Chapter 22 Wyatt
The days that followed had been a relentless, grinding machine of server migrations and firewall overhauls, the kind of technical fire-fighting that usually demanded every ounce of Wyatt’s focus.
But as the week progressed, his internal compass had recalibrated.
By the time Friday afternoon settled over the office, the office’s intensity had finally given way to a quiet, hazy window of time—just wrapping up final patches and clearing the last of the tickets before the club downstairs started to wake up for the weekend.
The sun bled through the blinds, painting long, warm stripes across the floor.
Wyatt leaned back in his chair, feeling the familiar weight of his responsibilities, but for the first time in years, the servers and the firewalls didn't hold his attention.
They felt distant, like background noise, compared to the quiet presence of the woman sitting just a few feet away.
Bitsy was focused, her brow slightly furrowed as she worked, and he caught himself just watching her.
The last few days had been a blur of progress—a delicate, shifting dance of her finding her footing in this new life.
The frantic, brittle edge that had defined her movements when she first came to him was slowly being replaced by a steadier rhythm.
She wasn't just his employee, and she certainly wasn't the broken little thing he’d pulled out of the chaos of her previous life. She was his, entirely, and watching her evolve—seeing her find the strength to stand tall in his shadow—was the most satisfying endeavor he’d ever taken on.
"Wyatt?"
He shifted his focus to the doorway where Silas stood, a folder in hand.
"The security audit for the central server," Silas said, stepping into the room. "I need you to sign off on the encryption protocols before the weekend."
Wyatt stood, his movements efficient as he crossed the room. "Leave it on the desk. I’ll review the log files before I head out."
"We still on for tonight?" Silas asked, his eyes flickering toward Bitsy, who was busy typing, oblivious to the conversation. "Lennon's been asking about you two. She’s looking forward to having another friend to play with in the Littles Wing."
"We'll be there," Wyatt confirmed. He felt a surge of genuine gratitude. Silas didn't invite people into their inner circle—into their sanctuary—unless he trusted them explicitly. "I think it’ll be good for her. Being around Lennon... it’ll make the transition easier."
"She’s adjusting?" Silas asked, his voice low.
"Better than I expected," Wyatt said, keeping his tone professional yet underscored with the quiet pride he felt. "She’s starting to push back, though. The last few days have been... eventful."
Silas gave a knowing, tight-lipped smile. "That’s a good sign. Means she’s actually comfortable."
"I suppose," Wyatt mused.
When Silas left, Wyatt lingered for a moment, letting his eyes track back to Bitsy.
He recalled the flash of spirit she’d shown the night before.
She had tried to argue about finishing her dinner before dessert, a stubborn, defiant little spark in her eyes that had ultimately forced his hand.
He’d had to put her over his knee for the attitude, a necessary lesson she’d taken with trembling tears and a quiet, shaken submission that had lingered in the air long after he’d set her right.
But the memory that really made his pulse spike wasn't the discipline itself; it was the way she had looked at him afterward, her eyes swimming with vulnerability, and breathed out a soft, broken, "I'm sorry... Daddy."
That was the thing about her lately. She was finding her voice.
She was acting out, testing the boundaries he’d set, and every single time she did it, he felt his resolve harden into something deeper.
She wasn't just his to manage; she was his to protect, and the more she felt free to be herself, the more he knew he had done the right thing by bringing her under his care.
"Almost done, Itsy-Bitsy?" he asked, walking over to stand behind her.
Bitsy jumped, then smiled, her shoulders dropping from their high, tense position near her ears. "Yes, sir. Just finishing the migration logs for the secondary server."
"Leave it," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm under his palm, and he felt a jolt of possessiveness that he never grew tired of. "We have a long evening ahead of us. Save some of that energy."
She looked up at him, her eyes bright and searching. "Are you sure? I don't want to leave anything half-finished."
"Everything is finished. You did well this week."
She ducked her head, but he saw the flush that crept up her neck. "Thank you... Daddy."
The word still hit him like a physical blow. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head. "Pack up. We’re heading home."
The drive to the apartment was quiet, the winter wind whipping around outside of the SUV. Once they were inside her apartment, the air felt charged.
"We have to get you ready," he said, gesturing toward her bedroom. "I’m not taking you to play at the club in work clothes."
Bitsy hesitated in the hallway, her hands twisting together. "Do I really need to get all dressed up? I’m just going to be... there."
"You're going to be with me," Wyatt corrected, his voice dropping into that low register that always made her knees weak.
