ARIA
The next few days settled into a weird kind of routine that felt almost normal if I ignored the fact that I was living with a werewolf alpha who had almost f****d me against a hallway wall during the full moon.
I woke up, ate breakfast alone in the kitchen, then spent the morning doing maid stuff—wiping down surfaces that were already clean, folding laundry, and trying not to think about how my arms felt stronger every time I lifted a full basket. By afternoon I switched to assistant mode: sorting Damian's emails, organizing files, and standing quietly in meetings while wolves talked about things that made my human brain hurt.
It was the small things that started freaking me out.
Like yesterday when I dropped a heavy ceramic vase in the dining room. Instead of shattering
