Hailee's POV
"Good morning, Jonah," I smiled, greeting one of the pack house guards.
"Morning, Hailee… you look different today," he said, eyeing me curiously.
I rolled my eyes. "You're seeing wrong, Jonah. There's nothing different about me."
I lied—but we both knew he was right.
I didn't sleep last night. Not when every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Not when my brain kept dragging me back to what happened with Nathan. The way he touched me. The way I let him. The way I wanted him to.
Deep down, I told myself not to be ridiculous. Not to dwell on it. Nathan would always be Nathan. He was a womanizer, had girls throwing themselves at him like candy at a festival. I wouldn't be surprised if he was laughing about it right now. Hell, maybe he'd already told his friends. Maybe they were all joking about me.
And thank the moon we didn't go further than we did. At least I had that small shred of dignity to hold onto.
Still, something in me shifted.
This morning, I stood in front of my wardrobe like a stranger. I don't usually care what I wear—hoodies, leggings, whatever's clean. But today? Today I was digging through piles like I was going to a damn royal banquet. Trying on outfits I hadn't touched in months. I ended up wearing one of my best tops, a fitted black one that hugged my body a little too well, paired with jeans that actually made my ass look decent.
Why?
Because some stupid part of me wondered if he'd see me today.
And worse—I wanted him to look.
It wasn't like me. None of this was.
Sucking in a deep breath, I made my way into the pack house.
My mother worked as the royal family's cook, while I worked as the pack house library keeper—only on weekends. It was honestly the best part-time job I could imagine. All I had to do was tidy up the library, make sure the books were arranged properly for easy retrieval, and then spend the rest of the day reading. That was it. And the monthly pay? Surprisingly, generous. For once, life made sense.
When my mother first mentioned the opening, I didn't even bother applying. I figured they'd want someone full-time or at least someone who wasn't still in school. But a few days later, she told me I got the job—just like that. No interview, no paperwork. Just an offer out of the blue.
I was shocked… and a little suspicious.
At first, I thought maybe my mom had pulled some strings. But when I asked her, she just shrugged and said, "They saw potential. Take it."
Still, I was hesitant.
Because working in the pack house meant seeing him.
And if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that Nathan never seemed happy to see me. I wasn't one of his giggling admirers, I didn't blush whenever he spoke, and I didn't swoon every time he walked past. In fact, most of the time, he looked… annoyed by my presence. Like I was in the way. Like I was a puzzle he couldn't figure out—and didn't care to.
So yeah, I had my doubts.
But I took the job anyway.
I exchanged a few greetings with more staff as I made my way up the wide staircase to the library. My footsteps echoed lightly down the hall, each one making me feel more aware of the fact that I wasn't just here to clean and read today—I was here with the weight of last night sitting heavily on my chest.
The double doors creaked slightly as I pushed them open. The scent of old paper and polished wood welcomed me like a familiar friend. The morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
Setting my bag down behind the librarian's desk, I pulled my hair into a messy bun and grabbed the duster. I started with the shelves near the entrance, methodically wiping the surfaces and aligning the spines of the books so they faced just right. My fingers brushed over the worn edges of a few old titles, the ones I'd read more times than I could count. This place had always been my escape from the real world.
But not even the scent of books could distract me for long. My thoughts kept drifting. His hands. His voice. The way his touch made me shiver.
"Stop thinking about him," I muttered under my breath.
I had just begun rearranging a stack of misplaced historical books when the door opened again.
Click. Heels. Perfume.
I wondered why a wolf would spray such strong perfume on themselves.
Without looking, I already knew it was Clara.
"Ugh," she groaned the second her eyes landed on me, her lips curling like she'd just stepped in something filthy. "I knew the library was starting to smell weird. Should've guessed it was you."
I kept my back to her, pretending to dust the same shelf twice. "Good morning, Clara," I said flatly.
Clara stepped closer, arms folded, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her forearm. "After the chaos you created in school between Nathan and Callum, I'm sure it's just a coincidence that you're suddenly dressing like someone trying to get noticed."
I turned slowly, meeting her glare head-on. My stomach twisted, but I refused to let her see it.
"I'm here because I work here. Not because of your brother."
"Stop lying, bitch!"
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
This time, I didn't need to look. I felt it.
His presence filled the room like a storm cloud—quiet, dark, heavy. My body stiffened instantly.
