The Billionaire Alpha

Chapter 8: Unsettled Truths

The morning light filtered into Grace’s bedroom, soft and warm, but her mind was anything but peaceful. She lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her thoughts tangled in the events of the previous night. Damian Wolfe was like no one she had ever met—an enigma wrapped in a world that felt completely foreign to her.

He was the opposite of the kind of man she’d usually be attracted to. She liked kindness, warmth, a sense of humor—someone who made her feel at ease, someone who valued the simple things in life. But Damian was none of those things. He was powerful, arrogant, confident in a way that bordered on controlling. And his world was filled with opulence, extravagance that made her feel out of place, like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t.

Grace sat up, removing her silk bonnet, her gaze drifting to the emerald dress. It was draped over her bedroom chair, its rich colour catching the morning sunlight. The sight of it sent a rush of memories flooding back—Damian’s intense eyes, his commanding presence, the way he’d seemed to see right through her. She remembered how he had spun her around, the way he looked at her in the dress, like she was something valuable, something to be admired.

But she also remembered the way he refused to answer her questions, the way he had diverted her attention when she brought up the pendant. There was something he was hiding, something he didn’t want her to know. She frowned, her thoughts turning back to that pendant—the same one she’d seen in the forest. Who was he really? And why was he playing this game?

She couldn’t lie to herself; there was an attraction there—an undeniable pull that made her curious, made her want to know more. But there was also something else—a warning, a sense of danger that she couldn’t quite shake.

With a sigh, Grace pushed herself out of bed. She needed to clear her head, to get away from the weight of her thoughts. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some sneakers before grabbing her bag and heading out the door. She needed fresh air, and there was only one place in the city that could give her the kind of calm she needed—Central Park.

—

The subway ride was uneventful, the carriages crowded with people on their way to work. Grace leaned against the door, her thoughts still swirling as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened. When she finally stepped off at her stop, she took a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling her lungs.

Since her arrival in New York, Central Park had always been her escape—a place where she could forget about the noise and chaos of the city, where she could feel a sense of peace. But today, that peace was shattered before she even entered the park.

Red and blue lights flashed in the distance, the sound of police radios crackling as officers moved to and fro. Grace’s steps slowed, her gaze narrowing as she approached the park’s entrance. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze, blocking off a large area just beyond the treeline.

A chill ran down her spine. Something had happened.

She moved closer, trying to get a better look. There was a group of officers gathered near the tape, their faces grim, and in the distance, she could see a stretcher being wheeled away—covered. Her stomach twisted. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

She overheard snippets of conversation as she passed—a few words that sent a shiver through her. Animal attack. Body. Grace’s heart pounded, her eyes widening. An animal attack? Here in Central Park?

As she turned to leave, wanting to put distance between herself and the chaos, something caught her eye. Near the police tape, a man in a hoodie was speaking with what looked like the police chief. The man was dressed casually—jeans, a hoodie pulled low over his face, but his shoes were out of place—clean, sleek, and incredibly expensive. The chief was nodding, his body language deferential, almost as if he was taking orders.

Grace frowned, her curiosity piqued. Who was that man? Why was the police chief listening to him?

She took a step back, ready to leave, when her eyes caught something else—someone sitting in a car parked across the street. Grace’s heart skipped a beat. Damian.

He was leaning back in the back seat of a sleek black car, his window rolled down. He wasn’t watching the chaos of the police investigation—his eyes were fixed on the man in the hoodie, his expression focused, intent. Grace stood frozen for a moment, her eyes locked on him, her heart racing. What was he doing here?

The driver of the car didn’t seem to notice her, his attention on the road ahead. Grace hesitated, her gaze shifting between Damian and the scene behind her. It felt like she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to, something hidden just beneath the surface of all this opulence and mystery.

Damian must have seen her. He didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge her presence, but his eyes flicked away from the scene, and he lifted a hand, flicking his finger in a subtle gesture.

The car pulled away, the tires rolling smoothly over the pavement as it disappeared down the street. Grace stood there, her thoughts spinning. Something was wrong. She turned and walked away, her steps quickening, her heart pounding in her chest

.

—

Grace's mind was still reeling from everything she had seen as she walked away from Central Park. The police tape, the covered body, the man in the hoodie giving orders to the police chief—and then Damian, watching it all from the comfort of a sleek car. Nothing made sense. What was he doing there, and how was he connected to all of this?

