ISLA'S POV
"'The sister was just a distraction. The real trap hasn't sprung yet.'"
The words echo in my head as I stand in my destroyed hotel room, staring at the message scrawled across my mirror in what security confirmed is actually red paint, not blood. Somehow that makes it worse—someone took the time to make it look like blood. To maximize the fear.
My clothes are shredded. My laptop smashed. Every surface covered in the same red paint, like someone tried to paint the room in violence.
"Pack your things," Rowan says behind me. "What's left of them. You're moving to the pack house tonight."
"I already told you—"
"That was before someone broke into your room and left a death threat." His voice is steel wrapped in silk. "You're not staying here. End of discussion."
I want to argue. Want to maintain my independence. But looking at the destruction around me, I know he's right. Whoever is after me isn't playing games anymore.
"Fine," I say quietly. "But only until we figure out who's behind this."
Three days later, I'm still at the pack house, living in a guest suite that's bigger than my entire apartment back home. Maya returned to the city with two of Rowan's best warriors as bodyguards—she wanted to stay, but I convinced her the firm needs her there, and she's safer away from me.
Now Rowan is asking me to do something that makes my stomach twist with dread.
"Absolutely not," I say, staring at him across the breakfast table in the pack house dining room.
"It's just a formality," Rowan insists. "The pack council needs to approve the building plans since it's on pack territory. You present the designs, they vote yes, everyone goes home."
"Your father will be there."
"Yes."
"Alpha Marcus Blackwood, who hates me and everything I represent."
"Also yes." Rowan sets down his coffee cup. "But I'll be there too. And Isla... the council has changed. It's not the same pack you left."
I want to believe him. But some fears run too deep.
"What if they reject the plans?" I ask. "What if this is just another trap?"
"Then I override them as future Alpha." Rowan's eyes are steady, certain. "But that won't happen. Your designs are brilliant. Even my father can't deny that."
That evening, I walk into Blackwood Pack's council room for the first time in five years. My hands are sweating despite the professional confidence I'm projecting. The room is filled with high-ranking pack members—betas, enforcers, advisors. And at the head of the table sits Alpha Marcus Blackwood.
He looks older than I remember. Grayer. But his eyes are just as cold when they land on me.
"The wolfless Grey girl," he says, and my wolf bristles at the old insult. "I heard you finally shifted. Better late than never, I suppose."
Every instinct screams at me to lower my eyes, to shrink, to disappear. That's what the old Isla would have done.
But I'm not her anymore.
I meet his gaze steadily and pull out my tablet. "I'm here as an architect, Alpha Marcus. Shall we discuss the building plans?"
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe. But he just gestures for me to continue.
I present my designs professionally, explaining how the building will serve both the human city and pack territory. How it creates neutral meeting spaces. How it incorporates sustainable technology that will benefit the entire community.
The council members ask questions. Most seem genuinely impressed. Elder Mira, who I remember as one of the kinder council members, actually smiles at several of my ideas.
But Marcus keeps digging for problems.
"This design accommodates omegas," he says, pointing to features on my screen. "Ramps for wheelchairs. Lowered counters. Quiet spaces separated from high-traffic areas. We don't need to cater to—"
"To what?" Rowan interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "To pack members? These features make the building accessible for everyone, Father. Including elderly wolves, families with young children, and anyone who might need accommodation."
Marcus's jaw tightens. "Since when do you care about making things easier for the weak?"
"Since I learned that calling people weak doesn't make you strong. It makes you cruel." Rowan stands, and the Alpha power rolling off him makes several council members shift uncomfortably. "The pack voted six months ago. When you step down next month, I take over as Alpha. And things will change."
I didn't know that. Didn't know Rowan was about to officially become Alpha. The realization hits me like cold water—he's not just future Alpha anymore. He's weeks away from leading one of the most powerful packs in the region.
Marcus stands too, father and son facing off across the council table. "You're making a mistake, boy. Coddling the weak makes the entire pack weak. Makes us targets. Makes us—"
"Makes us better than monsters who hurt people for fun." Rowan's voice drops dangerously low. "You taught me cruelty, Father. You taught me that power means crushing anyone beneath you. You taught me that people like Isla—" he gestures to me, "—deserved to be treated like dirt because they were different."
The room goes silent. Everyone is staring.
