The mysterious guy

Ester’s POV

All my life, I knew something was missing. I could never explain it—just a hollow space inside my chest that no amount of laughter, love, or work ever seemed to fill.

Was it love? Family? Success?

I had no idea.

I only knew that sometimes when I lay awake at night, staring at the cracked ceiling of my small apartment, I felt like half a soul. Like a song missing its rhythm.

My name is Ester, and I am twenty-two years old.

I live in a world where werewolves and humans exist side by side. Cities are shared, businesses are shared, even schools. But make no mistake—wolves and humans are not equal. Wolves live by instincts, by dominance and rank. They stand taller, fight harder, heal faster. Humans… they blend in, but they are always considered “other.”

And me? Well, I am caught in between.

I was born to werewolf parents, but unlike everyone else in my age group, I have no wolf. No voice inside my head guiding me. No transformation during the full moon. No heightened senses to rely on.

Just… silence.

Most people whisper behind my back, saying I must be human pretending to be a wolf. They laugh when they think I can’t hear. “Wolf-less.” “Worthless.” “Broken.”

But I know I’m not human. I know my wolf is in there, somewhere, hiding. My parents always told me it would come. “Some wolves are late bloomers,” my mother would whisper, stroking my hair when I was younger. “One day, your wolf will come roaring to life.”

But twenty-two years have passed.

And still, nothing.

After graduating from college, I couldn’t find a decent job. Nobody wanted to hire the wolf-less boy. I had degrees, dreams, and drive, but none of that mattered. To them, I was an unreliable anomaly.

So, I found work in a small tailor shop tucked away on a side street. The bell above the door jingled whenever someone entered, and the scent of fabric dye clung to my hands no matter how many times I washed them.

I didn’t actually hate working there. There was something oddly soothing about running cloth beneath the needle, watching stitches bind loose fabric into something sharp and beautiful. I liked the quiet hum of the machine, the way a suit slowly came together piece by piece.

But I never told anyone where I worked. I was too embarrassed. When people asked, I shrugged and said I was “between things.”

I wanted more. More than the dim shop, more than the whispers, more than being forgotten. But wanting and having are two very different things.

I had a boyfriend once. His name was Thomas.

Yes, I’m gay. Thankfully, being gay is no longer illegal in this world. Wolves have long since accepted same-sex bonds; what they care about is bloodlines and rank, not gender. Humans have slowly followed.

Thomas and I met in college. I remember the day as if it were etched into my skin. I was walking across campus, books clutched to my chest, trying to get to class without anyone bumping into me. And then, out of nowhere, Thomas stopped me.

“Hey,” he said with a smile.

No one ever talked to me first. No one wanted to be friends with me, let alone ask me out. So when Thomas did, I was stunned.

When he asked me to dinner, I said yes before he could even finish the question.

And that was how it started.

For four years, we were inseparable. I helped him build his company from scratch. I stayed up late typing proposals, revising his ideas, calculating budgets. I was his shadow, his support system, his anchor. I thought we were a team. I thought we were in love.

But love, it seemed, was only an illusion.

The day I found out, it was raining. I remember because I had run through the downpour without an umbrella, eager to surprise him at work. I wanted to take him to lunch, something small, something romantic.

When I arrived at his office, the receptionist gave me a strange look. I brushed it off.

I opened his door without knocking, smiling wide—

Only for the world to collapse around me.

His assistant was on his knees.

Thomas was leaning back in his chair, his head tilted back, lips parted in pleasure.

My heart shattered into jagged pieces.

I dropped the food I had brought, the plastic container cracking open, spilling noodles across the polished floor.

They both froze.

“Ester—wait!” Thomas scrambled, fixing his clothes as I spun on my heel and ran.

I heard him shouting behind me.

“Ester! Please, it’s not what it looks like!”

I stopped outside the building, my chest heaving, rain mingling with my tears. When he caught up, I turned to him, fury and heartbreak colliding in my voice.

“Not what it looks like? Then explain. Please, explain so I can understand.”

But he had no words.

“How could you do this to me?” I choked out. “After everything I’ve done for you? After I gave you four years of my life?”

He scoffed suddenly, anger flashing across his face.

“Oh, shut it.”

“What?” My voice cracked.

“You’re just a poor guy working in some beat-down tailor shop with nothing better to do.”

His words hit harder than any physical blow.

“Is that how you see me?” I whispered.

“I never loved you,” he sneered. “I just needed you. And you fell for it.”

The ground tilted beneath me.

“So… four years meant nothing?”

“You were dumb enough to believe I could actually fall for someone like you,” he spat. “Wolf-less. Worthless. Useless.”

The tears blurred my vision, but my hand moved on its own.
SLAP.

His head jerked sideways.

“I never want to see you again,” I said, my voice trembling with rage.

And I walked away.

I didn’t know where I was going. My legs carried me through streets until I ended up at the beach.

The waves crashed against the shore, the salt stinging my nose. I dropped onto the cold sand, burying my face in my hands as sobs tore out of me.

His words echoed in my skull.

Wolf-less. Worthless. Useless.

I thought about every whisper I’d endured, every rejection, every failure. I thought about my father, gone too soon. I thought about my mother, breaking a little more each day.

I thought about ending it all.

One step into the waves. That’s all it would take.

I stood. My feet carried me toward the water, the tide foaming around my ankles. I imagined the ocean swallowing me whole.

But then… I looked up.

The sky was painted in streaks of orange and purple, the sun dipping low against the horizon. It was beautiful—achingly beautiful.

And I realized something.

I couldn’t die. Not like this. Not for Thomas. Not for anyone.

I needed to change who I was. Not for them. For me.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and turned away from the water.

And that’s when I saw him.

He stood a few feet away, half-shrouded by shadows.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that curled slightly at the edges. His aura… gods, his aura was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Power radiated off him in waves, pressing against my skin, demanding my attention.

But he was beautiful. Strikingly, hauntingly beautiful.

Something deep inside me stirred—something I had never felt before.

Had I seen him before? He looked familiar, like a memory I couldn’t quite place.

I wanted to go to him. My legs even shifted forward, drawn like a moth to flame.

But my phone rang.

“Ester,” my mother’s voice cracked through the line. “Come home. Quickly.”

My chest tightened.

“I’m on my way, Mom.”

I turned back to where the man stood.

But he was gone.

I ran all the way home, heart pounding.

“Mom? Mom, where are you?”

A faint sound came from the kitchen. I rushed in—and froze.

She was on the floor.

“Mom!” I dropped beside her, panic flooding me.

She was pale, sweating, her breathing shallow.

I didn’t think—I just scooped her into my arms and carried her to the hospital.

Since losing my father two years ago, my mother had never been the same. She tried to be strong for me, but I saw the cracks. The emptiness in her eyes.

At the hospital, they rushed her into the ER. I paced the corridor until the doctor finally came out.

“She’s fine,” he said gently. “She’s stressed. Her wolf is weak. She needs rest.”

Relief crashed through me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Inside, she lay in bed, looking frail but alive.

“Mom,” I said softly, sitting beside her.

She gave me a weak smile. “I’m fine, Ester. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears stung my eyes. “You have to take care of yourself. You’re all I have left.”

“I’m sorry, my son,” she whispered, brushing the tears from my cheeks. “I promise. I’ll try harder.”

I hugged her, clinging to her warmth.

That night, I stayed by her side, curled up in the chair.

But my mind kept drifting back to the man on the beach. His powerful aura, his haunting eyes.

Why did I feel like fate itself had just shifted?

“I hope I see him again,” I whispered into the dark.

And with that, I drifted into uneasy sleep.