Chapter 48 Chapter Twenty Two of Grade Me Harder
I returned home with Wolfe, who opted to follow. And this time, my parents didn’t look at me with shame.
They accepted Wolfe.
They shook his hand—my father with surprising firmness, my mother with a soft, sheepish smile. And my dad, who once wouldn't even say my name without disappointment, couldn’t stop telling me how proud he was.
Proud that I stood my ground.
Proud that I defended myself.
Proud that we proved that wolfe was an innocent man.
That I didn’t back down even when it would’ve been easier to disappear.
And today?
Today is the day that Wolfe and I are going on a date.
A real one. No hiding. No tension. No scandals.
I stood in front of my mirror, tugging at the hem of my dress—black satin, just above the knee, with lace sleeves I picked because I knew he liked them. Something between elegant and badass. Something that felt like me.
My phone buzzed.
WOLFE: I’m outside. You’re late. That’s a detention-worthy offense.
I smirked as my fingers flew across the screen (ME): Good. Make sure to punish me later.
WOLFE: Be careful with that kind of talk, Miss Cross.
ME: Just come get your girl already. 😌
I grabbed my bag, my lips still tingling from the smile that refused to leave. I opened the door. And there he was.
Wolfe stood beside an unfamiliar matte black car, button-down sleeves rolled to the forearms, tie loosened just enough to remind me why I never really stood a chance. He leaned against the passenger side like sin incarnate—cool, dangerous, completely mine.
“Took you long enough,” he said, one brow raised.
“You’re the one who gave up the professor title. Don’t expect punctuality from me anymore.”
He chuckled, opened the car door, and gave a playful bow. “After you.”
I slid in, grinning. “Rented this car?” I teased, glancing around at the spotless interior and the faint scent of leather.
He slid into the driver’s seat, ears flushing red as he laughed, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I wanted today to be special, so…”
Soon after, the car hummed to life, but all I could focus on was the feel of Wolfe’s hand over mine—calloused, sure, a little rough in the way that made my pulse skip. His thumb traced idle circles over my knuckles, and I swore the air between us crackled.
“So,” I said, feigning nonchalance, “where are you taking me?”
His smirk was slow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, actually. Hence the question.”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled onto the road. “It’s a surprise. But I’ll give you a hint—it involves you, me, and absolutely zero interruptions.”
“Bold promise,” I mused, squeezing his fingers. “What if I get distracted?”
His grip tightened just enough to make my breath hitch. “Then I’ll consider it a personal challenge.”
Twenty minutes later, the car slowed. My breath caught.
We were at the overlook; the one with the view of the entire skyline, where the stars pressed close enough to steal. Wolfe killed the engine and turned to me, his eyes dark with something that made my stomach flip.
He got out first, circling around to open my door. I stepped out, heels crunching on the gravel, and took in the scene: a small table set with flickering candles, two chairs, a light meal laid out with careful precision. Wolfe pulled out my chair, ever the gentleman. I sat, smoothing my dress, nerves fluttering in my stomach.
He sat across from me in a black button-down, sleeves rolled like he always wore them, but his fingers wouldn’t stop twitching. He kept adjusting his cuff. Tapping the underside of the table with his finger. Not looking at me for more than a few seconds.
I tilted my head, smiling. “You look like you’re about to fail a pop quiz.”
He laughed under his breath, tight and a bit low. “I feel like I’m about to.”
“Why are you so nervous?”
He hesitated, glancing away, then back. “I just—” He paused, ran a hand through his hair, leaned back like he was physically fighting himself. “I don’t want to ruin this. I wanted everything to be… right. Perfect, even.”
“Wolfe.” I reached across the table and touched his hand. He stilled immediately. “You’re overthinking.”
“I know.” He looked at me, then down again. “I just—there’s no do-over for this.”
“You don’t need a do-over. I’m not here for the food. Or the view. I’m here for you. And honestly, the man who fucked me roughly without hesitation, right under the nose of my sleeping father, shouldn't be acting this shy now”
That got a soft, awkward laugh out of him. He exhaled, long and shaky, then leaned forward on his elbows. Finally meeting my gaze.
“You terrify me,” he said quietly.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“In the best way.” His voice dropped lower. Honest. Raw. “You walked into my life and undid every wall I spent years building. You saw me, loved me even though I was such an asshole to you. And I’ve spent every second since then hoping I’m not screwing things up.”
“You’re not.”
He nodded slowly. Then stood up from the table.
I watched him walk to the glass railing. His back was rigid. His hands clenched at his sides. Then, after a long moment, he turned to face me.
“I tried writing a speech,” he said. “It sounded fake. Like I was trying to convince you.”
He took a breath.
“I don’t want to convince you. I just want you to know this: You are my life. Everything before you was just survival. You made me feel real again. Human. Loved. And I don’t want another day—not one—where I’m not yours.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, simple box. His fingers trembled a little as he opened it.
The ring wasn’t flashy.
It was elegant. Dark gold. A subtle, obsidian-stone band that looked like it had been chosen with taste, not money.
He looked at me, eyes vulnerable for the first time since I met him.
“I don’t care how we do it. I don’t care what name you use. I just want to go home every day knowing you’re mine. Will you marry me, Miss Cross?”
My chest tightened.
My mouth opened.
And for once… I didn’t have a witty reply.
Just tears in my eyes. And one single, breathless word.
“Yes.”