Chapter 2

Ivy's POV

The shadow never really left me, It had slipped into my apartment one yesterday, silent as breath, and by the time I had realized it, the door had already clicked shut again. A long dark figure stretching across my wall, and then gone like it had stepped into my life only to remind me that I was never really safe.

Sometimes I wondered if I had imagined it, maybe it was just my exhaustion or maybe it was a trick of the light. Or I would catch myself staring at the door, expecting it to open again.

That thought lingered with me even now, in the middle of class, while Maya gushed about Paris.

"Ivy, can you believe this?"

Maya, the girl who sat beside me in class, leaned over with her glossy hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulder. She turned her laptop toward me. A picture of her and her friends standing in front of the Eiffel Tower filled the screen. "We just came back from Paris last week, It was amazing."

I forced a smile. "Wow, that looks beautiful."

"It was." She sighed dramatically, then pushed the laptop back in front of her. "You have to travel someday, Ivy. You can't just stay stuck here forever."

Traveling, I could barely pay my rent. But I nodded anyway, hoping she wouldn't see through my mask.

At school, I always felt like an outsider, most of my classmates wore designer sneakers and carried the latest laptops that never froze mid-assignment.

I had an old, secondhand computer that sometimes took ten minutes just to load a file. They talked about summer trips to Italy, shopping in Dubai, or skiing in Aspen. Me? I silently wondered if I had enough money to buy groceries that week.

Still, I held on to my dream of becoming a writer who told stories that mattered, stories about people like me who fought every day just to keep going.

The professor's voice cut through my thoughts. "Please remember, your essays are due next Monday, no late submissions."

I scribbled the deadline in my notebook. As soon as the lecture ended, I packed my things. Maya and a few others were already planning where to have lunch, tossing names of expensive restaurants around like it was nothing.

"Ivy, you coming?" Maya asked, sliding her designer bag over her shoulder.

"Can't, I have work."

She gave me a look half pity, half confusion

then shrugged and walked away with the others.

Another classmate blocked my path as I was about to leave.

"Do you ever think about the future, Ivy?" Jordan asked me.

"All the time," I answered, hugging my notebook to my chest.

"Like, what kind of car you want, where you will live, who you will marry-"

I laughed softly. "I don't even think about that. I just want to write, that's all."

He shook his head, grinning. "You are weird."

Maybe I was, but writing was the only thing that made sense.

By the time I stepped out of campus, the sun was high, and the streets were crowded. My stomach growled, but I didn't have time to stop. I had to make it to my shift at the diner.

The diner was small and smelled like coffee and fried food. I tied on my apron and got to work, refilling cups and delivering plates of burgers and fries. The regulars barely looked at me. I had gotten used to blending into the background, just another tired waitress trying to survive.

"Order up!" The cook yelled from the kitchen window, sliding plates onto the counter.

I rushed over, picked up two, and headed to a booth where a man sat scrolling through his phone. He didn't even thank me when I set the food down.

Hours passed like that, back and forth, table to table. By the end of my shift, my feet ached. But I didn't have time to rest. I checked the clock, tossed my apron aside, and hurried out.

My second job awaited.

*****

The catering company had booked me for a charity gala that evening. When I arrived at the venue, my breath caught for a moment. The place was like a palace marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and guests in gowns and tuxedos. I stood there in my plain black uniform, holding a tray, invisible.

"Come on, Ivy, keep moving," one of the supervisors whispered, handing me a stack of champagne glasses.

I nodded and passed through the crowd, carrying the tray as carefully as I could. Guests laughed and clinked glasses, their jewelry sparkling under the lights. To them, I was just a shadow.

"Excuse me, miss," a man waved me over.

"Yes, sir."

He grabbed a glass from my tray without even looking at me. His hand brushed mine, then he turned back to his conversation about stocks and real estate. I was nothing but a server to him.

I moved from group to group, offering drinks, my smile fixed in place. The music played softly in the background, a live band filling the hall with elegant notes. My feet throbbed, but I kept walking.

Two hours in, I finally got a moment to breathe. I passed by the bar, setting my empty tray down for a refill. That's when a large screen above the bar caught my attention.

The gala organizers had set it up to show the evening's news. Most people weren't watching; they were too busy mingling. But my eyes drifted to the screen anyway.

