Chapter 19 Chapter 19

Chapter 19 Chapter 19
Isla

The elevator doors closed with a soft whoosh, sealing me inside the sleek metal box with Tristan. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls, pale, dishevelled, with dark circles under my eyes and that angry red mark visible on my neck. Beside me, Tristan stood tall and imposing, not a hair out of place despite everything that had happened. The contrast between us couldn't have been more stark.

I shifted uncomfortably as the elevator began its ascent, the smooth glide so different from the creaky stairs of our farmhouse back home. Home. The word sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest. Would I ever see it again?

"We're almost there," Tristan said, his deep voice breaking the silence, probably in an attempt to break the tension. I didn't respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the changing floor numbers. Each illuminated digit took me further from everything I knew, from the rolling moors and weathered stone walls of Cragg High, from my family. The elevator climbed higher and higher, past more floors than I'd ever seen in a single building. Back home, the tallest structure was the old stone barn with its hayloft. This building seemed to reach for the stars themselves.

When the doors finally slid open, I was greeted by the man with sandy-blond hair and warm honey-brown eyes, Tristan's Beta, the one who'd been in the office earlier. 
"Welcome back, Alpha," he said, his eyes flicking quickly to me before returning to Tristan. "Everything's prepared as requested. The guest bedroom is ready for..." he hesitated, clearly unsure how to address me.
"Isla," Tristan supplied, his hand returning to the small of my back as he guided me forward. The touch sent that now-familiar heat through me, and I hated my body's response to him.
"Right," the Beta, nodded with a smile that seemed genuinely warm. "Nice to properly meet you, Isla. I'm Gabe." I opened my mouth to respond, then remembered Tristan's warning in the car. Do not speak to anyone unless I give you permission. I glanced at him uncertainly.
"Gabe’s okay, he has my highest trust," Tristan said, his tone almost friendly.
"Hi," I managed, my voice small and raw. It was all I could muster. If Gabe noticed the awkwardness, he didn't show it. 
"I called ahead and had the kitchen stocked, and Isla’s things should be up shortly. Also," his voice lowered slightly, "Bianca's been causing quite a scene since she was brought home. She was put in holding as soon as she got back but is demanding to speak to you." Tristan's jaw tightened. 
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, “I’ll go down once I’ve got Isla settled.” 

As they continued discussing pack business, something about council meetings and territory disputes, I found myself drawn to the vast windows that dominated the far wall of what appeared to be a massive living area. Like a sleepwalker, I drifted toward them, barely registering the opulent surroundings. The penthouse was all clean lines and modern luxury, nothing like the cosy, cluttered warmth of my father's house. The floors were polished wood, the furniture sleek and minimalist in shades of grey and black. Art pieces that probably cost more than our entire farm hung on pristine white walls. Everything felt cold, impersonal, untouched by human hands.

But it was the view that truly stole my breath. Leeds sprawled before me, a sea of twinkling lights stretching to the horizon. From this height, the city looked like a living constellation, beautiful and alien. Cars moved along streets like blood through veins, their headlights creating rivers of light. Buildings of glass and steel reflected the night sky, mirroring the stars above.

I pressed my hand against the cool glass, feeling dizzy with the vastness of it all. I had never seen anything like this. My entire life had been spent in the shelter of Cragg High's rolling hills and dense forests. The few times I'd visited Leeds, we'd stayed on the outskirts, never venturing into the heart of the city. Now I was literally above it all, looking down on a world I barely knew existed. The realisation of how far I was from home hit me with physical force. I felt small, insignificant, a country mouse lost in an urban labyrinth. The mark on my neck throbbed, and a wave of vertigo washed over me. The lights below began to blur and swim, and I swayed slightly on my feet.

Suddenly, a strong hand was at my back, steadying me. A ripple of awareness, concern?, flowed through me that wasn't my own.
"Isla?" Tristan's voice seemed to come from far away. I blinked, trying to focus.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, though I clearly wasn't.
"You're exhausted," he said, his tone softer than I'd heard it before. "The Alpha mark is powerful. It takes a toll, especially on..." he hesitated, "humans." The slight curl of distaste in his voice as he said "humans" snapped me back to reality. Right. I was just a human to him. A means to an end. A walking womb for his precious heir.
"I'm fine," I repeated, more firmly this time, pulling away from his touch. The loss of contact left me feeling oddly bereft, which only fuelled my anger. Tristan studied me for a moment, his blue eyes unreadable. 
"Come," he said finally. "I'll show you to your room."

