Chapter 22 Chapter 22
The car purred to a stop in front of an upscale restaurant tucked into the city’s glittering skyline. The moonlight caught the glass walls, throwing silver streaks across Stetson’s face as he stepped out first, coat swaying behind him.
Zarlia followed, heels clicking on the pavement. She had changed into a fitted black dress she’d bought just hours ago, the kind that whispered confidence with every movement. Her hair fell loose, bouncing with the night breeze as she looked up at the gold-lettered sign above the entrance.
“Really?” she teased. “You pick the most pretentious place in town just to feed me?”
Stetson glanced back at her, one brow lifting. “You looked like you’d starve before we reached the house.”
“I wasn’t starving,” she mumbled, though her stomach betrayed her with a soft growl.
He smirked. “Sure.”
Inside, the restaurant glowed in warm amber light. The scent of roasted meat, herbs, and wine filled the air. Every table was polished marble, and the guests—men in tailored suits, women draped in silk—turned briefly to stare as Stetson and Zarlia entered.
The hostess nearly tripped over her words when Stetson met her gaze. “T-two, sir?”
“Yes,” he said coolly, slipping her a look that made her blush before she led them to a private corner booth near the windows.
Zarlia slid into her seat, eyes sweeping across the place. “You sure we’re not robbing the place with how they’re looking at us?”
“You’re overdressed for a thief,” he murmured, setting down his gloves.
“I could change that,” she said with a grin.
He met her eyes—dark, unreadable. “I don’t doubt it.”
The waitress arrived, and Stetson ordered without even glancing at the menu. Zarlia raised a brow as he spoke so nicely, voice deep and smooth, it wasn’t obvious he was such a push over—outsiders could easily think he was actually a good person. When the waitress left, she leaned forward, chin resting on her hand.
“You really are full of surprises.”
“I’m full of many things,” he said dryly. “Surprise is just one.”
Zarlia chuckled softly. “You know, that could’ve been charming if you didn’t sound like you were threatening me with it.”
His lips twitched, almost—almost—forming a smile.
Then came the silence. The kind that carried the weight of unspoken thoughts. She toyed with the fork in front of her, her gaze drifting to his hands. They looked like they were made for violence and control, yet the way he moved them now—slow, calculated—was strangely gentle.
“You really didn’t have to do all that,” she said after a while.
“Do what?”
“The boutique. The food. The phone.”
Sometimes it felt like he actually paid attention to her, like he actually cared and was actually starting to like her, just like how she was. Despite the cold façade, he seemed nice.
His eyes flicked up, catching hers. “I didn’t do it because I had to.”
She suddenly frowned, maybe her judgment was wrong. “Then why?”
He leaned back; gaze steady. “Because you’re my mate. My partner. And if you’re going to stand beside me, you’ll look the part.”
Zarlia rolled her eyes, heat creeping up her neck. “You sound like you’re prepping me for a photoshoot.”
“Something like that.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What are you planning, Stetson?”
He said nothing, instead picking up his glass and taking a slow sip of red wine. The silence stretched until she let out a frustrated sigh.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he replied.
Their food arrived—grilled lamb, vegetables, and a side of something that looked too expensive to pronounce. She took a bite and hummed, half in pleasure, half in defiance.
“So,” she said between bites, “since I’m your partner now, I suppose I should get used to your secretive nonsense.”
He smirked faintly. “You’ll get used to a lot more than that.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Both.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. “You really don’t know how to flirt, do you?”
“Who said I was flirting?”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Right. Of course not.”
The air shifted—tense but fragile. Beneath the teasing, there was something else pulsing between them: the echo of what they both refused to admit.
She pushed her plate away. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
He looked up. “Which one?”
“The texts,” she said. “What kind of messages were you sending me?” His eyes held hers for a long moment before he said simply, “Ones I shouldn’t have sent.”
Her curiosity flared. “Try me.”
“No.”
“Stetson—”
“I said no.” His voice was quiet but final.
Zarlia leaned back, crossing her arms. “You’re no fun.”
He didn’t respond. He was looking at her in a way that made her heart trip over itself—like he was memorizing her, piece by piece.
After a long silence, she sighed. “You really do think too much.”
“I have to,” he said. “Someone in this pack has to.”
The mention of the pack dulled her smile. “Why did you leave?”. She’d read from Mimi’s blog posts that werewolf belong to packs and she hasn’t seen him with anyone or attended any gatherings so her guess was that he was probably a lone wolf.
He hesitated, the faintest flicker of something—pain, regret—crossing his face. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“Does it concern you?” she countered.
“Yes.”
“Then it concerns me.”
His jaw tightened. “Zarlia—”
“No, don’t ‘Zarlia’ me,” she snapped. “You’re not the only one with a past, you know.”
His eyes flashed, that Alpha dominance sparking in his voice. “But I’m the only one who has to clean up what my family destroys.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
She froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned forward; voice low. “It means that sometimes, loving someone means watching them burn and doing nothing to save them.”
The table fell silent.
Her throat felt tight, the words tangled somewhere between pity and anger. “Is that how you love, Stetson?” she whispered. His gaze softened—barely. “It’s how I survive.”
“Coward”, Asher hissed faintly somewhere at the back of Stetson’s mind.
Neither spoke after that.
Zarlia bit her lips, finally breaking the silence. “Don’t you think that’s a bit selfish”, his eyes narrowed at her. He knew she wasn’t wrong but she also didn’t know what actually made him leave. “I never said I was the good guy”, he continued eating, completely dismissing her further questions.
The city lights shimmered against the window, and the moon hung high, casting its pale glow over them. Zarlia glanced at him—at the man who hid pain behind command, who carried secrets like scars—and wondered, not for the first time, what kind of monster broke him this way.
And yet, despite everything, she couldn’t look away.
She just couldn’t understand the man in front of her. Every encounter showed a different side of him. He set boundaries like it was his hobby, yes, she was the one who made them first but still—
Sometimes she wondered what he was like before the pain, before he left the pack, when he had a smile on his face. She wanted to know him, know why he does what he does, what caused his pain and probably help him carry it.
When the waitress brought the check, Zarlia reached for it, but Stetson was faster.
“Don’t,” he said.
She arched a brow. “Trying to play the gentleman now?”
“No,” he replied flatly. “You already tried to make me broke today.” Her laugh slipped out, soft and genuine. “Touché.”
They left the restaurant together, stepping into the cool night. The city hummed around them—cars, laughter, distant music. She shivered slightly, and before she could protest, Stetson’s coat was draped over her shoulders.
She looked up at him, a small smile forming. “You really are full of surprises.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said.
“Oh, I already am.”
For a moment, the world seemed still—their shadows intertwined under the streetlights. And though neither of them said it, both knew something had shifted between them.
Something they couldn’t undo.
He helped her into the car and got in after. Romero far gone from Zarlia’s memory which now flooded with pictures of a certain werewolf.