Wolves Don’t Share
1571 Words
Damian’s POV
The skyline blurred behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of Wolfe Tower, painted in the grey strokes of a cloud-heavy afternoon. Damian stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, eyes trained on the city like it owed him answers.
It didn’t.
But someone did.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” he said, voice sharp.
His assistant, Lydia, stepped in with her usual poise, tablet in hand and a nervous edge in her movements — she’d been around him long enough to know when the storm was building.
“You asked for updates on Mr. Roswell, sir.”
He turned slightly, still not facing her. “Talk.”
“Jack Roswell landed back in New York two weeks ago. Since then, he’s been attending closed-door meetings with a few design executives… and yesterday, a courier from Roswell & Co. was confirmed to have entered Miss Elwood’s building.”
That was all he needed to hear.
His jaw ticked.
“Do you have proof?”
Lydia hesitated, then swiped across her tablet and showed him a paused CCTV still. A man in a dark coat, black-gloved hands — the Roswell crest faintly visible on the envelope clutched in his fist.
“I want the footage deleted. All of it.”
“Yes, Mr. Wolfe.”
“And Lydia?”
She stiffened at the edge in his tone.
“From now on, I want a detailed report on Jack’s movements. Who he meets, where he goes, who he breathes around. If he so much as glances in Ava’s direction again, I want to know before he does it.”
Lydia nodded quickly and left the room.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Damian alone in the silence that buzzed louder than any crowd.
He leaned against his desk, eyes burning holes into the grain of the wood.
Jack.
He had no right. No permission. No claim.
Ava was his.
She didn’t know it yet — not fully — but she would.
She had walked into his life like wildfire. Quiet, warm, unaware of the destruction she caused just by existing. He hated how she resisted him, how her defiance only made him crave her more. Like hunger sharpened by denial.
“I see the way she looks at me,” he muttered to himself, voice low and rasping. “Like she hates me. Like I don’t belong near her.”
His lips curled.
“But she flinched when I touched her. Her breath hitched. She felt it. She always feels it.”
He picked up the envelope Roswell had sent her — the one his men retrieved from her trash. He ran a thumb over the seal before crushing it in his fist.
“You’re not going anywhere, Ava.”
He walked to the bar cabinet and poured himself a drink — not for comfort, but for control. His grip around the glass was tight enough to c***k it.
“She can lie to my face. Call me a monster. Pretend this marriage means nothing. But the moment I saw her standing behind that counter again… I knew.”
He stared at his reflection in the dark glass of the window.
“Wolves don’t share.”
And if Jack Roswell didn’t understand that yet — he would.
Soon.
-----
Ava stood hunched over the reception desk of Blossom & Root, her sleeves rolled up, hands stained with tulip pollen and hydrangea stems. The soft hum of floral fridge fans filled the quiet, and her mind was focused on matching pink peonies with lavender sprigs. Just one week left until the gala. She had to get the centerpieces finalized, guest florals confirmed, shipment schedules sorted—
Her phone rang. A sharp, official tone.
She wiped her hands quickly and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Miss Ava Elwood?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Patricia Lewis from the County Registrar’s Office. We’re calling to confirm the final approval for the sale of Blossom & Root, as well as the debt closure on your outstanding small business loan.”
Her fingers froze mid-reach for the phone’s edge. “I’m sorry… what?”
“You should’ve received the documentation via email by now. Your business was sold this morning. The debt is cleared in full. All assets have been transferred.”
The words bounced around in her brain like rubber bullets.
“Sold? No, there’s been a mistake—I didn’t authorize a sale. This is my company. Who signed off on this?”
A pause.
“The new owner. Mr. Damian Wolfe.”
The line went quiet.
Ava’s heartbeat stuttered.
No.
He didn’t.
She didn’t remember driving to Wolfe Tower. She barely remembered grabbing her bag or storming through the lobby, ignoring the wide-eyed assistant calling after her. But suddenly, she was there—standing outside Damian’s glass office, pulse pounding in her throat.
She threw the door open without knocking.
He was behind his desk, a pen in hand, as if he’d been expecting her.
“You bought my business?” she snapped, voice shaking. “Without telling me?”
He looked up with deliberate calm. “Hello, Ava.”
She marched in. “Don’t hello me. What the hell did you do?”
“I saved it.”
“You stole it.”
Damian stood slowly, eyes trained on her with lethal precision. “Would you rather it shut down completely?”
“You had no right—”
“I had every right,” he interrupted, his voice low. “Because you weren’t paying your debts. The bank was ready to foreclose. I simply got there first.”
Her chest rose and fell like a battle drum.
“What do you want from me?” she spat.
He walked around the desk, his gaze never leaving hers. “Marry me.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me. Marry me, and I’ll give you everything back — your shop, your father's business, full debt clearance. You and your father walk free. No strings.”
She let out a cold laugh. “You think I’m that desperate? That stupid?”
Damian leaned in closer, his tone darkening. “Then don’t. But if you refuse, Ava, you won’t just lose the shop. You’ll lose the apartment lease. The deliveries. Your license to operate under the Elwood name. Everything will be gone. Officially.”
Her hands balled into fists. “Why are you doing this? What sick game is this now?”
His lips curled.
“Because if I don’t marry before the end of the fiscal quarter, I lose inheritance rights to my global assets. And I don’t have time to waste on fairytales or courtships. I need someone who knows me. Someone who won’t ask questions.”
“And I’m the best you could find?” she snapped.
His eyes flickered, cold and hot all at once. “You’re the only one I could think of.”
A lie. A smooth, flawless lie. But Ava didn’t know that.
And it was enough to silence her.
For now.
-----
The slam of his office door still echoed in the silence.
Damian didn’t flinch. In fact, the corner of his mouth twitched upward — not in anger, but in satisfaction.
She’d stormed out with fire in her eyes, her voice trembling with disbelief. Her outrage still hung in the air like static, but beneath it all… he’d seen it.
Fear.
Shock.
And a flicker of something else — something he was banking on.
He leaned back in his leather chair, loosening his tie as he let out a long breath, eyes still fixed on the empty doorway where she had stood moments ago.
“You never really had a choice, butterfly,” he murmured, a dark smile curling on his lips.
That nickname — butterfly — soft and delicate, yet unpredictable. Just like her. Beautiful. Chaotic. Always fluttering just out of reach.
Until now.
“I would've made you mine sooner or later. But you…” he shook his head, chuckling to himself, “you just had to keep running, didn’t you? Kept playing brave, kept fluttering around like you weren’t already caught in my web.”
His fingers tapped the armrest slowly. Measured. Controlled.
“And Jack...” His voice soured at the name, his jaw tightening. “He’s always hovering too close. If you’d just stopped entertaining him, maybe I could’ve waited. But you left me no choice.”
His smile returned, sharper this time — edged with hunger.
“Whether it’s a public ceremony or a secret vow whispered under candlelight… you’ll be mine. And when you are, no one will dare come near you again. Not Jack. Not anyone.”
He stood and walked toward the window, the skyline stretching far and cold beneath him, but his thoughts were anything but.
“Marry me or lose everything,” he had told her.
And she would.
He was certain.
Because he knew her fears.
He knew her heart.
And soon…
He’d own both.
He touched the cold glass, his reflection staring back at him.
“You’ll walk down that aisle, Ava. Maybe in fury. Maybe in silence. But you will.”
Then, his voice dropped to a whisper — possessive and laced with twisted devotion:
“Because you're already mine, butterfly. You just don’t know it yet.”
- Writer