"And you know what I learned?" Rowan continues. "I learned you were wrong. About everything. The strongest wolves in this pack aren't the ones who can fight the best. They're the ones who endure suffering and come out still believing in kindness. Still choosing to be good even when the world gave them every reason not to be."
He's looking at me now. Everyone is looking at me. My face burns.
"I was a monster because you raised me to be one," Rowan says to his father. "But I'm done. I'm done with your way of leading. Your way of thinking. When I become Alpha, this pack will be better. Kinder. Stronger because we protect everyone, not just the powerful."
Marcus's face is purple with rage. For a moment, I think he might actually attack his own son. But then he just turns and storms out, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Elder Mira clears her throat. "Well. Shall we vote on the building plans?"
The vote is unanimous. Every council member approves my designs—some because they genuinely like them, others probably because they're too shocked by what just happened to argue.
As the meeting ends and people start filing out, several pack members approach me. An older omega woman with kind eyes takes my hand.
"I remember you," she says softly. "You used to help my daughter with her homework. When she was struggling and the teachers had given up on her, you spent hours with her at the pack library. She's in university now, studying to be a teacher herself."
Tears prick my eyes. "I remember her. Sarah, right? Tell her I said congratulations."
A young beta male steps forward next. "This building will be good for the pack. Really good. Thank you for not giving up on us, even after... everything."
More people come forward with similar words. Some apologizing for how I was treated. Some thanking me for the inclusive design. Some just acknowledging that I exist, which is more than they ever did before.
By the time the room empties, I'm emotionally exhausted.
Rowan finds me standing by the window, staring out at pack territory. "I'm sorry about my father."
"He's right, you know," I say without turning around. "People will say you're weak for caring about omegas and lower-ranking wolves. They'll say you've gone soft."
"Let them." Rowan's voice is closer now. "I'd rather be called weak for having compassion than strong for being cruel."
I turn to face him. "You really believe that?"
"I learned it from you."
"From me?" I laugh bitterly. "I didn't teach you anything. I was just trying to survive."
"Exactly." Rowan steps closer, his eyes intense. "You were the kindest person in this pack house, Isla. Even when everyone treated you terribly, you never became bitter. You helped Sarah with homework instead of ignoring her like everyone else did. You cleaned up broken glass without complaining. You endured years of cruelty and never once lashed out or tried to hurt someone weaker to make yourself feel better."
His words hit something deep inside me. I never thought of survival as strength. I thought of it as weakness—as just taking the hits because I was too scared to fight back.
"That's not strength," I whisper. "That's just... enduring."
"That's the hardest kind of strength there is." Rowan's voice softens. "I think about it constantly. How strong you actually were. How much courage it took to just keep going, day after day, when no one saw you or valued you. And how blind I was. How stupid. How cruel."
I don't know what to say. The boy who tormented me is giving me credit for surviving his torment. It's twisted and wrong and somehow deeply meaningful all at once.
"I should go," I finally say.
"Let me walk you to your room."
We walk in silence through the pack house halls. Everything looks different from when I lived here—brighter, cleaner, more welcoming. Or maybe I'm just different, seeing it through new eyes.
At my door, Rowan stops. "Isla—"
"Don't," I cut him off. "Whatever you're about to say, I'm not ready to hear it."
He nods slowly. "Okay. But just so you know... I meant what I said in there. About learning from you. About being better. You changed my life, even when you weren't trying to. Even when you hated me."
"I still hate you," I say, but it sounds less convincing than it used to.
"I know." His smile is sad. "Good night, Isla."
I slip inside my room and lean against the door, my heart pounding. Everything is getting too complicated. Too confusing. I came here to do a job and leave. Instead, I'm living in a pack house, watching Rowan defend me to his father, hearing pack members thank me for things I'd forgotten I did.
I'm starting to see cracks in the wall I've built. Starting to wonder if maybe—just maybe—people can actually change.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number:
"Enjoying your time at the pack house? The council meeting went well, didn't it? Marcus was so angry. But don't get comfortable. You're exactly where I need you to be. The real game starts now."
My blood runs cold. I'm about to call Rowan when another text comes through.
It's a photo.
Elder Mira. Lying on the floor of what looks like her home. Blood pooling around her head. Her eyes open and lifeless.
Below the image, one line:
"She voted for your plans. Now she's dead. Who do you think is next?"