The broadcast was about business, the anchor's voice echoing across the room. But it wasn't her words that held me, it was the man whose face filled the screen.

Damian Blackthorn.

Even if you didn't know much about the billionaire world, you knew his name. Everyone did, he was one of the youngest, richest CEOs alive, owner of Blackthorn Enterprises, and a man whispered about in both admiration and fear.

"Tonight," the anchor said, "Damian Blackthorn is set to receive the award for the youngest top CEO of the year..."

I blinked at the screen, my tray still in my hands, my breath caught in my throat.

Now, standing at the gala, looking at Damian Blackthorn's face on the screen, something stirred in me. I didn't know why, but I couldn't look away.

The camera zoomed in on him walking across a stage, dark suit tailored perfectly, his expression unreadable. People clapped, flashes went off, and he didn't smile. He looked cold, distant, like a man who carried the world but never let it touch him.

Around me, laughter and chatter filled the air. No one else seemed to care, but for me, time slowed.

It felt like the moment before a storm,.I tightened my grip on the tray. For reasons I couldn't explain, my chest ached.

Damian Blackthorn's life was galaxies away from mine. He was power, wealth, and mystery. I was a broke student in a thrift shop dress, waiting tables just to survive.

Still, something about him pulled me in.

"Ivy!" my supervisor's voice snapped me out of it. "Don't just stand there, keep moving."

I tore my gaze from the screen, forcing my feet to move again, but my mind lingered on his face.

Damian Blackthorn.

Chapter 3

Damian's POV

"Mr. Blackthorn, how do you feel standing here as the youngest billionaire CEO to win this award tonight?"

The reporter's question came fast, sharp, like a blade meant to cut right through me. Flashbulbs popped across the stage, bright enough to blind a weaker man. But I kept my face calm, my shoulders straight, my posture unshaken.

I leaned closer to the microphone. My voice was deep, smooth, controlled. "I don't feel, I achieve. Wealth is not about emotions, it's about power. And power belongs to those willing to take it."

The hall fell silent for a beat. Then the applause came. It was loud, thunderous, waves crashing against me. Cameras clicked, people cheered, and I stood still, cold and steady, as though I had only confirmed what they already knew, Damian Blackthorn was untouchable.

They placed the award in my hands, a crystal plaque, heavy and shining. I raised it once, not in joy but in dominance. The light bounced off it, scattering across the hall, and every single eye in the room locked on me. That was how I liked it: control, attention, fear.

When I stepped down, whispers followed like shadows. Men wanted to shake my hand. Women wanted to be noticed by me, but only one woman decided she would not leave tonight without trying.

She appeared as if the moment had been planned. Tall, elegant, in a black silk dress that clung to her body like it was made for her alone. Diamonds dangled from her ears, glinting under the chandeliers. Her red lips curved into a smile that was not shy, not polite, but a straight invitation.

She moved into my path with precision. "Congratulations, Mr. Blackthorn, I have been dying to meet the man behind Blackthorn Enterprises."

I studied her the way I study every person quickly, sharply. Wealthy, polished, used to winning, used to taking. The type who had never been told no.

"Dying already?" I smirked. "Then let's not waste time."

Her laugh was soft but practiced, echoing above the clink of champagne glasses. "Straight to the point, I like that."

The night stretched on, endless speeches and shallow conversations. I left before it ended. My driver brought the car to the side entrance, far from the noise of the main doors. She followed me easily, her heels tapping against the pavement, her presence bold, certain.

Inside the car, her perfume filled the space. Sweet, thick, expensive but it clung too heavy in my throat. She leaned closer, her fingers brushing my wrist like she thought she could claim me with a single touch.

"So," she whispered, "where are we celebrating, Damian?"

"Hotel." I didn't look at her when I said it. My eyes stayed fixed on the city lights rushing past the window.

Her hand slid onto my thigh, slow and sure. "Perfect."

The hotel was five stars, the kind of place where every hallway smelled of roses and every staff member bowed twice before leaving. I opened the door to the suite, let her step inside, and watched as she crossed straight to the minibar as though she already owned the room.

"Whiskey?" she asked, pulling down a glass.

