Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 61

She combs my bangs gently with a comb, then begins to trim the hairs on my forehead bit by bit. All of

her attention is concentrated on the task at hand.

I watch her. The way she studies me, so focused on her task.

That singular focus had served her well in her life—first with her education and graduating top of her

class at University and later at Law School. And then in surviving prison.

Guilt stabs at me.

In the little time that I’ve known her, I’ve seen how she has been abused. It’s open season on this

woman, and that’s largely because of me.

What must her life be like behind bars, with no one to champion or protect her, and countless criminals

coming after her all in the hopes of pleasing me?

She sucks in a breath and I savor that little sound.

Her mouth is pretty. Full lips, a bright smile. Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

She doesn’t smile enough, I realize.

Her skin is still red, likely from the wind and cold, and though it’s pinkened her cheeks and nose, it only

enhances her beauty.

If I look hard enough, I can see that she’d been beautiful once.

Her features carry symmetry and character.

But it isn’t the outward appearance that draws me, but rather what traits she possesses that come from

within.

This woman… she’d been the one to fight for me. To sacrifice so that I could have a roof over my head,

warm clothes, and something good to eat. She’s asked for nothing in return.

And knowing that she appreciates me for me.

I can’t say that anyone in my life shares that sentiment.

"It's done." After an unknown amount of time, her voice suddenly sounds in my ear.

“Oh, already?" It was as if time spent with her passed extremely quickly.

"Mmm." She smiles, takes two steps back, and carefully looks at him for a while. "My skill isn't too bad.

In fact, it's rather good, and we've saved twenty dollars."

She smiles. Then, she takes out a dry towel and flicks off the fine strands of hair that are stuck to my

face, neck, and on my clothes.

"Alright, go take a shower," Grace says.

I grab a change of clothes and walk into the narrow bathroom. Knowing that she wanted to conserve

energy and keep their bills low, I don’t set the shower to hot as I normally would.

But that shit’s gonna change.

Yes, indeed. I suspect there will be a new owner of this apartment complex very very soon.

As I wash and scrub my body, I see the scar on my chest.

With time, this scar had grown very shallow. However, every time I see it, I think of that woman.

The woman who had abandoned me, my father. Our pack.

This scar is the only thing left of her.

I’d been too young to shift and when I knelt and begged her not to go, not to abandon me and dad, she

had shaken her head and pried my hands free.

When she shoved me aside so I could leave, I’d fallen on a bit of rebar.

My memories don’t remember the construction or the details of the day, aside from what she wore, how

her beautiful smile had transformed into a snarl, and how I’d been unable to breathe when the metal

pierced my chest.

The doctors had said that the metal had gotten very close to my heart. I was lucky, a centimeter to the

left and they would not have been able to save me.

I remember, as a child, denouncing my mother. Saying she no longer mattered to me.

I walled myself off.

After my father's death, I stopped having expectations of anyone.

As long as I did not have expectations, I would never be disappointed.

It was just that...

I turn off the tap, wiped my body dry with a towel, and put on my clothes. When I walk out of the

bathroom, my eyes fell on Grace. She’s sitting at the table and seemed to be looking at something.

Since when had I started having expectations of her?

I looked forward to seeing her smile, to seeing that glow of happiness she got over the littlest things.

I live for those moments when she smiles at me. Because when she does it lights up the whole room.

"Jay".

Even the sound of my name on her lips brings me joy.

I walk to the side of the table and see some documents placed on the table by her side. They are...

copies of the record of her original case.

My eyes flash. "What are you looking at, Sister?" Even though he already knew the answer.

"Some of the related information from my case back then," she says. "Lina helped me collect them."

"Why are you reading this again?"

She bites her lip. She casts her gaze to the side so she won’t have to look at me.

"Perhaps... this case, there are still some things that I don't understand," Grace mumbles. “And I am

determined to get to the bottom of them…”