“The Serpents.” His voice is flat. Emotionless. “When I was a kid, they were the closest thing I had to a family.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man in front of me with what he’s saying.
“My childhood was…” He exhales. “Lonely. Rough. No one cared what I did as long as I stayed out of their way. The gang noticed me. They made me feel like I mattered.”
My chest aches.
“I did things for them,” he continues. “Things I’m not proud of. When I was seventeen, the cops finally caught up with us. There were charges. Serious ones. And they needed someone to take the fall.”
My stomach twists. “They chose you.”
“They left me,” he corrects quietly. “The second things got hard, they disappeared. I was tried as an adult. Convicted. Served six years.”
I can barely breathe.
“In prison, I had a cellmate. An older man. Johnny Tulane.” His voice softens slightly. “He was serving life.” He’d killed a man in a bar fight years back—drunk, the way he’d been most of his life. With his record, the judge made an example of him.” His jaw works for a second. “We were from the same neighborhood. We talked. A lot. He told me I didn’t have to stay the person I’d been.”
Wilder’s gaze drifts for a moment, like he’s seeing something far away. “He pushed me to get my GED. Then a degree in social work. He said if I ever got out, I could build something better.”
“What happened to him?” I whisper.
“He died before I was released.” His jaw tightens. “But before he did, he changed his will. Left me everything he had. Including this building.” My eyes widen. “I got out at twenty-three with nothing but this.” He gestures vaguely around us.
“I took construction jobs. Learned how to fix things. Spent every spare hour renovating. It took years. But eventually, Wilder House was ready.” His gaze returns to mine. “I turned it into what he wanted. A place for people who needed a fresh start.”
The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing.
“The Serpents are still active,” he says. “They leave me alone most of the time because they know I have secrets. But today…” His expression darkens. “Today reminded me that you are a target just by being connected to me.”
At this point, my heart is pounding hard in my head.
“I can’t lose you,” he says roughly. “And I won’t let them hurt you.” He stops.
The silence that follows is heavy, full, charged. The weight of everything he’s just told me presses in from all sides, but the hurt from before hasn’t disappeared. It’s just…shifted.
I take a slow breath. “I understand why you’re scared now.”
Wilder doesn’t relax. His eyes stay locked on mine like he’s waiting for the next blow.
“But I’m still angry,” I add.
His jaw tightens. “You have every right to be.”
“You don’t get to make decisions like that for me,” I continue, my voice shaking even though I try to keep it steady. “You don’t get to decide where I live or what happens to me without even talking to me first.”
“I know.” The words come out rough. “I should have told you.”
“Yes,” I say, heat rising in my chest again. “You should have. Because it’s my life too, Wilder. Not just yours.”
He exhales slowly, like the admission costs him something. “I’m sorry.”
My chest tightens at the sincerity of his words—the earnestness in his steel gray eyes.
My anger deflates, slowly. “I accept your apology,” I say quietly. “But I’m not leaving LA.”
His eyes flash. “Millie—”
“This is the only home I’ve ever known,” I cut in. “Everything I understand is here. And for the first time in my life, I actually feel safe.” My throat tightens. “I feel…settled.”
