Chapter 4 LITTLE WILDCAT, WHY ARE YOU HERE?

CLAIRE'S POV:

Jennifer took me to The Howling Moon that night. I froze at the entrance, my fingers nervously plucking at the black satin corset they'd forced me into. The damn thing squeezed my ribs so tight I could barely breathe, and the thigh-high stockings made me feel like some cheap imitation of myself.

"This is degrading," I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jennifer adjusted the silver choker around my neck - the club's so-called "protection" against overzealous patrons. "You'll make a month's salary in one night," she reminded me, her voice softening as she added, "Your dad's medical bills aren't going to pay themselves."

The weight of that truth pressed harder than any corset. With a shuddering breath, I pushed through the heavy doors.

The club was a busy one and well decorated with flashing lights and loud music. Men were busy drinking while most of the women in here were half-naked and danced as if they were drunk. They ground against leering men, their laughter sharp and artificial as hands groped bare skin.

"Hey, gorgeous, let me buy you a drink?" A beta male with whiskey breath grabbed my wrist. His touch burned like acid.

I wrenched free without breaking stride, my stomach churning. This was worse than I'd imagined.

Before I could bolt, a broad-shouldered manager appeared. "You're late," he snapped, jerking his chin toward a secluded hallway. "VIP room. Don't keep him waiting."

My pulse thundered in my ears as I approached the private suite. The door felt heavier than it should have, like fate itself resisted what waited beyond.

Then I saw him.

Theo.

His silver eyes locked onto mine the moment I entered, and suddenly, the corset wasn't the only reason I couldn't breathe. Every instinct screamed to flee, but my feet remained rooted, caught in the gravitational pull of his presence.

"What are you doing here?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, barely audible over the blood roaring in my ears.

One dark eyebrow arched as he took a deliberate sip of whiskey. "I own the place, little wolf." His voice was rougher than I remembered. "The real question is - what are you doing here?"

My breath hitched. The truth lodged in my throat like a stone, but I forced it out. "My father's dying." The words tasted like ashes. "The hospital bills... no one else would hire me after..." I couldn't finish, couldn't voice Adrian's betrayal again.

Theo put down his drink. Moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the gold flecks in his silver eyes as they searched mine.

"You don't belong here." His voice was rougher than I remembered, the words more growl than speech. My wolf stirred for the first time in weeks, pressing against my skin in recognition.

I swallowed hard. "Beggars can't—"

"Don't." A calloused thumb brushed my cheek, smearing a tear I hadn't realized had escaped. "Never call yourself that."

Then he was moving, shrugging out of his tailored jacket and settling it over my shoulders, swallowing me whole. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that fresh tears threatened.

"Come." One word, spoken softly, yet brooking no argument. His hand at the small of my back guided me past gawking staff into a private elevator.

The penthouse smelled like him. I barely registered the sprawling city views before he was pressing a crystal tumbler into my hands, the warm water doing little to soothe the tremor in my fingers.

"Drink." He waited until I obeyed before settling beside me, close enough that our thighs almost touched. "Now talk."

The words spilled out of me in a raw confession—my father's terminal illness, the astronomical medical bills, the countless rejection letters piling up in my inbox. Theo listened with unsettling stillness, his silver-flecked eyes never wavering from mine, absorbing every shaky breath and suppressed tremor in my voice.

When I finished, he exhaled slowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "If you walked through hell to save your father," he said, his deep voice roughened with something I couldn't name, "then you're the strongest woman I've ever met."

My throat tightened at the unexpected praise, but before I could respond, his phone buzzed violently across the glass coffee table. A shadow passed over his face as he read the screen, his entire body tensing like a predator sensing danger.

With swift, deliberate movements, he grabbed a pen and scribbled on a hotel notepad. The check he tore off and pressed into my palm made my breath hitch—six figures, written with the casual ease of someone for whom money meant nothing.

"For your accompaniment tonight," he said. "My driver will take you home."

I stared at the numbers, my stomach twisting. It was more money than I'd ever held, yet still only a fraction of what my father needed.

"Thank you," I whispered, but Theo was already striding toward the door, his broad back rigid with tension.

The ride home passed in a blur. Back in my apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, the check crumpling in my clenched fist. The penthouse's opulence still clung to my skin—the scent of Theo's cologne, the heat of his gaze, the way his voice had dropped when he called me strong.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Why did his approval matter so much?

And why, whenever I met those silver-flecked eyes, did my entire body ache with this unbearable hunger?

I longed to ask my wolf Eve, but she remained silent since the rejection. I hope she'll recover soon. I couldn't imagine my future without her.