Chapter 2

"Ms. Ashley Lynn, it's time to make your choice," the host announced.

With everyone staring in shock, I strode straight to the forgotten corner and pointed at the scarred gray wolf beastman.

"I choose him—Damian Frost," I said firmly.

The whole place exploded. I heard Rachel suck in a sharp breath, my mother cried out in disbelief, and best of all, I caught the sudden, piercing look in Carter's eyes.

Damian lifted his head, his amber eyes wide with shock and suspicion. His fur bristled, sharp fangs bared, as if daring me to come any closer.

But I just declared again, "I choose Damian."

In this life, I would never repeat my old mistakes. No matter what kind of past this gray wolf beastman carried, nothing could ever hurt me more than what Carter did.

I met Damian's guarded eyes and swore to myself: This time, I'd rewrite my own ending.

On the way home, Damian kept three paces between us. His amber eyes scanned the surroundings with constant wariness, and his torn left ear twitched every so often.

While the other girls were already bonding with their beastmen, all I got from Damian was silence and suspicion.

"You don't have to be so tense," I tried to ease the mood. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Damian let out a low, uneasy whine from his throat—not quite agreement, not quite refusal. His claws scratched restlessly at the concrete, leaving faint marks behind.

At the front door, my family was already waiting on the steps. My father frowned, my mother wrung her hands, and Rachel didn't even bother to hide her disgust. Only my younger sister Lily blinked at Damian, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"This is your choice?" Rachel's voice shot up, her perfectly manicured finger stabbing in Damian's direction. "Seriously? A crippled gray wolf?"

Damian's fur bristled instantly, his back arching as he bared his sharp fangs. Without thinking, I stepped between him and Rachel.

"His name is Damian," I said firmly, feeling the wolf beastman behind me tense up for a moment. "And he's injured. He needs treatment."

"Oh my, just look at him." Rachel took an exaggerated step back. "He's filthy and stinky, and covered in wounds. Why didn't you pick that snow leopard? Everyone wanted him."

My heart skipped a beat. She meant Carter. So she really did notice him.

"I don't need your approval," I said, taking hold of Damian's front paw. He tried to pull away, but I kept my grip and marched right past my family into the house.

The room set aside for beastmen at home was made for someone like Carter. They prepared soft carpets, a special grooming area, and luxury food bowls. But now, with Damian standing awkwardly in the middle, he looked like he didn't belong there at all.

I said to him, "I'll grab the first aid kit. Let me take care of your wounds."

When I came back, I found Damian curled up in the farthest corner, keeping as much distance from the center as he could. His nose kept twitching, like he was trying to figure out every scent in the room.

"Can I take a look at your injuries?" I knelt in front of him while opening the first aid kit.

Damian's eyes flashed with fear as he stared at the antiseptic in my hand—not just distrust, but something raw and instinctive, like he couldn't help it.

"I won't hurt you," I reassured him again, moving as slowly as I could. "I'll just do the cleaning and bandaging for you."

He finally let me touch him, but he was stiff all over, every muscle ready to run or snap if I made a wrong move. When the antiseptic hit a deep wound, he jerked hard, his claws digging deep into the carpet and leaving fresh marks.

I pulled my hand back quickly. "Sorry. Did that hurt?"

Damian didn't say a word, but I saw his pupils go wide and his breathing turn sharp. That wasn't pain—it was pure fear. I leaned in to check the wound. The edge of his wound was way too neat, like someone had sliced him on purpose with something sharp.

As I kept looking over his other injuries, a chill crept down my spine, suspicion gnawing at me. The scars were laid out in patterns, way too precise to be from some random brawl. Those round scars on his back looked almost like...

"Were these made with a branding iron?" I blurted out.

Damian jerked away from my touch, retreating into the corner with a low, warning growl. His eyes went wild, and his tail tucked tight between his legs.

"Okay, okay, I won't ask anymore," I said, raising my hands and backing off. "But we need to clean these wounds, or they'll get infected."

After a long silence, he finally let me continue—though it was clear he was still on edge. As I worked, I noticed that the old scars stood out even more than the fresh ones. They covered him, all shapes and sizes, some faded to white, proof they'd been there for years.

What kind of place could do this to a beastman? Who would be so cruel?

"Alright, it's done for now," I said after wrapping up the last wound, settling back on my heels. "Are you hungry? I'll get you something to eat."

When I came back with a food bowl, I found Rachel standing at the door to the beastman room, peeking in through the half-open door.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Rachel turned around with an unreadable expression. "Just wanted to see what kind of freak you brought home," she shrugged and replied.

She added, "Dad's pretty disappointed, you know. He was hoping you'd pick a proper beastman so he could parade him around at parties."

"Damian isn't a trophy for anyone to show off," I said coldly.

Rachel let out a soft laugh, her gaze drifting back into the room. "He looks... unique. Mind if I say hello to him?"

Alarm bells went off in my head. Her tone and look were just like the first time she laid eyes on Carter, back in my last life.

"No, he needs to rest," I said, blocking the doorway. "And besides, he's not fond of strangers."

Rachel made a face, clearly not happy, and she reluctantly left. I pushed the door open and found Damian already facing it, his nose twitching. He was on alert, clearly having picked up Rachel's scent.

"That's my older sister," I said as I set the food bowl down. "You better keep your distance from her."

Damian didn't touch the food. He just stared at me and asked, "Why did you pick me?" His voice was rough and low, like he hadn't spoken in ages. "You could've picked someone better than me."

That question caught me off guard. "I-I just thought you needed a chance."

He let out a bitter laugh, revealing his sharp teeth. "A chance? I don't need pity from a human."

"It's not about pity," I said, sitting down in front of him. "It's about choice. You don't have to trust me, but I get to decide to trust you."

Damian's ears flicked, like he hadn't expected that at all. He lowered his head, sniffed the meat in the bowl, then gingerly took a piece between his teeth.

"Thanks," he mumbled, almost inaudible.

That night, I couldn't sleep. When I got up for some water, I heard low whimpers coming from Damian's room. I gently pushed the door open and saw Damian twitching in his sleep. His claws clutched at the carpet, and he let out pained whimpers from deep in his throat.

"No... No more... experiments," he mumbled, his voice shaky and fragmented.

Experiments? A chill ran down my spine. Just as I was about to step closer, Damian jerked awake and sprang to the corner. His teeth bared, and he was ready to fight.

"It's me." I flicked the light on fast. "You were having a nightmare."

Damian's breathing finally calmed down, but the fear in his eyes was still there. He refused to talk about his nightmare, and I didn't push it. Still, that word—experiment—kept echoing in my head, impossible to shake off.