Bella's POV
Years Later:
The announcement echoed through my office speakers as I twirled my Mont Blanc pen between manicured fingers. "The award for Outstanding Research Excellence goes to Dr. Bella Vance."
Applause thundered from the screen showing yesterday's ceremony replay. I hadn't bothered attending in person. The accolades, flowers, and crystal trophy had been delivered to my penthouse office this morning, just like always.
The woman staring back at me from the darkened monitor bore little resemblance to the broken girl who'd fled werewolf territory years ago. Gone was the trembling outcast they'd discarded. In her place stood someone they now called the Iron Queen of the human realm.
My charcoal Armani suit hugged every curve perfectly. Diamond earrings caught the afternoon light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. My auburn hair fell in precise waves past my shoulders, styled by one of the personal stylists I kept on retainer. Every detail of my appearance was calculated, weaponized. When you've clawed your way from nothing to everything, image becomes armor.
I clicked off the broadcast and fixed my attention on Wyatt, my assistant who somehow managed to be both indispensable and infuriating. He sat rigidly in the leather chair across from my mahogany desk, a manila folder clutched in his hands.
"What's that supposed to be, Mr. Wyatt?" I gestured at the offensive document with my pen.
His jaw tightened. "Urgent correspondence from the werewolf territories. There's an outbreak spreading through their youth population. They're requesting your immediate consultation."
My laugh came out sharp and cold. "Requesting? How fascinating. The same creatures who threw us out like garbage are now begging for scraps from our table?"
"Bella, please consider—"
"Consider what?" I slammed my palm against the desk, making him flinch. "They branded us defective. Worthless. Every person in this building was exiled because we weren't strong enough, fast enough, wolf enough for their precious standards. And now you want me to help them?"
Wyatt leaned forward, his expression earnest. "Think about the innocent lives at stake. Children who had no part in those decisions. People we once cared about who might still be trapped in that system."
"The same system that nearly destroyed us." My voice could have cut glass.
"They're offering substantial compensation in return. Resources, territory rights, trade agreements—"
"We don't need their scraps." I stood abruptly, smoothing my skirt. "We built an empire without them. We're thriving while they're apparently dying of some mystery plague. File that request in the incinerator where it belongs."
Wyatt's face fell, but he gathered the folder. After he left, I allowed myself a moment to stare out at the city skyline I now commanded. Every gleaming tower, every bustling street below represented my victory over those who'd deemed me worthless.
The private elevator chimed, interrupting my brooding. I smoothed my expression and descended to the penthouse level, where my personal staff waited in formation like a small army.
The front door burst open, and my tornadoes crashed into the marble foyer. My children dropped their designer backpacks and launched themselves at me with squeals of delight.
I knelt in my Louboutins, opening my arms wide. The impact nearly knocked me backward, but their warmth dissolved every wall I'd built around my heart.
"Mama, you look like a movie star," Leah breathed, her emerald eyes sparkling with admiration.
I studied their faces with the mixture of love and pain that always accompanied these moments. Each child bore unmistakable traces of their fathers. Tara's sapphire eyes mirrored Parker's perfectly. Leah's vivid green gaze could only have come from Derek. And Zack's storm-gray eyes were pure Hugo.
Not that it mattered. They were mine. Only mine.
I guided them to their shared bedroom on the second floor, a space I'd designed to encourage their sibling bond. Tara and Leah claimed the window seats while Zack flopped onto his center bed with unusual quiet.
Something cold crawled up my spine. Usually, Zack bounded around like a caffeinated puppy, but today he seemed drained.
"How was school, my loves?" I asked while brushing Zack's dark hair.
Tara and Leah exchanged worried glances that made my pulse quicken.
"Mama," Tara whispered, "Zack was sick today."
The brush slipped from my fingers. "Sick how?"
"He kept saying he heard howling," Leah explained, her small voice trembling. "But there weren't any dogs around. He held his head and cried."
Ice flooded my veins. The symptoms from Wyatt's discarded file flashed through my memory like a nightmare coming to life. Young werewolves hearing phantom howls. Early manifestations leading to... death.
I forced my expression to remain calm while terror clawed at my chest. "Anything else, sweetheart?"
"My head really hurt," Zack mumbled against his pillow. "Like something was trying to get out."
The room tilted. I managed to tuck them in for their afternoon nap before stumbling back to my office on unsteady legs.
"Wyatt!" I barked into the intercom. "Get back here. Now."
He appeared shortly after, confusion written across his features. I snatched the werewolf file from his hands, my fingers shaking as I tore it open.
Every symptom matched. Every progression detailed in their plea for help described what I'd witnessed in my son.
"How many children have died from this?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears.
"The reports mention dozens, possibly hundreds." Wyatt studied my face carefully. "Bella, what's changed? Why are you suddenly—"
"Do they have any treatment?"
"Temporary measures only. They refuse to share specifics unless you agree to their terms."
My hands curled into fists. "Which are?"
"Personal consultation. You'd need to return to werewolf territory and work directly with their medical council."
The words hit like physical blows. Return to the place that had nearly broken me. Face the people who'd crushed my spirit and stolen my dignity. But Zack's pale face swam before my eyes, and the choice became crystal clear.
"Prepare immediate transport," I commanded, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound composed. Tears stung my eyes and guilt hit me hard. What kind of mother doesn't notice when her child is slipping away? "Prepare the ships. We leave soon."
Wyatt nodded solemnly. "I'll contact the werewolf council immediately. Should I tell them Dr. Bella Vance accepts their terms?"
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of this terrible choice crushing down on me. For my children. For Zack. I had to do this, no matter how much it terrified me.
"Yes," I whispered. "Tell them I accept."