Damian's POV
The steak had gone cold hours ago.
The candles had burned to stubs, throwing long, mocking shadows across an apartment that, even after less than a month of Kate living in it, somehow held the imprint of her in every corner. The scent she didn't have. The silence she usually broke. The space she should have been filling.
I checked my phone for the hundredth time. Nothing. No message. No missed call. Just the suffocating quiet of a room that had waited too long.
Inside me, my wolf paced. Claws scraping the edges of my restraint.
Where the hell was Kate?
I had cooked dinner with my own hands. That part wasn't unusual. I plated balanced meals for myself most weeks. What was unusual was that I'd done it for a woman. My past girlfriends had always come with clear preferences.
