived in Crescent City, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
"Calm down," I murmur. "We're nowhere near pack territory."
She doesn't calm down.
The taxi drops me off in front of a massive office building downtown. Blackwood Enterprises, the sign says. My client is apparently some subsidiary of a larger company—something about real estate development.
The lobby is all glass and steel and money. I walk to the reception desk, my heels clicking confidently on marble floors.
"Grey from Sterling Architecture," I say. "I have a nine o'clock with—"
"Top floor," the receptionist interrupts, smiling. "They're expecting you. The elevator is already keyed for you."
Something about her smile makes my skin prickle, but I push the feeling away. Stop being paranoid.
The elevator ride takes forever. I check my reflection in the mirrored walls, making sure everything is perfect. This meeting will determine my entire future. I need to be flawless.
The doors open to a private floor—just one set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. Through the glass walls, I can see a conference room with a massive table.
Someone is sitting at the head of that table, their back to me.
I walk down the hallway, my footsteps echoing. My wolf suddenly goes crazy inside me, throwing herself against my mental walls, howling so loud I almost stumble.
What the hell?
I reach the conference room doors and push them open.
The man at the head of the table stands and turns around.
Time stops.
Silver eyes lock onto mine. Eyes I've seen in my dreams for five years. Eyes that have haunted every relationship I've tried to have, every date I've gone on, every moment I've tried to move forward.
Rowan Blackwood smiles at me—a slow, predatory smile that makes my knees weak and my heart race and my carefully constructed world crumble into dust.
"Hello, Isla," he says, his voice deeper than I remember, rougher. "We need to talk."
My briefcase slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a loud BANG.
Around his neck, visible above his shirt collar, is a thick scar—burn marks in the shape of splattered liquid.
Wolfsbane scars. From the night I ran.
From the poison he took for me.
"It's Grey," I manage to whisper, but my voice shakes. "My name is Grey."
His smile widens, and I see something dark and determined flash in those silver eyes. Something that makes my wolf whimper with equal parts fear and want.
"Not anymore," Rowan says softly. "You're Isla Grey, lead architect of Sterling Architecture. And according to the contract your firm signed, you work for me now. On-site. For the next six months."
The words hit me like a truck.
I've been trapped.