He stepped in, his eyes flicking from Clara to me. I couldn't read his expression. He looked tired. Or maybe just bored. His gaze lingered for a beat too long on me—enough to send my pulse racing, but not enough to mean anything.
"Clara," he said simply.
She turned to him, flipping her hair dramatically, as if she hadn't just been verbally clawing at me like a jealous cat. "Nathan, we were just talking."
But he didn't take his eyes off me.
"Leave." His voice was calm, low, and authoritative.
Clara blinked. "What?"
"I said leave," Nathan repeated, this time sharper, like he was already losing his patience.
For a second, Clara looked stunned. Like someone had dared slap her in public. Her lips parted in disbelief, her perfectly plucked brows arching in offense.
"You're seriously taking her side?" she spat, jerking her head toward me like I was some rotting fruit.
"I'm not taking anyone's side," he muttered. "I want to have a talk with Hailee."
Clara looked between us, her eyes narrowing as if trying to piece together something invisible. Then her lip curled into a cold, humorless smile. "Wow. Didn't think you'd actually sink that low."
She pivoted on her heels and strutted out, heels clacking furiously against the floor. But just before disappearing through the doors, she threw over her shoulder, "You always had the worst taste, Nathan."
Silence.
Thick. Uncomfortable. Suffocating.
I didn't move. I just stood there, a book still in my hand, pretending to read the spine even though my eyes couldn't focus on a single letter.
Nathan stayed near the doorway, one hand still on the edge of it like he hadn't decided if he was staying or leaving.
I looked at him then. Really looked at him. The way the morning light softened his sharp features. The way the shadows under his eyes hinted at a long, sleepless night—maybe mine wasn't the only one.
But I had to ask. "Why are you here?"
He hesitated.
And that pause? It made my heart pound for reasons I didn't want to admit.
"Why do people come here," he said, sounding harsh. "If not to pick up a book."
That answer should've made things easier. Should've given me the chance to go back to shelving books and pretending last night didn't happen. But instead, it pained me that he wasn't going to talk about last night. Maybe it was for the best.
"Sure, I'll leave it to you then," I said and returned back to my task.
"You look… different," he suddenly said.
Not mocking. Not teasing. Just… noticing.
I acted as if I didn't hear him… like those words didn't have an effect on me, and I continued arranging the books… making sure to give him enough space.
I went back to arranging the books on the shelf, sliding each one into place with mechanical focus. My hands were steady, but everything inside me was trembling. His voice still echoed in my head. Different. Like I'd become someone else overnight.
I moved to the next shelf, still pretending to ignore him, but I could feel his eyes on me. Heavy. Intense. Like he was trying to read something written under my skin.
Then I heard the soft thud of a book being pulled from the shelf behind me. I glanced out of the corner of my eye.
He was holding one of my favorite books.
It was the worn red-spined one I'd set aside earlier—Blood Moon Bond, one of my favorites. A historical romance about a low-ranking she-wolf who despised the Alpha she was fated to, until war and loss revealed the truth beneath all the bitterness.
He flipped through a few pages, then scoffed.
"She's an idiot," he muttered.
I froze. "What?"
He shrugged, not even looking at me. "The female lead. She spends the whole damn book pretending she hates him, pushing him away, whining about pride and dignity—when it's obvious she wants him from chapter three."
I set the book in my hand down a little too hard.
"She's not whining. She's protecting herself."
He looked up now, arching a brow.
"She's scared," I went on, stepping closer. "Scared to fall for someone who's spent the entire book being cruel. Distant. Cold. She has every right to protect her heart."
He tilted his head, a slow, mocking smile pulling at his lips. "So now we're defending fictional females who make terrible decisions? Good to know."
I crossed my arms. "Better than falling for the male lead—who only shows interest when she finally walks away. Like some emotionally stunted wolf-child who throws a tantrum when things don't go his way."
He closed the book with a sharp snap.
"Oh? You mean the male lead who has to claw through betrayal, war, and loss before he even gets a chance to love someone—only to find out she hates him because she's too much of a coward to try?"
My eyes narrowed. "You mean the male lead who sleeps around with anything in heat, pretends not to care, and only shows up when it's convenient for him? Yeah. Real hero."
His jaw clenched.
In a flash, he dropped the book onto the table with a loud thud. Then he was in front of me.
Before I could react, I was pinned against the wall—his hands on either side of my head, his body too close, his scent too alluring.