“Goodnight, Daddy,” I murmur, already drifting off.
My last thought before I lose grasp of reality is how warm and safe he feels…
Like home.
Chapter Four
Wilder
Noah sits in the chair on the other side of my desk, the lease agreement spread neatly between us. His eyes are slightly squinted, his brows furrowed in a serious frown as he carefully goes over each line. Most people don’t do that. Most people skim through the words, eager to get keys in their hands and move on with their lives. But Noah takes his time.
That alone tells me enough.
I lean back in my chair and watch him without looking like I’m watching. Old habits. Prison carved that into me. I learned early that the quiet ones are the ones you pay attention to. The ones who measure before they act. The ones who don’t need noise to prove anything.
Noah signs his name with a steady hand and slides the paper toward me. “I appreciate this.”
His voice is calm. Composed. A man who’s seen things and learned how to live with them.
I nod once. “Rules are simple. No drugs. No violence. No bringing trouble to the building.”
His mouth tightens slightly. He doesn’t look offended. And that makes me respect him even more. “Understood.”
He stands, and I pass him the keys. The metal glints briefly in the late afternoon light coming through the office window. He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t ask questions. Just another nod before he leaves.
The door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows should feel familiar. This office has always been my sanctuary. The space where I can stay fully in control. But tonight, I can’t seem to rein in the direction of my thoughts. They keep drifting to her.
Millie has been living with me for a couple of weeks, and I still haven’t adjusted to the way she fits perfectly into my life. I didn’t think something like that was possible. Not for me. Not after everything I’ve dealt with in my life.
Since I was released from prison, I haven’t tolerated people in my space. At least not beyond a night or two. Even then, only when it was necessary. I like quiet. Predictability. I like knowing every sound, every movement. People disrupt that.
Millie doesn’t.
She softens it.
Her things are scattered throughout my apartment now. Shoes by the door. Her brush beside mine in the bathroom. That little jewelry kit of hers always on the dining table. The scent of her shampoo mixed with mine in the shower. None of it irritates me. None of it makes me restless.
If anything, the thought of it disappearing makes something tight and ugly rise in my chest.
We’ve been intimate more times than I planned. More times than I should have allowed. I keep telling myself I’ll slowdown, that she needs time, but every night she ends up in my bed again. Curled against me. Trusting. Open. Learning.
She hasn’t said it outright, but I know she’s nervous about going all the way. I can see it in the way her body tenses sometimes. I’m not pushing her. I won’t. She deserves all the patience and care I can afford—although that’s running thin— because every time she calls me Daddy, something inside me nearly turns feral.
Every time I call her baby girl, it feels less like a nickname and more like a claim.
The realization worries me.
But not enough to stop.
I put the paper Noah signed away, making a mental note to give Zane a call later since he referred Noah to Wilder House. It’s just formalities, though. I know Zane well enough to know he would never vouch for a dishonorable man. He stayed here nearly a year while he got back on his feet from an accident as a Navy pilot, and we formed something of a camaraderie. I didn’t ask questions when he called a few days ago to inform me a friend from his support group needed a place, but I can’t completely throw caution to the wind.
My mind strays back to Millie. Again.
I wonder what she would think of me when she finds out someone new is moving into Wilder House when I initially told her we had no empty units. Even though I didn’t fully have an explanation for my actions, I told myself it was for her safety. That she needed stability and protection. Thinking about it now though, the truth is simpler.
I wanted her close. One day she’ll put it together—the empty unit that suddenly isn’t—and I’ll have to tell her why. I’m not ready for that conversation. Not yet.
I glance at my watch, absentmindedly wondering why she isn’t back yet. I reach for my phone before I even realize what I’m doing.
