Chapter 121

Sophia

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the clearing as I stood before the sorry excuse for a garden that had become my latest torment. The once-neat rows were now a tangled mess of overgrown weeds and wilting plants, mocking my every attempt at cultivation. I huffed, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, and glared at the obstinate foliage.

“Why did I ever think I could manage this? Why am I even out here?” I muttered, prodding at the soil with a rusty trowel. “I should be sipping lattes in a chic café, not battling nature's relentless assault. Ugh, I hate this stupid dirt.” My heels sinking in the mud.

But it’s not like I could just give up… I lost everything. There wasn’t much left for food. I applied to every job in that damn city, but Alexander had that even a lowly clerk post would turn me down.

Ugh.

As I yanked at a weed that clearly had a personal vendetta against me, a shadow loomed overhead. I squinted up, wiping sweat dramatically from my brow, only to find—oh joy—my new, silent lumberjack refugee.

The towering half-ling with the brooding eyes hidden under a mop of hair, along with the whole strong-but-says-nothing shtick.

Honestly, he looked like he could snap a tree in half, but instead, he stood there calm as ever, like some broody statue with wolf ears. Intimidating? Maybe once. Now I was mostly just annoyed he looked so unbothered while I fought for my life with crabgrass.

“Are you really just gonna watch me? Maybe you finally decided to join the gardening club?” I quipped, arching an eyebrow. “Didn't peg you for the horticultural type, but a you could probably move a whole farm by yourself.”

His lips twitched—barely, like a blink-and-you-miss-it smirk—as he crouched beside me and started yanking weeds like he’d been born for it.

Of course, not a single word from him. Typical. The guy’s basically a human wall with wolf ears and zero conversation skills.

“Silent and handy,” I muttered, flicking a limp weed over my shoulder. “Wow. Tall, dark, broody, AND useful? You're every girl's dream, aren't you?”

He didn’t even flinch at the jab, just kept working like my sass was white noise. Eventually, the rhythm took over—the pull of weeds, the soft rustle of leaves—and I hate to admit it, but… it felt weirdly nice. His quiet steadiness anchored my complaints piling in my head, most leaving my mouth anyways.

This big, furry abomination and I? We’re probably the weirdest pair this forest has ever seen. And honestly? I’m still not sure why I decided to protect him, why I took him in when my lovely ex-pack was hot on his heels. I mean, sure, he's tied to Lauren and Alexander, but what does that really tell me? Not a whole lot.

The longer he stays here, though, the more I’m sure they’ll be desperate to find him. Bigger target, bigger payoff, right? Who knows. Either way, I’m playing this game and I need more info if I’m going to win. And that? Well, that comes with time.

I’ve only been putting up with him for a day or so now. He still hasn’t really said a word, except for writing what I think was his name, Mark; but shockingly, he’s been cooperative—actually started making tea when I couldn’t be bothered. A fast learner, thank goodness. For a while there, I thought I was dealing with someone who couldn’t string a thought together, but nope, he’s actually got a brain in that big head of his.

Maybe. Well, something’s firing.

After a while, I finally gave up on pretending to be productive and sat back on my heels, watching him. There he was, Mr. Silent But Handy, fixing that old garden fence like it was some kind of prize project. His long, wild hair kept falling in front of his face like some untamed wolf on a bad hair day.

And just like that, inspiration hit me—my signature mischievous grin spreading across my face.

“You know,” I said, dusting off my hands like I had just finished conquering the world, “if you're planning on sticking around, we should do something about that hair. You look like you just crawled out of the woods—oh wait, you did.”

Mark paused, glancing up at me through his hair curtain. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Too bad for him.

“Come on,” I continued, popping to my feet like I was ready to save the day. “I promise I won’t make you look ridiculous. Well, not too ridiculous.”

He hesitated, giving me that unreadable stare for a beat, but eventually, he nodded. I smirked, feeling victorious as I led him to the porch. I pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer inside the cabin, because, you know, a girl has her tools.

Gesturing for him to sit on the steps, I strutted behind him, my fingers already itching to tame that mess.

He sat down, the chair squeaking, him just barely fitting. It ws almost comical. What wasn’t was how I had to stand on my tip toes to even reach his head.

“You know,” I said casually, snipping away at the wild mess of hair, “most people would literally kill for hair like this. But on you? It’s more 'hermit chic' than 'runway ready,' don’t you think?”

I felt him stiffen slightly under my hands, and I couldn't help but smirk. Oh, so he was that type, huh? A little touchy.

I softened my voice just a touch. “Relax, big guy. I used to cut my own hair back in the day. Sure, it was a disaster, but hey, I've learned since then.”

A soft huff came from him—was that a laugh? I couldn’t decide, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t force a triumphant smirk to my lips. That tiny sound was more satisfying than I wanted to admit.

As I worked, I noticed how... well, how ridiculously handsome he actually was, in that rugged, I’ve-been-living-in-the-wild kind of way. His jawline could probably cut glass, and his ears—lupine, twitching at every little noise—were a dead giveaway that he wasn’t fully wolf or human.

A monster. More then the rest of us.

Still… his eyes pissed me off.

They were soft, angled like Lauren’s.

I nearly growled but held it in.

“There,” I said, stepping back and giving him a quick once-over like a proud artist admiring a masterpiece. “Much better. Now you look less like a sasquatch and more like... well, a very large, very quiet man.”

Mark reached up, his big hands brushing through his freshly cut hair, almost like he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He turned toward me, and for a second, our eyes locked.

There was this... unspoken thing hanging in the air between us. A look, something like gratitude—maybe?—or maybe just some acknowledgment of the fact that we weren’t complete strangers anymore.

“You're welcome,” I muttered, a little more quiet than I’d intended.

The next few days fell into a weird routine. Mark—silent, massive, and annoyingly helpful—kept doing all the work around the cabin like it was his job. I hated to admit it, but there was something oddly comforting having another person around. Not that I was lonely or something. Ew.

But every time I’d be grumbling about something, there he’d be, fixing it, chopping wood, making tea—because apparently, that was now his job. I found myself weirdly looking forward to our tea time at the end of the day, turning and seeing him there with something to help me. A basket for laundry, a small shovel, a needle, etc.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted everything in that warm, golden glow, I stood by the window, watching Mark chop wood with that ridiculous strength of his. Each swing of the axe was smooth and efficient, like he’d been born doing this.

“Why…are you helping me?” I muttered to no one in particular, my voice barely louder than the wind. “What’s in it for you, huh? Why don’t you leave?”

Would he stay if he knew what I’ve done? Who I really was?

I shouldn’t have been asking myself this. I was nobody to him, or anyone—a disgraced ex-socialite sent to rot in this remote cabin far away from the life I used to know. And yet, here he was, doing things for me like he had nothing better to do.

As if he could hear my thoughts (creepy, right?), Mark paused and looked up. Our eyes locked through the glass. I wanted to look away, and I nearly did before that big dope waved.

I stiffened

I could feel my cheeks heat up, and I quickly turned away, mentally slapping myself.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Theres no way I liked having some abomination around. He was a tool. Something to use to strike in my favor when the time came.

Nothing more.