"Straight." My tie was loose around my neck, but my eyes stayed sharp on her.

She poured, handed me the drink, her fingers lingering on mine like she wanted me to notice. "Men like you are rare. Powerful. Dangerous." Her lips curved again. "I like danger."

I drank, slow and deliberate. The whiskey burned my throat, but the fire that spread inside me wasn't from the alcohol. It was something else. Something darker.

My wolf.

He had been restless since the stage, clawing under my skin, pressing against my ribs like he wanted out. Maybe it was the crowd, maybe it was the flash of lights, maybe it was her perfume too sweet, too false, suffocating me with every breath.

My chest tightened, my pulse hammered in my ears. My vision blurred, my eyes burning with the glow I fought to bury for years.

The glass cracked in my hand.

Her laugh cut short. "Damian?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"

I dropped the broken glass into the trash, my voice sharp. "Stay here."

"What? Where are you going?"

"Out."

I didn't wait for her reply. The tie hit the couch, my steps fast, the door shutting behind me before she could follow.

Heat climbed through my veins, my wolf pushing harder, angrier. I needed air, I needed darkness. If I kept him locked inside, he would tear me apart.

The hotel backed onto thick woods. I moved quickly, long strides carrying me through the lot, past the last golden lamps, until the trees swallowed me whole.

The wolf roared inside me, shaking the cage I had built with years of iron control. My muscles pulled, my skin rippled, my bones ached as if they were breaking and reforming all at once.

My jaw clenched, I gritted my teeth, pain lanced through me, sharp and merciless. My spine stretched, my shoulders cracked, claws tore from my fingers, pushing against flesh that could no longer contain them.

I bit back a growl, but the sound still ripped from my throat, deep and animal. My eyes burned brighter, glowing gold in the darkness. My body trembled, caught between two shapes, neither man nor wolf but something cursed in between.

I dug my claws into the dirt, sucking in sharp breaths, trying to hold onto myself. If I let the shift take me fully, someone would hear, someone would know.

The woods were quiet, but then a twig snapped. My head snapped up, vision sharp, hearing tuned to the smallest sound.

She was there, the woman she had followed. Her heels were gone, her dress dragging against the grass, her hair loose from its perfect shape. Her eyes widened when she saw me, her painted lips trembling.

"Damian?" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper.

I didn't move, my chest rose and fell, each breath rough. My claws gleamed in the moonlight, teeth sharp against my lips.

She stepped closer. "Oh my God..." Her face turned pale. "You....you are not human!"

The scream tore from her throat, high and sharp, echoing through the trees.

My wolf snapped, before she could turn, before the sound carried too far, I moved, fast, deadly. My hand slashed across her throat, claws tearing deep.

Her blood sprayed hot against the night air. Her eyes froze wide, locked in horror, before her body dropped lifeless onto the earth.

I stood over her, chest heaving, half man, half beast. My claws dripped red. My breath came heavy, the copper tang of blood filling my lungs.

The wolf inside me settled, satisfied by the kill. This was what he wanted: blood, silence, dominance.

But then, I heard another sound, it was not the echo of her fall. Not the cry of a bird, it was a gasp.

I spun, my eyes glowing gold, claws still wet, and froze when I saw the figure standing at the edge of the trees.

Someone else had seen.

Chapter 4

Ivy's POV

"Miss, do you even know how to carry a tray properly?"

The woman's voice was sharp enough to cut through the glittering music in the ballroom. My cheeks burned instantly, but I lowered my head, forcing a polite smile.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I will be more careful."

She scoffed and waved me off like I was dirt under her heels. "You better, people like you should at least learn to do your jobs properly."

I nodded, swallowing down the sting of humiliation. The tray in my hand felt heavier than it was, my wrist was already aching from hours of holding it. I moved quickly, weaving past gowns that brushed the marble floor and polished shoes that probably cost more than my rent for a year.

The chandeliers above shone like a thousand stars, but to me they only mocked my situation. They belonged to a world so far from mine. I wasn't a guest, I wasn't anything here. I was just a shadow, a servant, running until my lungs burned.

In the corner, the staff table waited with bottles of champagne and wine. I set down my nearly empty tray, exhaled, and refilled it carefully. My hands shook, but I forced myself to keep steady. If I broke one glass, it would come out of my pay.

