Chapter 5: The Scent of a Secret
Isla stared at the contract on Damien Wolff’s desk, her name inked in smooth, deliberate letters that still shimmered faintly under the overhead light. The moment should’ve felt like relief, like closure. But instead, the air around her had turned heavy, cold in a way that didn’t make sense. It clung to her skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms, pressing against her chest like a silent warning.
Her pulse still hadn’t settled. It pounded against her ribs like a caged thing, wild and frantic, echoing in her ears louder than reason. Heat flushed beneath her skin, a slow, consuming burn that made her hyper aware of every inch of her body. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each breath catching on the tension stretched so tight. Her skin tingled where his heat had reached her and yet it felt like he was still there with her.
The ghost of Damien’s touch haunted her, just a graze of his fingers, nothing more. But somehow, it had lit her nerves on fire. Now, alone in the dim hush of his office, that fire simmered beneath her skin, stubborn and persistent.
She exhaled sharply and muttered under her breath, “Get a grip, Isla.”
But the second she turned toward the door, something stopped her cold in her tracks.
A scent. It wasn’t perfume or the expensive cologne Damien wore, smoky, refined, threaded with cedarwood and the faintest hint of spice. This was deeper. Earthier. Primal. It curled in her lungs like smoke from a wild forest fire, warm, wild, and terrifyingly magnetic. Her stomach clenched without warning, heat pooling low in her belly as instinct, not thought, gripped her. She didn’t understand it, couldn’t name it, but her body responded before her mind could catch up.
She shook herself hard, clearing the strange haze. It’s just adrenaline, she told herself. Stress… Nerves…you name it. You’re letting him get under your skin.
With an impatient breath, she gathered her things and stepped into the hall, heels clicking against marble as she made her way to the elevator. This was absurd. She had work to do, a life to rebuild, and apparently, she added with a grimace, a dinner engagement with her unnervingly powerful employer.
By the time evening fell, Isla was questioning every decision she’d made in the last twenty-four hours. She’d expected a discreet dinner. Maybe a sleek restaurant in the city, something sterile and soulless where Damien would sip overpriced wine and talk strategy. She could wear something professional, keep the conversation formal, survive the night.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
The car he sent picked her up just before twilight and drove for nearly an hour, away from the city, away from the lights, away from anything familiar. The route twisted through dense woods, the sky darkening with every passing mile. When they finally pulled through tall wrought-iron gates and turned onto a long, gravel driveway, her breath caught.
The mansion that rose before her was something out of another time. Stone and shadow, sleek but old, too old, magnificent. It was nestled deep in the trees, the estate stood isolated, silent, like it had secrets etched into its bones. Above it all, the full moon loomed low and luminous, casting a silvery glow that turned the grounds into a tapestry of light and shadow.
A cold chill slid down her spine.
What kind of man lives out here? she thought.
Before she could dwell on the answer, the front door creaked open. Damien stood in the entryway, framed by warm golden light spilling from inside. He wore black, tailored slacks, an open-collared shirt, no tie. The top buttons were undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest, the hint of something rugged beneath his otherwise pristine exterior. Power clung to him like a second skin, quiet and suffocating. But it wasn’t the clothes or the smirk that made her heart stutter. It was his eyes. For the briefest second, just a flash, his irises gleamed the brightest silver. They had transformed from a deep pale gray to an incandescent silver. She knew better than to think it was a trick of the light.
Silver.
They looked unnatural and predatory. Then it was gone. Like it had never happened.
“Come inside,” he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth.
Everything in her body tensed. Her nerves screamed and her blood thrummed with warning. Run, something whispered.
But Isla didn’t run. She wasn’t that girl. She didn’t back down from strange houses, unsettling employers, or inexplicable shivers crawling down her spine. Her jaw tightened and her spine straightened. She lifted her chin, met his gaze, and stepped forward. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality and without knowing it, Isla had just walked straight into the wolf’s den.