I would recognize his deep, rich voice anywhere. Even in my dreams. And fuck me, he’d just caught me with a whole pancake stuffed in my mouth like a chipmunk.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to look at him.
Dimitri leaned against the doorframe like he owned every oxygen molecule in the room. He was dressed in a charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms, the fabric pulling taut across his shoulders. His tie hung undone around his neck—as if even formalwear didn’t dare tell him what to do—and his black slacks fit in that maddening way that suggested they’d been tailored with sinful precision. He looked infuriatingly put-together for someone who definitely hadn’t planned on walking into a pancake massacre at eight in the morning. His face was confused—those perfectly carved brows arched up, a questioning look in his dark eyes. Behind him, Maia’s expression was one of pure disgust.
Just like that, I felt small. Like the thirteen-year-old girl Uncle Asher had brought into a home where she didn’t belong.
“The bastard is eating at the table again,” Maia said, her eyes sweeping over my outfit with undisguised contempt. She wrinkled her nose as though my presence physically offended her before moving toward her designated seat beside Dimitri’s at the head of the table. “How very generous of us.”
I suddenly lost my appetite. The food in my mouth tasted like ash, refusing to go down, but I forced myself to swallow.
Dimitri was still staring at me, brows cocked, waiting for an answer. What are you doing?
“I…” My voice came out small, trampled. “I’m going to be late.”
Dimitri’s gaze moved lazily to his wrist, pulling back the sleeve of his charcoal suit to check his watch. “It’s only eight. Sit and have breakfast. You can ride with meto the office.”
His voice was devoid of emotion, of warmth.
“Um n-no. That won’t be necessary. I—”
“What? It’s not enough that she sits at the same table as us?” Maia’s voice rose. “Now you want to invite the trash into your car? Aren’t you tired of seeing her cheap face?”
“Enough, Mother.” Dimitri’s tone was casual, dismissive, as he took his seat.
Without any fight left in me, I dropped my bag and sat through breakfast in silence.
I’d learned over the years to keep my head down, my mouth shut, my pain invisible. Even when Maia’s words cut sharper than any blade or claw ever could.
The driveto Ravencrest Global was torture.
Dimitri had discarded his suit jacket in the back seat and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Now he gripped the steering wheel with capable hands that made my mouth go dry.
I should have been reviewing my presentation notes. Instead, I was ogling my stepbrother’s forearms.
The way the muscles flexed when he shifted gears. The dusting of dark hair. The silver watch catching the morning light.
I was pathetic.
“Isabella.”
I jerked my gaze away, heat flooding my face. “Huh?” I blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He shot me a brief glance, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have said there was worry etched on his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, his mask of neutrality sliding back like a permanent feature.
“I said you shouldn’t rush while you are eating.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me.” His jaw tightened. “Just act right. You’re supposed to be the Alpha’s…stepdaughter. Alpha stepdaughters do not act uncouth.”
My throat tightened and the backs of my eyelids burned, but I bit back the emotion and nodded.
For seven years, Dimitri kept his deathbed promise to Uncle Asher. Every time Lady Maia lost it, screaming and ready to tear into me, he showed up, cool, steady, stepping in, shutting it down. I told myself it was an obligation, not…affection. He wasn’t shielding me; he was silencing a liability, sparing the pack the scandal of its dirty secret. That truth should have numbed me. Instead, it lodged like a splinter under my ribs, a dull, stubborn ache that hurt worse for being nameless.
Despite the hollowness in my chest, I wouldn’t break. I had something to prove—to Edmund, to the pack, to myself.
And to Dimitri.