Isla's heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach the moment a familiar figure stepped into her father's study. The visitor's dark brown eyes locked with hers, and a cold shiver ran down her spine.
Mikael Voss.
Her ex-boyfriend. The man she thought she'd escaped, the monster she believed was dead.
But there he was, alive, with a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as he closed the heavy door behind him.
"Hello, Cheesecake," Mikael said smoothly, the nickname twisting like a knife in her gut.
A wave of nausea swept through Isla, dragging her back to that horrific night, the night he'd assaulted her after she'd confronted him for cheating.
Her voice cracked as she turned to face the man sitting behind the desk. "Dad… what the hell is this?"
Her father didn't flinch. "He's your groom," he said, as if he was merely just announcing the weather.
Isla's breath hitched, blood draining from her face. "You can't be serious," she whispered, trembling.
"You know exactly what he did to me. How could you—?"
"It's out of my hands now," her father muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Mikael moved towards her with that same mischievous smile tugging at his lips. She froze when his arm snaked around her shoulder. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobe.
"You can't run now, darling," he murmured. "You're mine again."
Rage flared in her chest. She shoved him off and stormed towards the door, but her father's cold voice stopped her.
"Don't be reckless, Isla. My reputation is at stake."
A tear slipped down her cheek, the sting of betrayal slamming into her.
She'd spent her whole life being good, being pretty, and being perfect. Daddy's little girl in ribbons and pearls.
And he hadn't even hesitated to throw her to the wolves.
What was the use of having so much power if he couldn't shield her?
"I won't marry him," she choked out, her voice thick with tears.
"Isla!" her father roared, slamming his palms on the desk.
Isla flinched.
Mikael stepped closer, his voice laced with false affection. "Come now, Cheesecake. Stop pretending that I'm the villain. We were in love once. We still are."
"I'd rather die than marry you," she hissed.
Her legs shook as she fled down the cold corridor, nausea twisting her insides. Defying her father was unthinkable and terrifying, but marrying Mikael was a fate worse than death.
She didn't go far before she heard his voice behind her.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Panic surged within her, and she picked up her pace, but his hand caught her wrist. In one brutal motion, he spun her and slammed her against the wall, pinning her with an arm pressed against her throat.
"You belong to me," he snarled. "You promised."
She gasped, her vision blurring with black spots. "I…don't…"
"You tried to kill me, Isla. This is you making it up to me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead with venomous softness.
"I...can't...breathe..." Her lungs strained for air, her nails clawing into his arm as she gasped for air.
Only then did he release her, letting her crumple to the floor. She coughed violently, her starved lungs dragging in air.
He crouched in front of her, and she shrank back, hatred flashing in her bright green eyes.
"You should listen to your father if you don't want your family to fall," he said, stroking her hair mockingly. "Defy me, and your family suffers."
He rose to his feet, adjusting his suit before walking away.
She stared at his retreating figure, her body trembling with fury and fear. Tears blurred her vision again, her heart sinking.
...
Hours later, the harsh sting of tequila burned her throat as Isla dragged a hand through the strands of her wig. The bar was a blur of dim lights and muted noise, the sharp ache of desperation pressing down on her.
Her blonde wig itched against her scalp, but she couldn't risk taking it off. She knew her father's men would come eventually to drag her back to the house.
Right on cue, three men stepped into the bar, dressed like federal agents on a covert mission. One of them bore a jagged scar across his lips. She recognized him instantly.
"There she is!" someone yelled.
Panic surged through her. She shoved her stool back, slid the wig into place, and slipped into the crowd, weaving through bodies. Then she burst out into the night air and took off running, her heels clattering against the wet pavement.
Her chest heaved as she struggled with her four inches stilettos. And worse, she was too drunk.
She didn't see the stranger until she collided with him.
His body was hard and unmoving like a wall of steel. Strong hands closed around her arms, steadying her. She looked up, and her breath caught.
He was tall, taller than Mikael, and broad-shouldered. His face was beautifully carved with long, dark lashes sweeping over sharp grey irises.
He smelled like cedarwood and jasmine. She wanted to inhale him, bury herself in his warmth and disappear.
His overwhelming aura screamed of danger. She knew at once that he was no human. He had to be a werewolf. A sexy one at that.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "I wasn't watching where I—"
"Are you being followed?" he asked, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. His voice was deep and rich.
"Yes. And I need help," she whispered, clutching the hem of her too-short red dress.
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he turned towards a black car parked nearby.
"Well? Are you coming?"
She didn't hesitate.
She followed him into the back seat, slamming the door shut just as the car sped away.
"You do realize," the stranger said, "that you might've just asked for help from the wrong man, right?"
Isla stiffened.
"Are you threatening me?" she asked in a small voice.
He turned his head towards her. "I'm warning you."
Her pulse thundered. "Where are we going?"
"A hotel."
Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, her heart pounding faster.
Mikael would definitely lose his mind if he discovered that she'd slept with another man. The thrill of rebellion made her feel excited for the first time in her life.
"If that's your price, I don't mind," she said in a small voice.
His eyes narrowed at her. Judging from the way she was squirming under her gaze and tugging at her dress, she'd never done this before. She looked impossibly innocent too.
"You don't mind?"
"I don't," she whispered, breathless.
His eyes darkened.
"You're a con artist," he growled, grabbing her chin.
"No," she rasped. "I'm the woman who's spending the night in your bed."
He grabbed her by the throat, yanking her closer. She lost her balance, falling into him. Then she froze.
'Mate,' Spring, her wolf whimpered in her head.
The man stilled.
His eyes widened as recognition dawned. "Who are you?"
She smiled faintly, her heart hammering. "Call me Isla."
His gaze flicked down to her full lips, his jaw clenched. Then he pulled away, retreating to his corner of the seat.
"We're here," the driver said.
They stepped out in front of an expensive-looking hotel that towered above them. He strode forward, and Isla rushed to keep up.
In the elevator, he slammed her against the mirrored wall.
"What's your deal?" He asked, his grey eyes burning.
She met his stare with defiance even though she was shaking on the inside. "You want the truth? I have nowhere else to go."
He said nothing, but the heat between them said everything.
The elevator doors parted, and he took her hand. She followed him down the hall and into the most luxurious suite she'd ever seen.
He locked the door behind them and pulled her into his arms.
Then he kissed her.
And Isla, Daddy's perfect girl, kissed him right back.