Chapter 2 — Shattered Glass

The sound of glass shattering reverberated through the sleek, polished halls of Hartman Tower, a violent rupture in the calm that had reigned just moments before. Isla Hartman’s hand paused mid-signature, her amber eyes narrowing behind her stylish glasses. The Wolfstone Pendant at her throat pulsed with heat, a subtle, insistent warmth against her skin. She ignored it, focusing instead on the data flooding her senses—the distant hum of city traffic, the sharp intake of breath outside her office.

Her heightened hearing caught the frantic murmur of voices, the hurried patter of footsteps. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Ms. Hartman, are you—"

Claire, her assistant, burst through the door, her normally composed demeanor in disarray. Isla set down her pen with deliberate control, smoothing her charcoal suit as if restoring order to the chaos that had so suddenly intruded.

"What happened?" Isla’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, her words sharp, clipped, as she stepped around her desk and moved toward the disturbance.

Claire’s face was pale, her eyes wide. "The windows—some kind of explosion. No warning. Security’s investigating."

"Attack," Isla finished for her, the word cold and final. She knew. The tension in the air was unmistakable, a primal instinct gnawing at the edges of her carefully controlled calm. The warmth of the pendant, growing hotter by the second, confirmed her suspicion.

Without another word, Isla walked past Claire, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The executive suite was a mess of shattered glass and overturned chairs. The floor-to-ceiling windows that once offered panoramic views of the city now gaped like jagged wounds in the tower’s pristine exterior. A cool breeze carried the scent of rain, but beneath it was something more... something feral.

Her pulse quickened. The scent nudged at a memory she had worked hard to bury.

"Lock down the building," she ordered over her shoulder. "No one gets in or out until we know what we’re dealing with."

Claire nodded and hurried off to relay the command. Isla continued toward the windows, her senses straining for any sign of what had caused the breach. The city sprawled before her, steel and glass reflecting the overcast sky. But her focus wasn’t on the view. She sharpened her heightened senses, searching for something out of place.

And then she felt it. A presence—just at the edge of her awareness, lingering in the shadows beyond the tower’s perimeter. The air itself seemed to hum, a faint supernatural aura clinging to the shards of glass like static.

Her jaw tightened as she forced herself to breathe steadily. She had spent years burying her instincts, suppressing the wolf within. Now, that part of her clawed its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged. The Wolfstone Pendant burned hotter, a searing reminder of the heritage she had long tried to forget.

“Isla.”

The voice behind her was low, familiar. Thomas, the head of her security team, approached with a grim expression.

“We’ve swept the building. No sign of explosives. It wasn’t a bomb, but…” He hesitated, his hand tightening around the radio at his belt.

“But what?” Isla’s voice held an icy edge, her patience thinning.

“Claw marks,” Thomas said, his words clipped, urgent. “Exterior windows.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the wolf within her stirring. Claw marks. The heat from the pendant surged, and Isla’s fingers instinctively closed around its crescent shape, the amber stone burning against her skin.

"Wolves," she muttered under her breath, though the word felt alien on her tongue after so many years of denial.

It was a message. A warning. And there was only one person who would dare send it.

Conrad.

Her father.

"Increase security around the building," she said, her voice cold and calculating. "Double the usual patrols. Every breach point covered."

Thomas nodded, his expression uncertain but trusting her judgment, as he always had.

“Do you think this was… them?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough not to alarm the other employees who had gathered in confused clusters, still reeling from the shock.

Isla didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze swept the city streets below, her mind racing. She had known this day would come eventually, that Conrad wouldn’t let her stay away forever. But why now? Why target her company so openly, after all these years of silence?

Her thoughts flitted briefly to her mother, the woman who had understood Isla’s craving for independence, who had supported her decision to leave the pack. If her mother were here now, what would she say? Would she warn Isla, as she had all those years ago, that no matter how much she tried to distance herself, the wolf was always there, waiting beneath the surface?

“I don’t know yet,” Isla finally said, her voice tight. “But we will find out.”

Thomas gave her a curt nod and left to carry out her orders. Isla remained by the shattered windows, her eyes scanning the streets below for any sign of movement. The city continued as if nothing had happened, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath its surface.

Then, the air shifted, carrying a familiar scent—the one she hadn’t smelled in years yet recognized immediately.

Wolf.

Her whole body stiffened. It wasn’t just any wolf. Her father’s scent was unmistakable—sharp, commanding, with that edge of dominance that had always made her skin crawl. He was close, watching, pulling the strings from the shadows as he always had. But this… this was different. This wasn’t subtle. This was a declaration of war.

How long had he been waiting for her to slip? How long had he been watching, waiting for the perfect moment to remind her of what she truly was?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting the tense silence. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A number she didn’t recognize, but the area code was familiar—too familiar.

She hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“Isla.” The voice on the other end was deep, authoritative, sending a chill down her spine despite her expectation of it.

“Father,” she replied, her tone flat, devoid of any warmth.

“You know why I’m calling.”

Her grip on the phone tightened. “I assume it has something to do with my office windows being scattered across thirty floors of downtown.”

A low chuckle echoed through the line. “Consider it a reminder, Isla. You can’t run from what you are. You belong with the pack.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she snapped, her control slipping for just a moment, heat rising in her chest. Her free hand gripped the jagged edge of the shattered window, the cool wind biting at her skin. “And I certainly don’t belong to you.”

A long pause followed, heavy with unspoken threats.

“You can’t deny your heritage forever,” Conrad finally said, his voice softening, though the menace behind his words was unmistakable. “Eventually, you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.”

Isla’s eyes flicked to the shattered glass around her, the wind tugging at her hair. She felt the weight of the pendant against her chest, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, as if echoing her father’s words.

"I always have a choice."

"Not this time," he said, his tone final, as though sealing her fate.

The line went dead.

Isla stood there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand. The pendant pulsed again, a reminder of the bond she had tried so hard to sever, the bond that tied her to a world she had left behind.

But she wouldn’t let him win. She wouldn’t let him drag her back into the life she had rejected. Her life—her company—was hers, and she would fight to protect it.

Turning from the shattered windows, Isla’s mind raced ahead, planning, strategizing. Conrad may have made the first move, but she would not let him dictate the terms of this battle.

Not now. Not ever.