Chapter 3 Uninvited Guest And Unspoken Tension

The scent of honey and pine filled the small candle studio that morning. Kindled Soul had opened just an hour ago, and Avery was restocking the front display with her new collection-subtle gold-tinted jars labeled "Strength in Silence."

She hummed softly under her breath as the bell above the door rang.

"Good morning," she called out, not turning right away.

No reply.

Just heavy footsteps-measured, slow, and somehow... familiar.

When she looked up, her breath caught for a split second.

It was him.

Damien Wolfe.

Dressed in all black-his coat crisp, shirt spotless, and expression unreadable. He stood just inside the door, eyes scanning the room with a gaze that burned quietly. Controlled. Icy.

"What are you doing here?" Avery asked, standing straight, her fingers tightening on the candle in her hand.

He didn't smile. Didn't speak at first. Just stared at her, as if trying to figure her out again.

"I came to buy a candle," he said finally, the tone low, almost mocking.

"Right," Avery replied, unimpressed. "Because you seem like someone who lights candles at night for peace."

His mouth twitched slightly. "Who says I don't?"

"You don't."

A beat passed.

Then, something strange happened.

He smirked.

Not a kind one. Not fully.

But there was amusement there. A spark of something.

"I suppose you think you know people that easily?"

"No," she said, calmly placing the candle down. "But I know a man who almost ran me over and cared more about his car than a human life."

His smirk disappeared.

He stepped closer. "You're bold."

"I'm honest."

"You could be both."

Their eyes locked. The air tightened between them, tension threading like a storm cloud between lightning strikes.

Avery didn't flinch.

Damien tilted his head slightly. "Tell me something, Miss..."

"Avery."

"Avery," he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. "How did you know where I work?"

"I told you already. Your car has your name on the plate," she said. "It wasn't hard to search."

"You searched me?"

"I Googled you. That's not obsession-it's basic survival."

He chuckled-low and deep. "You're not like other women I meet."

Avery raised a brow. "You say that like it's a compliment."

"It is," he said. But his voice turned quieter, his eyes flickering-like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Before she could respond, the door behind him opened again.

A woman walked in-tall, polished, dressed in a tight cream blazer, high heels clicking against the wooden floor.

Her lipstick was perfect. Her perfume filled the room.

"Damien," she said with a soft, practiced voice. "There you are."

Avery blinked.

The woman's eyes quickly scanned the shop, then settled on her. They narrowed-just slightly, but enough.

"This must be the candle shop you mentioned," she said, walking beside Damien as if she belonged there.

He looked at her with a flicker of surprise. "Stacey, I didn't say you should follow me."

"I was just curious. You never take side trips," she said sweetly. Her arm brushed his.

Avery stepped back slightly.

So, this was the type of woman who surrounded men like Damien Wolfe.

Flawless. Confident. Dangerous.

"I didn't catch your name," Stacey said to Avery, smiling-but not kindly.

"Avery," she replied, keeping her voice polite. Steady.

Stacey glanced around. "Charming little place. Very... quaint."

Avery didn't take the bait.

"Can I help you choose a candle?" she asked Damien instead, ignoring Stacey.

Damien's gaze shifted back to her, studying her again like he wasn't quite sure what to do with the moment.

He reached toward the shelf, picking up one of her newer jars. Strength in Silence.

He turned it in his hand, eyes briefly scanning the message written below: "You don't have to be loud to be strong."

Something shifted in his expression.

Without another word, he walked to the counter and placed it down.

"I'll take this one."

Avery rang it up, hands calm even though her heart was pounding for reasons she didn't understand.

"Thank you," she said, handing him the bag.

Stacey stepped forward too. "I'll buy one as well. Whatever he picked."

Avery held her gaze. "They're all different."

"Oh," Stacey said. "Then I'll take whatever you think fits me. Surprise me."

She was testing her.

Avery knew it.

With the faintest smirk, Avery handed her a candle from the lower shelf. It was labeled "Fire Wrapped in Roses."

When Stacey read the note beneath it-"Beautiful things can still burn you"-her smile froze for a moment.

Then she turned to Damien. "Shall we go?"

He nodded once.

Before leaving, he looked at Avery one last time. That unreadable expression again.

"Your work is... unexpected," he said. "I might be back."

"I didn't ask you to," she replied.

But something in her chest ached quietly as she watched him leave.

---

Later That Night

Damien sat alone in his penthouse, the candle lit beside him. The scent was light-pine and musk-but underneath, it reminded him of rain.

Of her.

He didn't like the way her voice stayed in his mind. Or the way she didn't care who he was. Most women either wanted his attention or his money.

Avery didn't want either.

And that unsettled him.

Stacey, on the other hand, was predictable.

She had been beside him for years-his friend, his comfort zone. But even now, as she texted him "She's cute. But not your type.", Damien didn't respond.

He wasn't sure she was right anymore.

---

Stacey's View

She sat in her designer condo, glass of wine in hand.

She had seen the look in his eyes.

Just a flicker-but it was enough.

Damien had never looked at her that way. But he had looked at Avery like that.

She remembered the way he stared at the candle-like it meant something. She remembered how quiet he had become after reading that small note.

No.

She wouldn't lose him to a girl who sold scented jars in a shop the size of a closet.

Stacey had waited too long, stood beside him through every heartbreak, built her image to match his empire.

And if this girl thought she could walk in and change that, she was wrong.

Very wrong.

---

Avery

She stayed late that night, cleaning the shop, her hands moving automatically.

But her mind replayed every second of his visit.

His coldness. His silence. The strange tension that neither of them acknowledged. The woman beside him-flawless and bitter behind a smile.

She didn't want to get involved. She wasn't looking for romance, and certainly not from someone like him.

But there was something in the way he had held the candle.

The way his voice softened when he said her work was "unexpected."

It didn't mean anything.

Right?

Still, as she turned off the lights and locked up, the scent of pine still lingered in the air-and for a moment, she wondered...

Would he really come back?

And if he did, was she ready for the storm he would bring?