He led me down a hallway, past several closed doors, to what appeared to be a guest bedroom at the far end. He pushed the door open, revealing a space that was beautiful in the most impersonal way possible, like a luxury hotel room designed to offend no one and inspire nothing.

The room was large, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living area. A king-sized bed dominated the space, draped in crisp white linens that looked as if they'd never been slept in. Everything was white or pale grey, the walls, the carpet, the furniture. There was nothing personal, nothing lived-in. Nothing that said 'home.'
"This will be your room," Tristan said, stepping aside to let me enter. "You can have it redecorated if you wish. In a few days, I can have someone come in to discuss changes, colours, whatever you prefer." I walked to the centre of the room, turning slowly to take it all in. It was probably three times the size of my bedroom back home, with an en-suite bathroom visible through a partially open door. Everything screamed luxury. And emptiness.
"For your safety, you will not leave the apartment," Tristan continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "Especially not alone. The pack needs time to adjust to your presence. You have everything you need here, food, entertainment, comfort." I whirled to face him, anger flaring hot in my chest. 
"So I'm a prisoner." His expression hardened. 
"You're under my protection."
"Is that what you call it?" I laughed bitterly. "Sounds like confinement to me."
"It's for your own good."
"Or at least for my womb's protection, right?" The words were out before I could stop them, sharp and cutting. "That's all that really matters to you." Something flickered across Tristan's face, surprise, perhaps, or a flash of guilt. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, confirming my suspicions. It wasn't me he wanted to protect. It was what I could give him. An heir. 

A knock at the door saved him from having to respond. He turned, relief evident in the set of his shoulders. 
"Enter." The door opened to reveal the tall, imposing warrior I recognised from earlier, his face was expressionless as he carried my suitcase into the room, setting it just inside the door without a word. His dark eyes swept over me, cold and assessing, before returning to Tristan.
"Will there be anything else, Alpha?" His voice was as emotionless as his face.
"Yes, please wait outside. We need to go see Bianca." The warrior nodded curtly, not even bothering to acknowledge my presence before leaving, closing the door firmly behind him. The message couldn't have been clearer if he'd spoken it aloud: I wasn't welcome here. Silence stretched between Tristan and me, heavy with all the things unsaid. Finally, he cleared his throat.
"You should rest. It's been a long day, and the mark needs time to settle. I'll see you in the morning." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, as if he might say something else, but then seemed to think better of it. With a soft click, the door closed behind him, and I was alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

I stood in the centre of that pristine white room, feeling as if I might shatter into a thousand pieces. The enormity of my situation crashed over me like a tidal wave, I had been taken from my home, my family, everything I knew and loved. Marked against my will. Brought to this strange, cold place where I was neither wanted nor welcome.
And for what? To be a broodmare for the Alpha King. To bear a child that might kill me in the process. My legs gave out, and I sank onto the edge of the too-large bed. The mattress was soft, the duvet plush and expensive. Nothing like my creaky twin bed at home with its handmade quilt and the slight dip in the centre where I'd slept for as long as I could remember.

I reached up to touch the mark on my neck, wincing at the tenderness. It pulsed beneath my fingers, a constant reminder of my new reality. Through it, I could sense Tristan's presence somewhere in the apartment, not his thoughts or specific emotions, just a vague awareness of him, like knowing the sun is still in the sky even when clouds obscure it. The bond felt intrusive, a violation of my most private self. He had forced this connection on me, this awareness that I could never escape. Even if I somehow managed to flee this gilded cage, he would find me. He would always find me.

A sob built in my chest, pushing against my ribs like a living thing, demanding release. I had been so strong all day, facing down the Alpha King, offering myself in exchange for my family's safety, enduring the mark, the journey, the arrival in this alien place. But now, alone in this sterile room, my strength crumbled.

The first tear fell, then another, and another, until I was weeping openly, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief. I cried for my father, for Mara, for Lysa and her unborn child that I might never meet. I cried for Cassie, my best friend who would blame herself for my fate. I cried for the life I had lost, the future that had been stolen from me. But most of all, I cried for myself, for the fear that gnawed at my insides, for the loneliness that stretched before me like a vast, empty plain, for the knowledge that my body was no longer entirely my own. Eventually, exhaustion began to overtake grief. And I slipped into a fitful heartbroken sleep.