I whispered under my breath, "A few more hours, Ivy. You can make it."

By the time I turned back toward the crowd, the music had picked up again. Laughter spilled across the room, loud and carefree, so different from the pounding of my heart. I slipped between the guests, offering glasses with a tired but polite smile. Some ignored me, others muttered thanks without looking me in the eye.

I was invisible.

"Hey, sweetheart."

The voice came from a man slouched against a column, his tie loose, his shirt half unbuttoned. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks blotched red from alcohol. I froze, trying to smile.

"Yes, sir?"

He reached out, brushing his fingers along my wrist as he plucked a glass from the tray. His touch made my skin crawl.

"Pretty little thing like you," he slurred, swallowing half the champagne in one gulp. "Why are you running around like a servant? Come, sit with me. I will show you how a real man treats a woman."

I pulled my wrist back gently. "I'm working, sir."

He chuckled, the sound grating and loud. "Working? Carrying drinks doesn't work. You are just a tray girl. Be grateful I'm even talking to you."

I clenched my teeth, bowing my head slightly. "Please excuse me, I need to serve the other guests."

But his hand shot out again, gripping my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, and I gasped quietly.

"Don't be shy," he said, pulling me closer.

"Girls like you should know their place, do you know how many would beg for a chance like this? A chance to catch the eye of a man like me?"

My throat went dry, people were watching now. Some smirked, others whispered. Not one of them moved to stop him.

"Let me go," I said softly.

He leaned closer, his breath was thick with whiskey. "Say thank you first, thank you for even noticing you, waitress. Or should I call you servant?"

Laughter rippled around us. My ears rang, my face burned with shame.

"I said let me go." This time my voice cracked.

He sneered. "Ungrateful little bitch." With one sharp move, he tipped his half-full glass onto me. Cold liquid splashed across my uniform, dripping down my chest and soaking into my apron.

Gasps filled the air, some people chuckled, my body shook with the effort to hold back tears.

"You should smile," he continued, his voice cruel. "No one here cares about you. You are just here to carry drinks, that's all you will ever be."

The tray in my hands trembled, glasses rattling. My chest ached so badly I thought I would collapse right there on the marble floor.

My aunt's words echoed faintly in my head fighting for your dignity, Ivy. No one will hand it to you.

But I couldn't fight him. My arms were weak, my voice was small, and my body was trapped.

And then I heard a deep voice.

"Take your hand off her."

The words sliced through the ballroom like a blade. The voice was low, controlled and dangerous.

The man holding me froze. I did too, slowly, we both turned.

Damian Blackthorns was standing a few feet away, his tall frame showed through the crowd. His black suit fit him perfectly and his sharp jaw was set with pure rage. But it wasn't his suit or his wealth that made my knees weak, it was his eyes.

They weren't cold like on the screen I had seen earlier. They were burning, burning with a fury that made the air around him heavy. And those eyes were locked on me.

The drunken man scoffed. "And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"

Damian's steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing across the now silent hall. Guests parted for him without a word, some lowering their gazes, others watching wide-eyed.

"I said," Damian repeated, his voice low enough to vibrate in my bones, "take your hand off her, now."

The man's grip on me loosened, but he didn't let go completely. "Oh, I see," he slurred. "You want her too? Hah! You can pay for her later. Isn't that what girls like this are for? To be bought?"

My heart sank into my stomach. The humiliation was unbearable.

Damian's eyes darkened, and before I could even blink, he was there. One swift motion, faster than I could follow, and his hand closed around the drunk man's wrist.

The man shouted instantly. "Ahh! What the-"

Damian twisted the wrist backward with unrelenting force. The drunk man fell to his knees, screaming. The crowd gasped, some covering their mouths in shock, others frozen where they stood.

"You don't touch her," Damian growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. "You don't touch any woman. Do you understand me?"

"Let me go!" the man shrieked.

Damian's grip tightened. His jaw flexed, and in one final motion, there was a final loud crack.

The sound was sickening, echoing across the glittering hall. The man's scream tore through the silence.

My tray slipped from my hands, the glasses shattering on the marble floor. I didn't care, my whole body shook as I stared at Damian, at the fury in his eyes.