Page 17 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid

As I turned to leave, my bag caught on the edge of the coffee table, spilling its contents across the floor. Among the scattered items, my wedding planning journal fell open, pages of carefully collected photos, color swatches, and neatly written notes on display.

I scrambled to gather everything, heat rushing to my face, but Dean was faster. He picked up the journal, his eyes scanning the pages with interest.

"These are good," he said, surprising me. His fingers traced over a detailed layout I'd drawn for a garden ceremony. "You have an eye for design."

"It's nothing," I mumbled, reaching for the journal. "Just dreams."

He held onto it for a moment longer, studying a page of venue research. "Dreams matter, Nina. These aren't just sketches, they're business plans. Thorough ones." His eyes met mine, and for once, there was no wall between us. "Why aren't you pursuing this?"

The question caught me off guard. "I don't have the connections. The top firms won't even look at my portfolio without industry experience or references."

"Sometimes the best businesses start from scratch." He handed the journal back, his fingers brushing mine. "You have talent. And determination. Those are harder to find than connections."

Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. "You really think so?"

"I built my company from nothing but code and caffeine." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Sometimes all it takes is one person believing it's possible."

For a moment, something blossomed that felt dangerously like hope. It wasn't much, but it was progress. Like maybe, beneath all his walls and warnings and family secrets, there was someone who just needed a little light in his darkness.

"Don't work too late," he said before disappearing behind his office door.

"You too," I whispered.

As I cleaned up the kitchen and packed up the day's garbage, I caught my reflection in the window. There was no cape, no superpowers, just me. But maybe Max was right. Maybe sometimes fighting monsters didn't require magic at all.

Just patience, understanding, and maybe a little faith.

The service elevator hummed as it descended to the underground parking garage. I balanced the day's garbage bags, still mulling over Dean's words about my wedding planning dreams. The garage was eerily quiet at this hour, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls.

"Nina, dear! What perfect timing!"

I turned to find Mrs. Abernathy emerging from her parking spot, her floral housecoat swished as she walked.

"I just pulled a lemon cake from the oven," she said. "It's far too much for one person. Won't you join me for a slice?"

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Nonsense!" She waved away my protest. "You look like you could use a friendly ear. And my Arnold always said there's no problem that can't be improved by cake and conversation."

Before I knew it, I was settled in her cozy apartment, watching her pour tea into delicate china cups.

"Now then," Mrs. Abernathy said, setting a generous slice of cake in front of me. "What's troubling you, dear? And don't say nothing. I've been reading people longer than you've been alive."

I poked at the cake with my fork, the buttery, rich aroma making my stomach growl. "It's complicated."

"Ah." She smiled knowingly. "Matters of the heart usually are."

My head snapped up. "I didn't say any such thing."

"You didn't have to." She settled into her armchair, teacup balanced perfectly.

Her eyes twinkled. "Dean reminds me of my Arnold, actually. When we first met, he was the grumpiest bear you'd ever seen. Wouldn't say two words unless they were complaints."

Despite myself, I leaned forward. "What changed?"

"Persistence, dear. And understanding." She sipped her tea. "You see, Arnold had been hurt before. Built walls so high he forgot how to let anyone in. But I knew, deep down, there was a gentle soul behind all that growling."

"How did you know?"

---