CH-2

V

VIN’S POV

Walking along the road, I tilt my head slightly and look up at the skyline of downtown Frankfurt. The tall buildings stretch endlessly toward the sky, their glass surfaces reflecting the soft morning light. The weather today is beautiful—perfect, almost suspiciously so. Not sunny enough to burn the skin, not windy enough to ruffle coats and scatter papers through the streets. Just pleasantly mild, the kind of weather most people would enjoy while strolling with friends or loved ones.

For me, it is simply another ordinary day.

I walk this road every day.

It has become a silent routine I follow without fail, something that grounds me in a world that often feels too loud, too overwhelming. I have heard countless stories about wolves—how they love running freely through the forest, feeling the wind through their fur as they sprint beneath towering trees and across endless land. It is supposed to be in our nature.

Yet I prefer walking.

Slow, controlled, and deliberate.

Perhaps the only thing wolves and I truly have in common is our aloofness. Wolves run alone, and I walk alone. There is a strange comfort in that solitude. I enjoy blending into the busy streets, surrounded by strangers who do not know who I am and do not care to find out.

It allows me to disappear.

That is exactly what I want—to be unnoticed, to remain distant from everyone. My dark shades and long overcoat do a good job of hiding my identity, shielding me from curious glances and unnecessary conversations.

And thankfully, Nate—my wolf—has never complained.

Deep down, I know he must have wanted something different. Wolves crave freedom. They crave the thrill of shifting and running through forests with wild abandon, feeling alive in a way humans rarely understand. Nate must have wanted that.

But I never allow it.

Somehow, I have never liked shifting.

It is not because of the pain—although the first few times nearly tore me apart. Over the years, I have grown used to it. Pain, after all, becomes easier to endure when it is familiar.

No… the real reason lies deeper than that.

I think a part of me simply wants to run away from the reality of being a wolf.

My steps come to a halt when I notice my car parked at the corner of the road. The sleek black vehicle stands quietly beside the curb, and Ronny, my driver, waits patiently near it.

He always does.

It is part of our daily routine.

Every morning, we leave my manor together. Ronny drives me toward the office, but he never drops me directly in front of the building. Instead, he stops a few blocks away, allowing me to walk the rest of the distance.

No matter the weather.

In fact, extreme weather oddly brings me comfort. Rainstorms, cold winds, heavy snow—those days are the best. Fewer people are out on the streets, fewer eyes watching.

Fewer people to judge me.

Ronny nods respectfully when he sees me approaching and quickly opens the car door. I slide into the back seat without saying much.

Honestly, I would have preferred walking the remaining distance to the office.

But Valerio—my business partner and best friend—strongly opposes that arrangement.

According to him, people like us must maintain a certain image, a certain status. Company owners should arrive in style, not wandering through streets like ordinary pedestrians.

Sometimes I want to laugh at his ridiculous logic.

Yet, unfortunately, the world agrees with him.

With paparazzi constantly lurking around, searching for gossip or scandals involving wealthy entrepreneurs, I have little choice but to comply. Drawing attention is the last thing I want.

I am the Managing Director of Dream Scrapers Inc., a company founded by my two closest friends and me.

All three of us graduated from Oxford. Back then, we were just young men with ambition and ideas that felt too big for the world we lived in.

In the beginning, things were far from easy.

Mostly because of me.

People tend to have a peculiar reaction when they meet me. Some stare too long. Others avoid me completely. Their expressions often hold the same silent question—why?

Why does he exist?

Our small company began in Brussels, within the boundaries of our estate. At first, it was nothing more than a dream shared between friends. But slowly, project by project, we grew into something far greater.

Still, success never erased the way people looked at me.

I was never truly welcomed in our social circle.

Whenever I entered a room, the atmosphere subtly shifted. Conversations quieted. Eyes followed me cautiously, as if I were something unnatural, something that should not exist.

And honestly…

I cannot entirely blame them.

I do not know why my parents—more precisely, my mother—chose to bring me into this world when she knew how my future would unfold. Perhaps she was blinded by the overwhelming joy of becoming a mother. Perhaps she believed love would somehow protect me from everything else.

Sometimes I wish she had stopped for a moment and truly thought about what she was stepping into.

But despite everything, I cannot bring myself to hate her.

My mother is the best mother anyone could ask for.

She is kind, patient, and endlessly compassionate. Even when the world turned its back on me, she never did. She raised me alone, carrying the burden of both parents without ever complaining.

My father was never truly there for us.

Yet my mother always made sure I did not grow up hating him. She protected his image in my eyes, convincing me he was simply busy, simply distant.

What she forgot was that I would not remain her innocent little boy forever.

