Chapter 5 House Of Wolves

The walls listened.

That was the first rule Elena learned-not from a handbook, but from the way whispers died the moment footsteps echoed too close, how eyes lingered just long enough to feel like knives against skin.

"Speak only when you must," Rosa had said that morning, eyes sharp as glass. "And never about the East Wing."

The East Wing.

The words alone made something cold settle in her chest. The corridor was always locked, guarded by two men with no names and no expressions. Once, she had passed too close, and one of them had gripped her arm so tight her fingers tingled for an hour. No warning. No words. Just a silent reminder.

The house was a maze. Cameras in every corner. Steel doors that clicked when you passed. And an eerie quiet that made even her own breathing feel like betrayal.

Her room had no windows. Just a bed, a desk, a lamp that flickered sometimes, and a closet full of neutral clothes. She ate with the others-those who worked here, lived here, obeyed here. No one talked. Not unless spoken to.

And always, somewhere just beyond sight, he was there.

Damian Serrano.

Sometimes she'd see him in the hallway, flanked by his guards. Other times, she'd hear his voice through a speaker in the ceiling, ordering someone's fate in clipped tones. He didn't look at her much. But when he did, it burned.

She couldn't explain it. His gaze wasn't soft. It wasn't kind. But it was real in a way nothing else in this place was.

One night, Elena was in the kitchen, washing her own plate-the rule was, you clean up after yourself or you don't eat again.

That's when it happened.

A man she didn't recognize-short-cropped hair, leather gloves, uniform like the other guards-came in behind her.

He was smiling.

Too much.

"You're the new girl," he said.

She turned slowly, cautious.

"Yes."

He stepped closer, glancing around.

No Rosa. No one else.

"I was supposed to meet you earlier," he said, voice low. "Damian asked me to... check on you."

The lie was obvious.

Damian didn't send people. He summoned.

Elena's stomach clenched.

"I'm fine," she said, backing slightly, hands still damp.

The man smiled wider. Too calm. Too rehearsed.

"You shouldn't be alone here," he said. "Come on. I'll walk you to your room."

He reached for her arm.

And just like that-he was there.

Damian.

It happened in a blink.

A crash, a grunt, the sound of flesh hitting tile. The man was on the ground, choking, Damian's knee on his throat, one hand gripping the guard's wrist as a knife clattered across the floor.

Elena stumbled back, frozen.

The kitchen had become a battlefield. She could smell sweat and metal. She could see blood-bright and wet on Damian's knuckles.

He said nothing as the man gasped under him, trying to speak.

But then-snap.

A twist of the neck. A final breath.

Silence.

Elena's stomach lurched.

She turned and vomited into the sink.

Damian stood.

His breathing was steady. His hands bloody.

He looked at her-not like a boss, not like a captor-but like something else entirely.

"Don't apologize," he said quietly, stepping closer. "He would've slit your throat if I hadn't intervened."

She wiped her mouth, trembling.

"Who... who was he?"

"Planted by someone who thinks I'm too sentimental," he said, eyes flicking to the corpse. "You're not as invisible as you think, Elena."

Ana.

She was Ana now. She had to remember that.

Damian reached past her and turned on the faucet. Blood dripped from his fingers into the stream.

He looked exhausted.

Raw.

Real.

"I told you," he said. "Protection has a price."

She didn't know why she did it.

Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the pounding in her chest that wouldn't stop. Maybe it was the first time in days someone had looked at her like she wasn't a ghost.

But she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He froze.

His body was hard beneath her cheek, warm and tense. She felt the rise and fall of his breath, the thrum of his heart. For a second, he didn't move. Then slowly, almost cautiously, his arms came around her.

It wasn't tender.

It was desperate.

Like holding someone just to prove you were still alive.

His chin rested against her temple. She felt the roughness of his stubble, the scent of tobacco, blood, and something else-clean soap, like he'd just washed off something darker.

Neither of them spoke.

She didn't want to break the moment, because here, in this broken space between horror and silence, something flickered. Not safety. Not comfort. But recognition.

She stepped back first.

His hands dropped to his sides. His eyes unreadable again.

"You should go," he said. "I'll have this cleaned up."

She nodded.

But when she turned, she paused.

"Thank you."

It was barely a whisper.

He didn't respond. Just lit another cigar as if nothing had happened.

That night, Elena couldn't sleep.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths. The house creaked and shifted around her. Somewhere, a door slammed. Somewhere else, someone screamed.

But in her mind, all she could see was his face-Damian, kneeling over that man, saving her life like it was nothing.

And that embrace.

Hard. Unfamiliar. But the closest thing to human contact she'd felt in weeks.

He wasn't gentle. He wasn't kind.

But he was something else.

A protector.

A devil.

Her devil now.

The next morning, Rosa came in early.

"Up."

Elena obeyed.

"You'll begin full integration now," Rosa said. "You learn the schedules. The routines. You do what you're told. No questions. No mistakes."

She handed Elena a folder.

Inside-floor maps. Names. Duties. A thick list of don'ts.

Don't go near the East Wing.

Don't ask questions about what you hear at night.

Don't try to leave.

Don't contact the outside world.

Don't forget who owns your life.

Each word sank like stone.

Elena met Rosa's eyes. "What happens if I make a mistake?"

Rosa's lip curled.

"You pray Damian sees value in you before someone else sees opportunity."

Later that afternoon, as she was memorizing guard shift schedules, she passed by the East Wing.

For the first time, no guards stood there.

The doors were still locked. But they were quiet.

Too quiet.

She didn't stop walking-but her heartbeat quickened.

What's in there?

What was so dangerous that even the devil himself warned her away?

She didn't want to know.

And yet, she did.

As the sun set, Damian's voice came through the intercom.

"Ana Morales. Report to the observation room."

She stiffened.

The others glanced at her-but said nothing.

She made her way there, nerves electric under her skin.

When she entered, Damian was alone, seated at a control panel with screens showing every hallway, every room, even her own quarters.

"You're adjusting," he said, eyes on the screens.

She didn't answer.

He turned to face her.

"But this place will chew you up if you don't grow teeth."

Elena lifted her chin.

"Then I'll grow them."

For a second, his lips twitched. Almost a smile.

He gestured to the empty seat beside him.

"Sit. I want you to see what survival really looks like."

And she did.

That night, Elena learned more than rules.

She learned why the rules existed.

And for the first time, she didn't feel like prey.

She felt like a wolf in training.