Chapter 47: The Wrong Room

Chapter 47:

I pushed the door open, wincing as it let out a low creak, hesitating at the entrance before finally stepping in. I gasped, the room looked nothing like the rest of Damian’s fortress of a house. Despite the fact that it was large, it looked and felt cozy. Lived in.

Sunlight spilled through half-drawn curtains, glinting off shelves lined with glass bottles and stacks of old books. And there was a lot of books! Books filled every corner—some open, others stacked haphazardly like they’d been read and reread a hundred times.

A soft breeze stirred the gauzy curtains, carrying the scent of something floral—lavender, maybe, or sage.

And then I saw her.

At the center, seated in a massive chair, near a window and holding a steaming cup I assumed was probably tea, was a woman.

Her hair was dark auburn, long and thick, braided loosely and thrown over one shoulder. Her eyes, a sharp gray mixed with faint silver– flicked up from the book she was reading and fixed on me.

“Well,” she said, smiling in a way that was far too calm for someone that was just barged in on. “You’re definitely not who I was expecting.”

I froze halfway in, clutching at my bag like a makeshift shield. “Oh…Uh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to just barge in. I was…uh… looking for Damian. And I'm…uh..clearly bad at directions, so…”

One perfect brow arched. “And you thought he’d be hiding in the library?”

“I was… exploring,” I explained lamely. “Or trying to. And at this point, he might as well just be in a closet making more rules.”

She studied me for a moment, then said, “You must be Ivy.”

“Word must travel fast around here,” I said slowly.

Her lips twitched. “Faster than you think,” she replied.

I nodded, “So…since you already know who my name, may I ask for yours?”

“Let’s just say I’m one of the few people around here who doesn’t jump when he growls.”

I blinked. “So… a miracle worker?”

That earned a small laugh, “Something like that.” She gestured to the second chair opposite her. “Sit. You look like you could use a moment to breathe.”

I hesitated, but exhaustion won out in the end. I dropped my bag and sank into the chair, the cushions soft enough to swallow me whole. “Thanks. I’ve been wandering this maze for the past half hour. Either your pack has an obsession with hallways or I’ve been walking in circles.”

“Oh, definitely both,” she said with a knowing grin. “The architect must’ve hated straight lines.”

“... And it doesn't help that they all look the same to me: dark, dusty, and designed by someone allergic to sunlight.”

She laughed quietly, “You’re not wrong. Damian’s never been a fan of open windows. Says it ‘compromises security.’”

“Of course he did,” I said. “That man could make ordering coffee sound like a tactical operation.”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “So you’ve noticed.”

“Who wouldn't?” I replied.

She hummed, “So…” she drawled, leaning back. “How are you liking your stay in paradise?” Her tone was easy, friendly. It made the tension I’d been dragging around all morning loosen just a little.

I snorted. “You mean the part where I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, found out I can’t leave, and got told by a man made of stone that I need ‘the all clear’ to go to class? Yeah. Living the dream.”

Her lips twitched. “Sounds exactly like something my–” she caught herself, pausing just long enough for me to notice, “... like something Damian would do.”

I looked at her more closely. She wasn’t old—maybe a few years older than me, but she carried herself with the kind of confidence people either had because of power or pure stubbornness. Probably both.

“Do you work here?” I asked. “Like… for the pack?”

Something flickered in her gaze, too fast to name, before she smiled again. “You could say that. My role’s complicated.”

“Seems to be a theme around here.”

Her laughter came again, light and unguarded. “You know, you’re braver than most to talk like that in this house.”

“Brave or stupid,” I said, shrugging. “Depends who you ask.”

“Definitely brave,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Or maybe just reckless. Either way, I like it.”

I grinned despite myself. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to miss class because a random guy couldn't even take pity on you.”

“Jason stopped you?”

“Yes!” I threw up my hands. “Apparently I’m on lockdown. ‘Alpha’s orders,’ he said, like that’s supposed to make it easier. It’s not protection, it’s imprisonment with better conditions.”

She snorted. “Jason’s hopeless when he’s given orders. He takes Damian too seriously.”

“Tell me about it.” I crossed my arms. “Damian acts like keeping me locked up is the same thing as keeping me safe. I swear, if I hear him say ‘trust me’ one more time, I’ll…”

“–throw something expensive?” she finished, eyes dancing.

“Exactly!”

We both laughed then, really laughed, and for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel like I was choking on air.

“He’s impossible,” I went on, fueled now by irritation and relief. “He just… decides things. No warning, no discussion. Like he thinks I’ll thank him for steamrolling my life.”

She poured herself another cup of tea and offered me one, which I gratefully accepted. “That does sound like him. Always has to be the one in control.”

“You sound like you’ve known him a while.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Long enough to recognize his bad habits. Half the pack would set themselves on fire if he told them it was part of some grand strategy.”

“That sounds about right,” I muttered. “He’s got this way of making everything sound like an order, even when he’s pretending to be polite.”

The woman tilted her head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Let me guess, you told him that to his face?”

“Multiple times.”

She laughed, “I like you already.”

“Yeah? Because everyone else here acts like I’m some kind of weird species they’re not supposed to talk to."