One day, I would grow up.

One day, I would see the truth for myself.

Sometimes, I wish I had remained that small boy—too naive to understand the cruelty of this world.

As time passed, I began to realize something important.

Perhaps none of this was truly anyone’s fault.

Perhaps it was simply destiny.

Maybe God wrote my fate on a day when he was in a particularly sour mood because hatred is the emotion I have received most in my life.

At least two things are clear to me now.

People hate me.

And in return…

I hate the world.

“Sir, we are here.”

Ronny’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I blink and realize the car has already reached the basement parking of our building.

He steps out quickly and opens the door for me.

I walk toward the elevator and press the button for my private floor. This lift is accessible only to three people—Valerio, Waldo, and me.

Waldo is our third partner. He manages our main branch in Brussels, our home country. Valerio and I handle the Frankfurt office, focusing on expanding the business internationally.

“Vincenzo.”

The moment I step out of the elevator, I hear Valerio calling my name.

He stands near the reception area, clearly waiting for me. His hopeful expression immediately tells me something is coming.

I already feel the urge to roll my eyes.

“Speak,” I say flatly.

He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Ahem… you have to go to Germany tomorrow.”

I stare at him.

He nervously chews the inside of his cheek because he already knows what I am thinking.

First, I hate traveling.

Crowds irritate me.

Second, I dislike one-on-one meetings. I prefer working behind the scenes where strategies are created, not presented.

Most meetings are handled by Valerio and Waldo. They serve as CEOs of their respective branches, while I focus on the analytical side of the business.

But every position comes with responsibilities.

Being the Managing Director means that sometimes, when they cannot attend important meetings, I must step in.

They always try their best to avoid putting me in that position.

Still, there are moments when they have no other choice.

I close my eyes and release a slow breath through my nose.

“Send me the details.”

Before he can say anything else, I walk toward my cabin.

Behind me, I hear Valerio whispering dramatic words of gratitude to God, which only makes me roll my eyes again.

Inside my office, Isa Carlo—my assistant—enters quietly behind me.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and a hot espresso sits neatly on my desk.

I am grateful to have Isa around.

She is disciplined, efficient, and incredibly hardworking. She is currently pursuing her MBA while working here full-time. Despite attending several classes each week, she manages both responsibilities flawlessly.

Twice a week she leaves early for her lectures, but she always finishes her work beforehand.

I admire that level of dedication.

She is equally admirable on a personal level.

Isa is not overly talkative and always maintains professional boundaries. Her clothing style reflects the same personality—modest, elegant, and appropriate.

We share a respectful working relationship.

She respects my privacy, and I respect hers.

Most of what I know about her comes from Valerio’s endless chatter. Sometimes I suspect he has feelings for her.

Though strangely, he behaves the exact opposite.

He often teases her or criticizes her unnecessarily. Once, I had to scold him, reminding him that she works directly under me and he has no right to disrespect her.

He refused to speak to me for the entire day afterward.

Later, however, I found him sitting quietly in my office, sulking like a child.

Truthfully, the two of us cannot stay angry at each other for long.

“Sir, this is the file for the Berlin project,” Isa says, handing it over.

She raises an eyebrow as if she already knows I have agreed.

“I knew you would say yes,” she adds. “Mr. Valerio and Mr. Waldo both have prior commitments. That leaves only you.”

She shrugs lightly.

“You may leave, Miss Carlo,” I say as I open the file.

“Thank you, sir. And one more thing—I have informed Angelica’s aunt about your trip. She will prepare your luggage since you are leaving tonight.”

I nod.

Angelica Aunty used to work at my grandfather’s house, but she was always close to my mother. When my mother left after her marriage, Angelica chose to go with her.

She never wanted my mother to be alone.

Now my mother has sent her here so that I will not feel alone either.

But people often forget something important.

Loneliness does not come from empty houses.

It lives deep inside the heart.

And no one can truly remove it.

After finishing my work and reviewing the documents, I glance at the clock.

Two o’clock already.

Time passes strangely fast inside this office.

I walk toward the large glass window overlooking the city. From this height, the people below look like tiny ants moving through endless streets.

My thoughts drift toward the upcoming trip.

For some reason…

I feel uneasy.

I press a hand against my chest.

My heartbeat feels irregular, slightly faster than usual. A strange restlessness spreads through my body like an invisible warning.

It is not work.

Work has never unsettled me like this.

Inside my mind, Nate is restless too.

My wolf paces back and forth without direction, as if sensing something I cannot yet understand.

I do not know why…

But my instincts—my sixth sense—are screaming at me.

Something is about to happen.

Something important.

Something that will change everything.

But the question remains…

What?

**