Chapter Two
Wilder
I lock the door to my office and slide the keys into my pocket, already mentally ticking through tomorrow’s to-do list as I turn toward the stairs. Suddenly, I hear a sound. It’s faint, so at first, I think I’m imagining it.
Like something—someone—is sobbing.
I stop mid-step, frowning. Wilder House is quiet at night. Always is. The tenants know the rules, and I’ve made damn sure the building stays safe and calm so there’s no drama or surprises.
The sound comes again—soft, broken sobs—from the back hallway.
My jaw tightens as I head toward it, irritation flaring in my chest. The maintenance closet door catches my eye immediately, sitting slightly ajar. I mutter a curse under my breath. I’ve been meaning to fix that latch for weeks. If some stray animal has gotten in, or worse…if someone’s poking around my tools, I’m going to lose my shit.
I grab the handle and yank the door open, ready to lay into whatever’s on the other side.
And then everything stops.
Curled up in the far corner, perched on a pile of crushed cardboard boxes, is a girl.
No—not a girl—a woman. Young. Barely more than a kid.
She’s hugging her knees to her chest like she’s trying to make herself smaller, blonde hair hanging around her face in uneven strands that look like they were cut by someone with shaking hands and dull scissors. Her skin—pale under the fluorescent light—almost looks translucent, and her full lips tremble as she cries silently into her sleeve.
She raises her head slowly, her eyes meeting mine. Big, brown doe eyes that immediately touch something in my chest.
We stare at each other, and I momentarily forget how to breathe. Forget why I’m standing here. Forget the sharp edge of anger that had me storming toward the closet in the first place.
She looks up at me like she’s waiting to be hurt and hoping she isn’t, and the combination guts me. I’ve had men twice my size square up to me and felt nothing. One look from this girl, and I can’t make myself move.
She looks terrified. Like a cornered animal waiting for the blow.
A tear cuts down her cheek, and my hand moves before I can stop it—half-raised to brush it away. I catch myself. A stranger reaching for her face is the last thing she needs. I drop my hand.
Up close, I notice the rest of her. Her jacket is thin and worn at the seams. Her sneakers are so beat up the soles have become smooth. She isn’t dirty, but she’s got that look— one I recognize instantly. The look of someone who has nothing.
I swallow hard.
Christ. I’ve seen that look in the mirror before.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her shoulders flinch anyway.
“I’m Wilder,” I add after a beat. “I…I own the building.”
That seems to register. A little. She loosens her grip on her knees just enough to stare at me like she’s bracing for the worst.
“Please,” she blurts, words tumbling out fast. “Please don’t kick me out. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning, I swear. I just—I just need somewhere warm. Just for tonight.”
The desperation in her voice hits me straight in the gut.
I glance around the cramped closet—mops, shelves, towels, boxes—and shake my head slowly. “You can’t sleep in here.”
Her face crumples instantly, tears welling again, and I raise my hands. “Hey. That’s not what I mean.” I step back to give her space. “Come on. Let’s get you out of there.”
She hesitates, then carefully unfolds herself from the floor, moving like she expects me to change my mind at any second. When she steps past me, I notice how small she is. Fragile. Like the city could swallow her whole without even noticing.
I lead her into my office and motion for her to sit in one of the chairs by my desk. She perches on the edge, hands clenched in her lap. I grab a paper cup and fill it with water from the dispenser, setting it gently in front of her.
