Chapter Five
Millie
I stand in the middle of the living room for exactly three seconds after Wilder hangs up the phone.
Three seconds where I think—stupidly—that maybe I misunderstood. But the guilt in his face is all the confirmation I need..
He wants me gone.
The thought hits so hard it steals the breath from my lungs. My vision blurs, and before I even realize it, I’m moving, I turn and run straight down the hallway. My feet feel numb. My hands are shaking.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I reach the bedroom and shut the door behind me, but the second the latch clicks, the tears come anyway.
Of course he wants me gone.
What was I thinking?
I cross the room and drop to my knees beside the bed, pulling my old backpack from underneath it. The fabric is frayed and faded, one zipper barely hanging on. I’ve carried this thing for years. It’s the only thing that’s ever been mine for long.
My hands move automatically as I start packing. I fold my worn clothes. The ones I came here with. The ones that smell like cheap detergent and old fear. I leave the new things Wilder bought me. The jeans that actually fit. The soft sweaters. The shoes that don’t hurt my feet.
I don’t deserve those.
My chest tightens harder at the thought.
I reach into the dresser and pull out the envelope with my first paycheck. I haven’t spent any of it yet. I tried to give it to Wilder for rent, but he refused. I thought it meant something. I thought it meant he wanted me here.
Now I see the truth. He was just being kind. Just helping until he could send me somewhere else.
A sob escapes before I can stop it. I press my hand over my mouth, but it doesn’t help. The sound is ugly and broken.
My mind spirals.
I can go to a shelter. I’ve done it before. Or maybe one of the girls at the diner will know someone renting a room. Maybe I can sleep on a couch for a while. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
Because no one ever keeps me.
My mother didn’t. Why would Wilder?
I hear the bedroom door open, but I don’t stop packing.
“What are you doing?” Wilder’s voice is low. Controlled. Too controlled.
I don’t answer. I keep packing, blinking hard so I can see through the tears.
“Millie.” His boots move closer. “Talk to me.”
I shake my head.
If I speak, I’ll fall apart.
A second later, strong hands grasp my arms. He pulls me up and spins me around to face him.
I try to look anywhere but at his face. I fail.
His expression is tight. Confused. Frustrated.
“Why are you packing?”
I swallow, but the words still come out broken. “I’m leaving.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
“You want me to go,” I say, my voice rising. “So I’m leaving.”
His grip tightens. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re sending me to Chicago!” I shout. “Sending me away. You don’t want me here. You never did.”
His eyes widen slightly, like the thought never even crossed his mind.
“That’s not—”
“It’s fine!” I cut him off. “You helped me. I’m grateful. I won’t make this harder for you. I’ll just go.”
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me.
“Millie,” he says, his voice rough now. “Stop.”
“No!” I shove at his chest. “You don’t get to decide when I leave. I’m not something you can just—just move around when it’s convenient.”
His jaw flexes. “You think this is about convenience?”
“What else could it be?” My throat burns. “You’re tired of me. I knew this would happen. I always know.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. “I am not tired of you.”
“Then why are you sending me away?”
“Because you almost got hurt today!” The words explode out of him. The room goes still. “I can’t keep you safe here,” he continues, breathing hard. “Not with them still around.”
“Them?” I whisper.
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to me. “The men on that street. They’re not random. They’re part of my past.”
I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”
His gaze locks on mine. For a moment, he looks…younger. Vulnerable.
“I used to be in a gang.”
The words hang in the air.
My heart drops. “What?”
“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.”
Because of you.
I don’t say the words out loud. I can’t. They feel too fragile. Too dangerous.
I love him.
The realization floods my chest, warm and terrifying all at once. But I don’t tell him. I can’t risk hearing that he doesn’t feel the same. Not when part of me still believes this is temporary for him. That eventually he’ll wake up and realize I’m not enough.
After all…he still hasn’t taken my virginity. If he really wanted me, wouldn’t he have by now?
The thought twists painfully inside me.
“If you don’t want me in your apartment,” I say, forcing the words out, “that’s fine. And if you don’t have another unit for me, I’ll figure something out. I always do. But I’m not going to Chicago.” Or anywhere else.
Something dangerous and fierce flashes in his eyes. Before I can react, he moves.
One second, I’m standing in the middle of the room, the next, my back hits the wall. His hands come down on either side of my head, caging me in. His body presses close, heat radiating off him.
“You think I don’t want you?” he says, his voice low and rough.
My breath catches. “I don’t know what to think.”
“You’re mine,” he says.
The words slam into me.
“Do you understand that?” he continues, his gaze burning. “Mine.”
My pulse jumps. “Then why are you sending me away?”
His jaw flexes. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Because if something happens to you, I won’t survive it.”
I stare at him, stunned.
“My plan was never to let you go,” he adds, quieter now but no less intense. “It was temporary. I planned to sell Wilder House and follow you to Chicago.”
“What?” The word barely escapes through my shock.
“You think I could just walk away from you?” His mouth twists into a semblance of a smile. “I built this place to save people. But you…” His voice drops. “You saved me.”
Emotion crashes through me so fast my eyes sting.
“You are my home now, Millie. Wherever you are is where I belong.”
My chest aches. The fear that’s lived inside me for years…the certainty that no one would ever truly want me, fractures.
But one question still burns.
“Then why,” I whisper, “haven’t you claimed me?”
His eyes darken instantly. “I thought you weren’t ready,” he says.
“I am,” I answer, my voice trembling but steady. “And if I’m really yours…then prove it.”
Something in him snaps.
His hands slide to my waist. “Careful, baby girl,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do,” I say.