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Taming Mr. Wolfe

Name: Taming Mr. Wolfe
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Vihcky

5.0

Billionaires

2 Chapters

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Zara Blake is a shy but wild-hearted scholarship student with one mission: survive college, graduate top of her class, and never need anyone again. But when rent forces her into a part-time maid job in the penthouse of the university's most feared, and desired billionaire heir, her carefully built walls start to crack. Damien Wolfe is not just rich. He is dangerous. Arrogant. Addicted to control. A notorious playboy who uses housemaids like playthings... until they want more. Then he discards them, cold, cruel, and untouched by guilt. But Zara isn't like the others. She bites back. She glares instead of blushes. And she makes the one mistake no one else ever dared; She says NO. What begins as a collision of hate and lust spirals into obsession, secrets, and something neither of them is ready for. Because taming a wolf is dangerous... But loving one? That's a whole new kind of sin.

Chapter 1 The Penthouse

If anyone told me I'd be scrubbing the marble floors of a billionaire's penthouse before my first class even started, I'd have told them to go choke on their privilege.

But here I am.

Clutching a bucket.

Wearing a too-tight maid uniform I didn't choose.

And standing in front of the infamous Penthouse 31A-the place every girl on campus whispers about when they think no one's listening.

I take a breath, knock once, and wait.

No answer.

I knock again, louder. Still nothing.

I reach for the keypad by the door, staring at the security code Mrs. Donovan scribbled onto a sticky note like it was a grocery list. I hesitate. Something about entering uninvited feels... wrong.

But rent is due. My scholarship doesn't cover food. And I can't afford to get fired on day one.

So I type it in. The door unlocks with a soft beep, sliding open like the gates to hell or heaven, depending on how twisted you are.

The penthouse is unreal.

Black and gold everything. Walls lined with art I'm sure costs more than my mother's entire life. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in light that makes the glass floors glow like liquid money.

I step inside cautiously, trying not to make noise.

"Hello?" I call softly. No answer.

I relax a little. Maybe he's not here. Maybe I can just clean and get the hell out before I have to meet him.

I've heard stories. Everyone has.

Damien Wolfe.

Playboy billionaire.

Seduces the maids. Sleeps with them. And then tosses them out like dirty laundry.

He's the son of Sebastian Wolfe, tech tyrant and control freak. Damien's only here to finish college or lose his inheritance. But that hasn't stopped him from building a reputation that would make the devil blush.

I'm halfway into the living room when I hear it.

A low sound. A moan. A male moan.

Oh God.

I freeze.

It's coming from down the hall.

Curiosity itches at my feet. I know I should turn around and start scrubbing the kitchen like a good, invisible maid. But I move forward instead. Quietly.

Another moan. A deep grunt. And then a soft, female giggle.

My stomach knots.

The door at the end of the hall is cracked open, just enough for me to see-

"Fuck, Clara," a voice groans. "That mouth should be illegal."

My breath catches.

Damien Wolfe.

I don't need to see his face to know. His voice sounds like sin wrapped in smoke and silk. Deep. Lazy. Arrogant. Like he was born to be worshipped and never doubted that fact.

I back away fast, heart pounding. I almost trip over the mop bucket I left by the stairs. I make it to the kitchen just as the door behind me clicks open.

Footsteps.

I start scrubbing like my life depends on it.

The footsteps stop behind me. I can feel the heat of his stare even before I turn.

"New maid?"

I straighten slowly, wiping my hands on the apron. Then I turn to face him.

And yeah.

He's every rumor, every scandal, every dirty fantasy in flesh.

Shirtless.

Tattoo ink curling across his collarbone and down one bicep.

Sweat on his skin. Towel slung low on his hips.

Grey eyes that land on me like a threat and a challenge.

His lips curl into a smirk.

"You're not the usual type they send."

I clench my jaw. "I'm not a type. I'm just here to clean."

He steps closer.

I hold my ground.

He tilts his head, like he's studying me. "What's your name?"

"Zara."

"Zara." He tastes the name like it's a new brand of champagne. "How old are you, Zara?"

I fold my arms. "Old enough to mop a floor without being interrogated."

He chuckles. Low and amused.

Damn it. Why is his laugh hot?

"I like you," he says. "You've got bite."

"I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to do my job."

"Are you now?" He steps even closer. We're too close now. The heat of his bare chest radiates into my skin. "What happens if I tell you to clean my bedroom?"

"Depends," I reply coldly. "Am I cleaning alone, or am I being auditioned for your next fling?"

His smirk falters-just for a second.

Touché.

"I don't fuck employees," he lies.

I raise a brow. "Right. And I'm the Queen of France."

He laughs again, but this time there's an edge to it. He leans in, his lips brushing close to my ear.

"You're bold, Zara Blake. I like bold." A pause. "But be careful. This place chews up girls like you."

"I'm not here to be chewed," I whisper back.

Then I pick up my mop and turn my back to him.

He watches me for a long time before walking away.

And just like that, I've survived my first encounter with Damien Wolfe.

Barely.

But deep down, I know it won't be the last.

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