Chapter 2: The Wolf and the Stray

Damian Wolfe’s POV

She smelled like rain and regret.

Damian held the umbrella steady above her as they walked up the stone path, her soaked boots making soft, squelching sounds against the marble steps. She moved like someone who had been taught to be quiet, to take up less space, to never ask for anything.

He hated that. Hated that he recognized it so easily.

He opened the door and motioned her in. She hesitated for a moment—just a flicker of fear in her eyes—and then stepped inside like she was crossing into enemy territory.

Good.

Fear meant caution. And caution meant survival.

The door shut behind her with a satisfying click, sealing her into his world.

Damian watched as she took in the house—high ceilings, dim lighting, walls lined with black-and-white art and dark wood. Clean. Sharp. Designed to keep people out, not welcome them in.

He liked it that way.

“You can leave your things there,” he said, gesturing to the entryway.

She dropped her ruined suitcase, arms hugging her body. She was shivering, though she tried to hide it.

“Come,” he said, already walking ahead. “You need dry clothes.”

She followed him in silence, like a shadow, her footsteps light. He led her upstairs, down the hall, into the guest room—a space that had never been used. Cream walls, a simple bed, an en suite bathroom.

“I’ll leave clothes outside the door. Use the shower. Lock the door if you want. I won’t come in.”

She looked at him for a moment then. Like she was trying to read him. Most people couldn’t. He’d built walls that even fire couldn’t burn through. But her gaze lingered too long, like she wasn’t afraid of what she might see.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just turned and left.

---

Downstairs, he poured himself a drink—something strong, something that burned on the way down. Damian sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace, glass in hand, eyes on the flames.

She didn’t belong here. And yet… she did.

Something about her had pulled at him the moment he saw her on that rain-soaked road. It wasn’t just her appearance—though yes, she was beautiful in a soft, haunted way—it was the look in her eyes. The quiet fury. The bruised pride.

She reminded him of someone.

No, not someone. Himself.

Damaged. Guarded. Alone.

But unlike him, she hadn’t yet become cold. Not completely. And that made her dangerous.

He didn’t let people in. Ever. Not his world, not his house, not his mind. People were chaos, and chaos had no place in the carefully controlled kingdom he’d built.

So why had he stopped for her?

Why had he brought her here?

His fingers tightened around the glass.

Because she looked like a secret he hadn’t heard yet.

And Damian Wolfe didn’t like unsolved puzzles.

---

An hour later, he heard her steps—soft against the hallway floor. She appeared at the stairs wearing one of his black hoodies and cotton sweatpants, the sleeves far too long for her small frame.

She looked warmer. Cleaner. But the shadows were still in her eyes.

He stood. “Hungry?”

She nodded, hesitant.

“Kitchen’s this way.”

He walked ahead again, not looking back, knowing she’d follow.

In the kitchen, he pulled out leftover pasta, plated it, heated it, and handed it to her without ceremony. She stared at it like it was an offering she didn’t deserve.

“Sit,” he said.

She did. Quietly. Carefully. Like someone who’d been yelled at for chewing too loud once.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her eat.

After a few bites, she glanced up. “Why are you being kind to me?”

He smirked slightly. “I’m not kind, Bella.”

“Then what is this?”

“This…” He paused. “Is me not walking away when I should have.”

She stared at him, fork frozen mid-air. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

She dropped her gaze, but not fast enough to hide the relief in her expression.

Damian stepped closer. Slowly. Deliberately.

“I won’t ask you what happened to you,” he said, voice low. “But I see it. The way you flinch at kindness. The way you don’t trust silence unless it’s loud with fear. Someone taught you pain too young.”

Her hands clenched the fork.

“I’ve been that person, Bella. The one who learned too early how cruel the world can be.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he continued. “But while you’re here, under this roof, no one touches you. No one yells. No one breaks you.”

“And what do you get?” she asked quietly.

Damian smiled, cold and sharp.

“A puzzle piece I didn’t know I was missing.”

---

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