"And I want you to feel entirely like yourself. You don't have to put on a show for anyone tonight, but I want you in something that feels right for the space. Let’s see what you’ve got. "
He followed her into her room, his presence filling the space. He watched as she opened her closet, her hesitation clear. She looked at a few blouses, then pulled out a plain, grey sweater.
"I don't think this is quite what you need," Wyatt said gently, stepping forward. He reached past her into the closet, which still only held a small, sparse collection of practical, worn items. Wyatt, however, saw the potential in what was there. He carefully pulled out a pair of leggings—a soft, slightly faded pair featuring a delicate, whimsical pattern of tiny woodland mushrooms and stars she’d always been fond of—and paired them with a solid-color, oversized sweater in a deep, matching forest green hue.
"Let's try this. It's soft, and you'll be comfortable in it. Perfect for tonight." Bitsy took the clothes, a small, grateful smile touching her lips, and glanced down at her familiar, beat-up Converse, feeling a comforting sense of grounding.
Wyatt watched her for a beat, his expression softening as he realized just how limited her options truly were.
He gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"I’m going to take care of this, Itsy-Bitsy," he murmured, his voice dropping into that protective, steady tone.
"As soon as we have a free afternoon, I’m taking you to pick out some new things.
You deserve to wear clothes that make you feel like the girl you are, not just what you had to cling to when things were hard. "
"What if they look at me funny?" she whispered, her voice tight with the old, familiar anxiety. "I’m still new to this, and... I don't know if I’m good at it yet."
Wyatt stepped into her space, his chest against hers, creating a barrier against the rest of the world.
"I am going to be right there with you. I won’t let anyone look at you with anything other than respect.
There is no place in this city where you are safer, or more free, than at Enigma. Do you believe me?"
She searched his eyes, the silence in the room heavy and warm. Finally, she nodded. "I believe you."
"Good. Now, go change. I’ll make us some dinner to eat before we leave."
In the kitchen, he kept things simple. He toasted some bread, piled it with thin-sliced turkey, avocado, and cheese, and set out a bowl of fresh berries. He wanted her fueled, but he didn't want her overfull; the club had its own atmosphere, and he didn't want her feeling sluggish.
When she emerged from her room, dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater, she looked different. Soft. Approachable. The harsh lines of her work demeanor were gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that he felt an urgent need to protect.
"Eat," he said, gesturing to the sandwich.
She sat on the stool, picking up the bread with both hands. She took a small, delicate bite, looking at him over the top of the sandwich. "Is it okay if I bring something? From my room?"
Wyatt leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you have in mind?"
"My bear," she said, her voice dropping. "The one from my bed. I... I think I’d feel better if he was with me."
Wyatt felt his heart do a strange, fluttery thing that he would never admit to anyone else. "Of course. Go get him."
She hurried off and returned a moment later, clutching a well-loved, slightly threadbare teddy bear. She hugged it to her chest, her knuckles white.
They finished their meal in a quiet, steady rhythm.
Every few minutes, he caught her looking at him, her eyes wide, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for someone to tell her she didn't belong.
He kept his responses brief and encouraging, reinforcing the reality of where they were going.
"You’ve been working hard," he said, as he watched her finish the last of her berries. "This isn't a test, Bitsy. It’s just an evening out with friends. Silas and Lennon are excited to have us join them, and Lennon is looking forward to introducing you to some of the other littles."
Bitsy clutched the bear closer, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "I just... I've never really been around other people who are like me before."
Wyatt leaned over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch grounding. "I know. And you don't have to be anything other than yourself. You’re going to be just fine."
The drive to the club passed in silence. Wyatt kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, a grounding, constant pressure. He felt the tremors in her leg, the subtle indicators of her nerves, and he massaged the muscle, his touch rhythmic and firm.
Wyatt pulled the SUV into their reserved spot in the executive lot, the sudden stillness of the car amplifying the thud of her heart.
He turned to her, his expression serious.
"One last time, Itsy-Bitsy. You are my girl.
You are safe. You are going to be surrounded by people who understand exactly what this is.
You don't have to be anything other than what you are right now. "
She clutched the bear tighter, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Okay. I’m ready, Daddy."
The word felt like a seal of approval on the whole night. He smiled, a rare, genuine expression that transformed his face. "Let's go."
He stepped out and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. He offered her his hand, and she took it, her fingers warm and pliant in his. He didn't let go as they navigated the short walk to the discreet, heavy door that served as the entrance.
He could hear the faint, muffled sound of voices from the other side—the hum of comfort, the promise of a place where the world didn't exist. He looked down at her, caught the way she was biting her lip, and gave her hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"Together," he said.
He pushed the door open, the warm glow from the room spilling out onto the floor, and together, they stepped inside.