Rejected by My Alpha Stepbrother

Chapter One

Isabella’s POV

Seven Years Later

My phone buzzed at 7:30 AM with a text from Marcus Chen, the head of Business Development at Ravencrest Global and my immediate supervisor:

You better not be late for the presentation, or I’m going to personally fire your ass, no matter what Bancroft thinks.

And good morning to you, too, asshole.

I said in my head, dreading yet another day I would have to face my problematic supervisor.

I stared at the framed diploma on my nightstand—Summa c*m Laude, Business Administration—and felt nothing.

I didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment, just the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who’d fought for everything they had.

The Ravencrest name had opened doors.

The finest prep school, an Ivy League education, opportunities most wolf shifters could only dream of.

But every door came with a price tag written in blood:

Charity case.

Bastard child.

The w***e’s daughter.

I could still hear their voices in my head, like permanent ink etched into my skull.

“Must be nice getting everything handed to you.”

“I heard she’s not really a Ravencrest. That she’s just some stray Dimitri’s father felt sorry for.”

“Charity project.”

By senior year of high school, Charity Project had become my nickname.

The popular wolf shifters whispered it loud enough for me to hear, wrote it on my locker, made sure I never forgot exactly what I was:

An obligation.

A burden.

A debt being reluctantly repaid.

My alarm beeped, dragging me out of my thoughts.

7:45 AM.

Shit.

I threw on some makeup to hide my pale, hollow face, grabbed my nearly worn-out blazer and my one-size-fits-all bag, and dashed out of my room in the arctic wasteland that was the third floor of Ravencrest mansion.

Make no mistake—I was no Cinderella.

Not even remotely close.

And I didn’t believe in the fantasy of finding a prince charming.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because people like me didn’t dare to dream of that kind of life.

I wasn’t running because I was late for work—that didn’t start until nine, and Ravencrest Global was only thirty minutes away at most.

I was running because breakfast in the mansion was at eight, and the last thing I wanted was to share a room with Maia Ravencrest.

Or Dimitri.

I’d spent the last seven years like a ghost in this mansion.

The insults and constant reminders that I was a bastard child, unwanted and barely tolerated, still came regularly.

But I’d learned to avoid situations that invited them.

Which meant skipping breakfast, lunch, dinner—anything that would put the three of us in the same room.

I made it down the grand staircase and straight to the dining room.

Empty.

Thank God.

I didn’t need to survey the array of foods to know what I’d stuff into my mouth.

Bacon and pancakes.

And coffee, obviously.

I checked my watch.

7:56 AM.

Four minutes to eat and get out.

I shoved a full pancake into my mouth, threw in some bacon, and tried to flush it down with lukewarm coffee.

I might choke to death, but honestly, that seemed preferable to any interaction with Maia.

I was munching so loudly—etiquette be damned—that I didn’t hear the door open.

“What are you doing?”

I froze mid-chew.

That wasn’t Maia.

That was Dimitri.

I would recognize his deep, rich voice anywhere.

Even in my dreams.

And f**k 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 m******e 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 c****d, 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 me to 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 drive to 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.

And that started with nailing this presentation.