THE STRANGER'S TOUCH

ELLA’S POV

His smile seemed genuine, but his eyes told another story—something shadowed and unreadable, like he’d lived too many lives in silence. For a moment, I wondered if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Or maybe… it was all in my head.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. Every angle of his face seemed carved from contradiction—beauty with danger, calm with chaos. His lips were heart-shaped, soft yet commanding, and my breath caught in my throat as our gazes locked.

Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers reached for him. His skin was warm, firm under my touch. He didn’t stop me. That stillness… it was permission.

Then I did the unthinkable. I kissed him.

He kissed me back with the same hunger I’d tried to bury for months—the kind that makes your world tremble and your body forget its pain. Our breaths collided, rough and uneven, and somewhere between his hand cupping my jaw and my heart losing rhythm, I forgot how to think.

The world outside ceased to exist. He lifted me effortlessly from the car, his hold sure and possessive, and carried me into what I barely registered as a mansion. All I saw, all I felt, was him.

The air was heavy with unspoken tension, like something sacred and dangerous had just begun.

When his lips found mine again, the ache in my chest softened into need. His hands roamed carefully, tracing the outline of my hoodie, pausing… waiting. I could feel his restraint battling his desire.

A voice inside me screamed stop. The ghost of Raphael’s rejection still lived in me—his words, his coldness, the humiliation. But this stranger… he looked at me like I wasn’t broken, like he could rewrite the story.

And maybe that’s why I didn’t resist.

I let his warmth melt the edges of my fear. Every touch was a question; every breath between us, an answer I wasn’t ready to give.

He leaned in, his voice rough but tender, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

That single question… it disarmed me.

“Do you want me to stop or keep going?” he asked, his gaze searching mine.

My voice came out barely a whisper. “Keep going.”

The smile that followed wasn’t the wicked smirk of a man used to control—it was soft, almost reverent. “Then promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind.”

I nodded. My heartbeat was a storm.

When his hand brushed my cheek, I froze again. I didn’t know if I was trembling from fear or anticipation. “This is… new,” I breathed, almost embarrassed by my honesty.

His expression gentled, the intensity in his eyes flickering into something almost kind. “Then we’ll go slow,” he said softly. “At your pace.”

That sentence—those four words—made me trust him in a way I hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time.

I inhaled deeply. “Okay,” I whispered.

What followed wasn’t wild or careless. It was the kind of intimacy that feels like remembering a dream you thought you’d lost. He didn’t rush me. He traced me like he was learning me, like each sigh and hesitation mattered.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel like a mistake someone made—I felt seen.

But even in the warmth of it, guilt tugged at me. Why did I crave this so badly? Why did his touch feel like redemption when I barely knew his name?

His breath was hot against my neck, his whispers sinking into my skin. “You’re safe,” he murmured, as if he could feel my fear even when I didn’t voice it.

Somewhere between his heartbeat and mine, I let go.

When I finally drifted into sleep, cocooned in his arms, I didn’t know if I’d found peace… or walked into another storm.

~•~•~•

The next morning

Sunlight crept through the curtains, painting gold across my face. I stirred, the weight of reality pressing down before my eyes even opened.

The sheets were soft—too soft. The scent in the air was masculine, expensive, unfamiliar.

Then it hit me.

The night before.

The stranger.

The things I’d done.

A wave of embarrassment rushed through me, so sharp it almost hurt.

I sat up and looked around the room. Everything screamed wealth—the marble floors, the velvet drapes, the chandelier glinting like a thousand secrets.

Where am I?

My heart began to race. Had I been reckless enough to follow a man I barely knew into a mansion?

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. He was still here.

Panic gripped me. I needed to leave before this turned into something I couldn’t escape.

I spotted my bag near the corner and my shredded underwear on the floor. Heat flushed my cheeks. What have I done?

I dressed in a hurry, fumbling with trembling hands, and tiptoed toward the door. Every step felt like walking away from a version of myself I didn’t recognize.

When I finally found the exit, I didn’t look back. I ran—through the marble halls, past the wide doors, until the cold morning air kissed my face.

Outside, the sign said White Cliffs Pack.

My breath hitched.

So that’s where I was.

A new place.

A new mistake.

A new beginning.

Maybe fate brought me here… or maybe it was punishment.

Either way, I couldn’t shake the haunting thought that lingered as I walked away—

What if I had just given my heart to the one man who could destroy me?

~•~•~•~•

JAKE'S POV

The night had a pulse of its own — low, rhythmic, and predatory.

The kind that makes your blood hum before you understand why.

I shouldn’t have been there that night.

The bar wasn’t my kind of place anymore — too loud, too mortal, too predictable. But even Lycans need a distraction from the weight of leadership. From the endless faces that bowed, obeyed, and never truly saw me.

And then, she appeared.

Like a storm walking in silence.

A girl in a faded hoodie, eyes burning like wildfire trapped in glass.

Before I could speak, she grabbed my shirt and demanded,

“Are you going to reject me too?”

Her voice trembled — but it wasn’t weakness. It was fury born from too many wounds. My guards bristled immediately, ready to drag her out. I raised a hand to stop them. Something in her tone… struck deeper than reason.

“Answer me,” she hissed again, eyes glossed with tears and defiance.

My beast stirred. The Lycan within me — the creature that never bows — went quiet. Watching her.

Why do you smell like fate?

“I would never reject you,” I said, because that was the truth my soul already knew, even if my mind didn’t.

Her lip quivered. For a moment, she looked like a child lost in a storm. Then, as if embarrassed by her own vulnerability, she straightened. “Then take me with you,” she said. “Now.”

It wasn’t a request. It was survival disguised as command.

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve turned around and let my guards escort her away.

But the word no dissolved on my tongue before I could speak it.

Instead, I found myself following her — or maybe she was leading me.

The night outside felt charged, and her heartbeat called to mine in an ancient rhythm I couldn’t ignore.

“Sure,” I said softly, holding the car door open. “Anything for the lady.”

She threw me a glare sharp enough to slice through arrogance.

“What are you staring at? Let’s go.”

There was something almost divine in her boldness — like a fallen angel who hadn’t realized her wings were still burning.

She stumbled when she walked, her knees trembling. I caught her by the waist before she could fall. The moment my hands met her body, something primal inside me… shifted.

Her scent — wild lavender and rain-soaked forest — hit me like lightning.

For a heartbeat, I forgot who I was.

Alpha. King. Predator. None of that mattered.