Morning came far too quickly.
Isla had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, the message on Logan’s phone appeared again.
Bring the carrier.
We need to discuss what happens to the child after the divorce.
By the time she joined Logan for breakfast, exhaustion weighed heavily on her.
He sat across from her, already dressed for work.
His dark suit fit him perfectly, making the distance between their worlds feel even greater.
Isla kept her attention on her plate.
“You haven’t looked at me once,” Logan said.
She cut into her eggs without taking a bite.
“I didn’t realize that was required by the contract.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
She could hardly ask whether he had brought another woman into his bedroom after touching her.
Their arrangement didn’t promise fidelity.
Still, the memory of the red lace bra hurt.
“Is this about tonight?” he asked.
Isla finally looked up.
“Your grandmother has already decided what she wants from me.”
“She hasn’t met you.”
“She called me a carrier and asked what would happen to the baby after our divorce.
I think that says enough.”
Logan’s jaw tightened.
“She doesn’t decide what happens to my child.”
“Our child,” Isla corrected.
Silence fell between them.
Then Logan inclined his head.
“Our child.”
The small concession eased something inside her, though she remained wary.
“The meeting is tonight,” he continued.
“Until then, rest.”
Isla looked back at her untouched breakfast.
Rest was the last thing she could imagine doing.
Shortly before sunset, a maid delivered a formal gown to the penthouse.
The deep blue silk was softer than anything Isla had ever owned.
Tiny silver beads decorated its fitted bodice, while the skirt flowed loosely enough to accommodate her pregnancy.
“This must cost more than everything in my old room,” Isla murmured.
The maid helped fasten the dress.
“You’ll be dining with the Vale matriarch.
Formal attire is expected.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“When you greet Madam Vale, lower your gaze and bow.”
“Does everyone bow to her?”
“Everyone beneath her rank.”
In the Vale family, that probably included Isla more than anyone else.
Serena stirred inside her.
‘We survived the Spencers.
We can survive a room full of overdressed wolves.’
Isla almost smiled.
When she entered the living room, Logan was waiting in a black evening suit.
His gaze moved over her, lingering long enough to warm her cheeks.
“Will this meet your family’s standards?” she asked.
“No.”
Her fragile confidence faltered.
Logan approached and offered his arm.
“Nothing will.
That’s their problem.”
She hesitated before placing her hand in the crook of his elbow.
His eyes lowered to her fingers, but he said nothing.
High stone walls surrounded the sprawling mansion.
Armed guards patrolled beneath banners bearing a silver wolf, and the air was thick with the scents of powerful Alphas.
Serena shifted uneasily.
Logan stepped out first and extended his hand.
“Keep your head up,” he said as he helped Isla from the car.
“Because I’m your wife?”
“Because bowing will only encourage them.”
They entered together.
Conversation faded the moment Isla walked into the grand sitting room.
Several members of the Vale family openly studied her dress, face, and stomach.
Their judgment pressed against her from every direction.
A dark-haired woman rose from the sofa.
Aunt Lyra, Isla guessed.
The woman’s cold smile matched the smug expression she had seen on the phone during the family’s earlier calls.
“So the clinic’s mistake is real,” Lyra said.
“Was the pregnancy independently verified, Logan?
Or did she simply tell you the child was yours after discovering whose sample she received?”
Logan’s arm went rigid beneath Isla’s hand.
“The child is mine.”
Lyra’s husband, Roland, regarded Isla with open disapproval.
“Vale marriages have always formed alliances.
What pack, territory, or army does she bring?”
“None, apparently,” a younger woman remarked.
“She doesn’t even know the proper greeting.
How are we supposed to present her beside Logan in public?”
Isla’s nails pressed into her palm.
‘Head high,’ Serena reminded her.
She refused to look down.
A hush spread across the room.
An elderly woman entered, leaning lightly on a silver-tipped cane.
Age had whitened her hair, but it had done nothing to soften her authority.
Every wolf in the room lowered their gaze.
Vespera Vale.
Her eyes settled on Isla.
“So this is the carrier.”
“My wife,” Logan corrected.
Vespera took her seat without acknowledging the warning in his voice.
A ceramic cup of tea waited on the table beside her.
“A marriage certificate can give her your name,” she said.
“It cannot give her the breeding, education, or rank required to stand beside you.”
“You know nothing about her education,” Logan replied.
“And I know enough about her breeding.”
Serena growled, but Isla forced herself to remain still.
Vespera lifted the cup and took a measured sip.
“The family council can have your position reconsidered.
End this embarrassment before it damages the Vale name.”
Logan’s eyes flashed gold.
Power rolled from him in a silent wave.
The younger wolves lowered their heads first.
Even the Alphas stiffened beneath the pressure.
“My title is mine,” Logan said.
“My marriage is my decision.
I will surrender neither to satisfy this family.”
Isla stared at him.
Never in front of the people whose approval should have mattered most.
Vespera set down her cup.
Her fingers lingered near her throat.
“Then perhaps,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse, “you are no longer fit to lead this—”
Her words broke off.
Isla noticed the sudden strain in her breathing.
Vespera touched her throat again, and the commanding presence of her wolf flickered.
Then vanished.
The cup slipped from her hand.
It shattered as Vespera collapsed.
“Nana!”
The room erupted.
Lyra screamed for the family healer.
Roland shouted for Vespera’s heart medication.
Relatives and servants crowded around her, each making the chaos worse.
Isla pulled away from Logan and dropped beside the matriarch.
“Get away from her!” Lyra reached for Isla.
“Don’t touch my wife,” Logan growled.
Lyra froze.
Isla pressed two fingers to Vespera’s wrist.
Her pulse was racing.
Cold sweat covered her skin, and a faint blue tint had appeared around her lips.
“Everyone move back,” Isla ordered.
No one obeyed.
Logan’s power struck the room again.
“You heard her.
Move.”
The crowd retreated.
Isla lifted Vespera’s chin.
The older woman dragged in a thin, broken breath.
“Get her heart medication!” Roland shouted.
“No.”
Every face turned toward Isla.
She checked Vespera’s throat again.
The swelling was worse now, but there had been no rash.
Her symptoms could easily be mistaken for a cardiac attack, especially if she was taking medication that altered an Alpha’s normal response.
Isla’s gaze moved to the broken cup.
A bitter herbal scent rose from the spilled tea.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Logan asked, crouching beside her.
“I studied wolf pharmacology.” Isla kept her fingers against Vespera’s weakening pulse.
“If you give her heart medication before checking her airway, you could kill her.”
Lyra stared at her with open fury.
“Who do you think you are?”
Isla ignored her.
Vespera tried to breathe again, but only a faint wheeze emerged.
Logan’s gaze locked on Isla.
“If her heart isn’t failing, what is happening?”
Isla looked down at the woman who had called her nothing more than a carrier.
Her blood ran cold.
“Her airway is closing.”