The Wolves' Revenge

The ballroom glowed magnificently, the chandeliers throwing golden light over marble flooring and gorgeously clad VIPs. Conversations hummed like bees, with the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Isabella Monroe took a slow, measured breath, her gaze sweeping across the room. She didn't belong here anymore, but no one knew.

Her black silk gown clung to her like a second skin, the type of clothing that drew attention while leaving much to the imagination. It was deliberate. Every aspect, from her outfit to her diamond earrings, was part of a meticulously planned illusion. Tonight, she was not the orphaned daughter of a bankrupt billionaire. Tonight, she embodied power.

She surveyed the room, looking for the one man who mattered.

Xander Blackwood. Even his name was enough to start a fire in her chest. The son of the man who had stolen everything from her. She would now annihilate this man.

"Miss Monroe, you look stunning tonight."

Isabella recognised Gerald Palmer, a top executive at one of Blackwood's subsidiary companies. His eyes rested a little too long on the curve of her neck, even though he was grinning politely. She nodded politely, disguising her dislike behind a grin.

"Thank you, Mr. Palmer," she said, her voice soft and controlled.

As they exchanged pleasantries, her gaze shifted to the entryway. Then she spotted him.

Xander Blackwood.

He entered the room with the assurance of a king, his fitted suit creating a crisp silhouette. He was tall and imposing, with dark hair that curved slightly at the ends as if his appearance defied perfection. His eyes, icy and penetrating, swept the room like a predator examining its territory.

When he entered the room, it shifted completely. Conversations ceased. Heads turned. He moved like a man accustomed to being in authority, a man who demanded attention without asking for it.

Isabella's breath became trapped in her throat for a little while. He was more terrifying in person than she had anticipated. But suddenly the heat in her chest returned. This was the man she'd been waiting for. She would burn down the man's empire, brick by brick.

"Excuse me," she said softly to Gerald, moving away before he could protest.

She approached Xander, her heels quietly clicking on the marble floor. She felt the room's eyes on her and accepted it. Every step was planned, every movement deliberate. She had to get this correct.

As she neared him, she felt the weight of the moment bear down on her. This was it—the start of her wrath. Yet, beneath the hard determination, there was a tinge of discomfort. Xander Blackwood was a formidable opponent, a control freak. She'd need to play her cards cautiously.

He saw her as she approached, his stare locked on hers with such intensity that her gut tightened. His steel grey eyes appeared to see through her, stripping back the layers of her carefully crafted facade.

She introduced herself as "Isabella Monroe," and extended her hand. Her speech was calm and confident, but her heart was racing.

Xander's lips curled into a small smile, but his gaze was unreadable. He firmly gripped her hand, his skin chilly to the touch. "Xander Blackwood."

For a minute, neither of them spoke. The air between them was filled with unsaid tension. Isabella fixed his stare, reluctant to be the first to break the stillness.

"I've heard a lot about you," Xander murmured softly, almost purring. "But I didn't expect to meet you here."

Isabella grinned, the corners of her mouth curving just slightly. "I like to keep people on their toes."

His smile expanded but did not reach his eyes. "I can see that."

For a little while, the rest of the room appeared to slip away. It was only the two of them, locked in a wordless struggle of will. Isabella could feel the weight of his stare and the underlying challenge in his eyes. He was testing her, trying to read her and figure out what she wanted.

But Isabella was ready. She had spent years creating this moment, crafting her strategy down to the tiniest detail. She refused to let him see past her disguise. Not yet.

"I've heard a lot about you as well," she added, keeping her tone light and almost mocking. "The city's most powerful man."

Xander raised an eyebrow, enjoyment flashing across his eyes. Is that the impression they have of me?

"Oh my, they say all kinds of things," she responded, her smile unwavering. "But I like to form my own opinions."

There was something both frightening and fascinating about the way he laughed quietly. "I'll be interested to hear what you think."

Isabella's eyes narrowed slightly as she cocked her head. "You'll have to earn that."

Xander's smile grew, and Isabella noticed a flicker of something in his eyes—something dark and frightening. "I never back down from a challenge."

"Good," she replied, her tone cold and steady. "Neither do I."

There was a noticeable tension between them, like a faint electrical current humming beneath the surface. Isabella felt the pull, as Xander's presence appeared to fill the room and command attention. But she refused to let herself be swept away. Not now. Not ever.

This was only the beginning.