(Isabella’s POV)
I’ve never seen one werewolf try to escape a situation so fast. The way he flew out of his study, one would think the pack was under a rogue attack. I can only assume he finds me repulsive.
I stand there in my flimsy dress, in bright red lipstick, no less in hooker heels and he looked through me like I was not really there. I feel cheap.
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as a tension headache sets in and pounds through my ears and down my spine.
I help myself to the bar, pour myself a whiskey and down it in record time. Followed by another and then another.
“Slow down,” my wolf says sternly. “You are an Alpha, Isabella Costa. Act like it.”
“I’m not drunk, nor am I getting drunk. I’m just trying to wash the bitterness down my throat.”
“He left so fast t
