With the right motivation, of course.
It hadn’t made sense to me at eighteen. Back then, I’d spent my entire teenage years trying to be someone who could be accepted,respected. But what I’d realized, in the most painful way ever, was that I’d had the wrong motivation all along.
I glanced over at Adele, still staring in wonder at the clouds, her small hand pressed against the window. My daughter.
That right there was my motivation. The best motivation. She was the ultimate reason I’d climbed from intern to Vice President in just five years. It was unheard of in most companies, especially those dominated by wolf shifter hierarchy, where positions like mine were typically reserved for Betas or other high-ranked pack members.
But Alexander Crane was perhaps the most unbiased man I’d ever met, someone who believed in fairness and merit above all else. In his company, any position was open to anyone willing to work hard enough and prove themselves capable. He didn’t care about traditional timelines or corporate politics or pack status.
He cared about results.
And I’d delivered plenty of them.
The Bergmann merger that everyone said was impossible? I’d closed it in six months. The AI acquisition that was hemorrhaging money? I’d turned it profitable within the year. The expansion into Asian markets that the board called “too risky”? Now it was our fastest-growing division.
I’d proven myself over and over until even the old guard who’d resented my rapid rise had to admit I’d earned my position.
Six months ago, at Crane’s Annual Gala, Alexander had made the shocking announcement that left half the company stunned, naming me Vice President in front of hundreds of executives and stakeholders.
Yeah. I was pretty damn good at what I did.
I leaned back against the plush leather sofa, crossing one leg over the other, allowing myself a small, satisfied smile. A moment of pride. Thinking about how much I’d achieved in five years, and how Alexander Crane had been instrumental in that transformation, brought genuine warmth to my chest.
He’d changed my life. Pulled me out of a dark place I’d thought would swallow me whole, consume me until I lost allwill to live.
But then the warmth faded, replaced by something colder. Darker.
My thoughts drifted back to that night, and my features clouded with the familiar mix of sadness and anger that still hadn’t fully left me after all these years.
I remembered running to the train station. Yes, running.
The Grace Train Station was at least three hours away from the Ravencrest mansion on foot, and I’d run the entire distance in heels and a formal dress. The pain of my feet, the exhaustion, the stares from passersby who saw my disheveled state—none of it mattered. No humiliation could possibly trump what Dimitri had done to me in front of the entire pack. In front of hundreds of witnesses who’d watched him destroy me with a handful of words.
By the time I’d stumbled into the train station, it was nearly midnight. I’d collapsed onto a bench in the waiting area, my body finally giving out.
And then it dawned on me. I had absolutely nowhere to go.
I’d thought about going back to my mother’s hometown, the small cluster of houses near the Virginia border where we’d lived before she died. But that wasn’t far enough. Anyone looking for me would check there first, if anyone even bothered to look.
I was still sitting there at midnight, sobbing quietly into my hands, when an old woman approached me.
Her locs were threaded with cowrie shells, and she wore a long, flowing dress the color of deep amethyst—the exact kind you’d expect on a movie-set fortune teller. Her face was weathered but kind, her eyes sharp and knowing.
“You shouldn’t be like this in your state,” she said gently, holding out a bottle of water.
My state?
What did she know about my state? Had news of Dimitri’s rejection already traveled this far? Was I already the subject of pack gossip, social media posts, news headlines?
I felt myself shrink, my face falling, unable to meet her eyes.
But the woman sat down beside me and pressed the water bottle into my hands. “Here. Drink this. You look…exhausted, child.”
I looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, searching her face for recognition, for judgment. But there was only pity in her gaze. Concern.
“I don’t know what has you looking like this,” she continued softly. “But you should take care of yourself.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to my stomach. “If not for you, then for them.”
I blinked, more tears spilling involuntarily.