Just thinking about it now made my fists clench by my sides.
She’d changed so much. It wasn’t just her appearance—it was everything. Her entire demeanor, her personality. I’d admired how she’d politely shut down Selene’s digs, how she’d maintained such calm composure during our conversation in the restaurant. She’d been respectful even though she had every right to hate me. Though it made me realize something else: Isabella was no longer the sister who needed my protection, but rather an independent, charming woman. One I couldn’t control.
I didn’t hear the knock on the door until I heard a voice from behind me.
“Dimitri?”
I turned to see Edmund, his weathered face carefully neutral in that way that meant he had information I wasn’t going to like. He carried two manila folders, both thick with documents. I’d asked him to look into the name Estelle Crawford immediately after Isabella left that restaurant.
I ran a hand through my hair, shaking off the fog clouding my thoughts as I turned from the window. “Edmund,” I said. “Tell me you have something.”
“Yes.” He set both folders on my desk as I sank into my chair. “This is everything on Estelle Crawford. And this one is—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I grabbed the first folder and flipped it open.
A photograph of Isabella was attached to the right corner of the front page. She was in professional attire—charcoal blazer, white blouse—standing in front of a gleaming glass building with Crane Internationale emblazoned across it. Her hair was pulled back, her expression confident and serene.
I scanned the file quickly, my wolf pressing forward, hungry for every detail.
She’d moved to Zurich from Virginia, risen through Crane Internationale as a junior analyst, and climbed to VP in just five years. The file listed her accomplishments—deal after deal, successafter success. Pride swelled in my chest as I read each word, but I couldn’t help the feeling of dismay that came with it.
She’d done all of this. Without me. And Alexander Crane had been the one to give her that opportunity. My hands clenched around the folder, crinkling the edges.
I now understood why he’d suddenly pulled out of that merger five years ago. He must have known what happened, must have helped her disappear, given her a new identity and a new life. Given her everything I should have been able to give her. The file noted she was in Virginia now because Crane Internationale was opening a major subsidiary to tap into American tech markets, and she was heading the project.
I flipped to the next page and froze when I saw the contents.
One child, gender and age unknown. No photographs available. Father rumored to be Alexander Crane.
My gaze snapped to Edmund. “Isabella has a child?”
“Yes.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I couldn’t get any pictures. She’s managed to keep the child completely out of the public eye. But according to my sources, Crane is romantically involved with her. He’s believed to be the father.”
The folder crumpled in my grip.
My wolf howled in anguish and rage that echoed through my entire being. Another man had touched her. Had been inside her. Had given her a child.
While I’d spent five years alone. Five years, unable to so much as look at another woman without revulsion. And she’d just…moved on. Found someone else. Built a whole fucking family with him.
The betrayal was irrational, I knew. I had no right to feel it. I’d been the one to reject her, to sever the bond, to destroy what we had.
But logic didn’t touch the fury burning through my veins.
“Dimitri.” Edmund’s voice cut through the red haze. “There’s another folder.”
I slammed the first one shut, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. “What?”
“The second file. You should look at it.”
I grabbed it, flipping it open with more force than necessary.
Selene’s name was printed across the tab. Surveillance photos of Selene and Ethan Thorpe spilled out—meeting in cafés, restaurants, hotel lobbies. The timestamps stretched back months, years, even.
None of it surprised me.
The tracking chip embedded in Selene’s wedding ring had been feeding me data for five years. I knew about every meeting, every secret rendezvous between my wife and my business rival.
I’d let it happen.