She was deep in thought, her pace quickening as she tried to make sense of it all, when the soft hum of an engine pulled her out of her reverie. Grace glanced to her right, her eyes widening as Damian's black car pulled up alongside her, matching her pace. She stopped, confusion knotting her brow as she watched the car slow to a stop.

The driver stepped out, moving quickly to open the door for her. He nodded politely, gesturing for her to get in. Grace hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she looked past the driver to Damian, who was sitting in the backseat, his eyes fixed on her.

"Get in, Grace," Damian called, his voice smooth, confident, as if this were all perfectly normal.

She frowned, her confusion growing, but she found herself stepping forward, slipping into the car. The door closed behind her, and she glanced at Damian, her heart pounding.

He smiled, a small, enigmatic smile. "I'm driving you home," he said, his voice calm. "There’s something waiting for you there—a new wardrobe. You’ll need it."

Grace blinked, her eyes widening in shock. "A wardrobe?" she repeated, incredulous. "Damian, I don’t need a wardrobe. I don’t need charity, and I definitely don’t need someone deciding how I should dress."

Damian’s

eyes narrowed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Grace," he said, his tone firm but not unkind, "you need to dress a certain way if you're going to be dating a billionaire."

Grace felt herself inhale sharply, her thoughts stalling at his words.

"Dating a billionaire?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She had known he was wealthy—everything about him spoke of money—but a billionaire?

Damian’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t elaborate, just watched her reaction with that same controlled expression.

Grace shook her head, her mind spinning. This was too much, too fast. She didn’t even know what she felt about Damian, let alone the idea of "dating" him. And now, he was making decisions about her clothes?

She opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could say anything, the car pulled to a stop. Grace looked out the window, her confusion deepening. They weren’t at her building. They were in front of a much nicer building—a high-rise with a doorman, in a very upscale area of Manhattan.

She turned to Damian, her frown deepening. "This isn’t my building."

Damian’s smile widened slightly, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "It is now," he said simply.

Grace stared at him, her heart pounding, but Damian was already stepping out of the car, the driver once again opening her door. She hesitated for a long moment, then followed, stepping out into the bright sunlight. Damian led her inside, the doorman nodding to him as they passed, and into the elevator.

Grace’s thoughts were a jumble, a mix of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that made her chest tighten, her heart pound in a way that she couldn’t quite understand. She didn’t like this—being swept along without a say, being controlled. But Damian’s presence was so commanding, so absolute, that it felt impossible to push back.

The elevator doors opened, and Damian led her down a hallway, stopping in front of a door. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key and handing it to her. Grace stared at it, then at him.

"Your new apartment," he said, his voice smooth, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Grace swallowed, the key cool in her hand. She pushed the door open, stepping inside. The apartment was beautiful—spacious, with large windows that let in the sunlight, modern furnishings that spoke of understated luxury. It was nothing like her old place—nothing like anything she’d ever imagined having.

Damian followed her inside, his gaze on her as she took in her surroundings. He gestured toward a door at the far end of the room. "The bedroom is through there. I suggest you pick something out."

Grace frowned, turning to look at him. "Damian, I—"

"Go on," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She let out a shaky breath, her unease growing, but she turned and walked to the bedroom. She pushed the door open, her eyes widening at the sight that greeted her. The bed was large, draped in crisp white linens, and beside it stood a series of clothing racks, each one filled with beautiful, feminine clothing—dresses, blouses, skirts, all coordinated and sophisticated. And all new.

Grace hesitated, her fingers brushing against the fabric of a dress. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all of this. She had always loved vintage pieces, clothing with history, with stories woven into the fabric. This was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t her. It wasn’t the kind of thing she would choose for herself.

She heard Damian’s footsteps behind her, and she turned, her eyes narrowing slightly. He had taken a seat in a chair in the corner of the room, his gaze on her, watching her carefully.

"Your belongings are being brought over," he said, his voice calm, as if this were all perfectly reasonable. "They should be here within the hour."

Grace swallowed, her thoughts swirling. She wasn’t used to this—being watched, being told what to do. It was unsettling, and yet... she found herself reaching for one of the dresses, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it from the rack.