9 - The Twitter Crush
Wolves Wearing Kindness
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From "Reclaiming Your Power: A Woman's Guide to Relationship Sovereignty"
By Irina Sterling
Chapter 7: The Wolves Who Wear Kindness
Beloved, I need to tell you about Switzerland.
I was twenty-two, standing on a mountain that touched the clouds, thinking I could outrun grief if I just skied fast enough. My father had been dead for only three months, and the world seemed like a different place. It was a haze, those months–waking up and forgetting, then remembering all over again. Three months of people telling me he was "in a better place," a platitude he would have railed against, perhaps even flicking his cigarette at, depending on his mood.
Papa taught me to see opportunity everywhere. "Irina," he would say, stroking my hair with hands that smelled of Turkish cigarettes and expensive cologne, "the world is full of people who want to give you things. You must simply learn what they need in return."
He taught me that presentation was everything, that a woman's power lived in her ability to transform herself into whatever the moment required. Maybe the finest designer clothes, or maybe jeans and blouse, if that would put your guest at ease.
He died the way he lived—suddenly, violently, leaving behind more questions than a young girl should ever have to ask. The police said it was a business dispute. I never knew about his business, never knew why other men stood when he entered a room. He'd simply been Papa, the man who moved us from city to city, hotel to hotel, teaching me languages and how to read a room, how to know who had money and who had power, and why you should never confuse the two.
The universe has a way of sending us tests disguised as comfort.
There, in the lodge that smelled of woodsmoke and melted chocolate, I heard my name. My childhood name, Inka, spoken in a reedy English accent.
I turned away from the fire to see Mr. Davidson, my high school guidance counselor, graying now at the temples, still wearing those wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like everyone's favorite uncle.
"What are the odds?" he said, and I—sweet, grieving, desperate for anything familiar—believed in coincidence.
Sisters, here's what you need to know: Predators understand timing better than any hunter.
That evening, we drank glühwein by the fire. He listened to stories about my father with those same active-listening skills he'd perfected in his office, leaning forward, making those small sounds of understanding. He remembered things—my favorite teacher, the scholarship I'd won, the boy who broke my heart senior year.
When you're drowning in loss, nostalgia feels like a life raft.
I let him walk me to my room. I let him tell me how he'd "always known I was special." I let him kiss me with lips that tasted of wine and patience—the patience of someone who'd been waiting for years.
In that moment, I became seventeen again. My body was twenty-two, but my spirit? My spirit was sitting in his office, grateful for his guidance, trusting his wisdom, believing I was safe because he'd never hurt me before.
I gave him my body that night the same way I'd once given him my fears about college—trustingly, assuming he had my best interests at heart.
But of course, he didn’t.
The morning hangover brought clarity to our “fortuitous” meeting. A quick check on my account showed he'd kept tabs on my life through social media.
"You're overthinking," he said when I pulled away. "We're both adults now."
Both adults now.
Now.
As if this moment hadn't always been in his mind from my first day in his office. As if the power dynamic had an expiration date. As if grooming was something you aged out of, like acne or curfews.
Darlings, listen to me: When someone has held authority over your younger self, they never fully relinquish it. They count on your muscle memory of obedience. They bank on your younger self showing up in your adult body.
I spent years thinking I'd been weak. Years believing I'd "let" it happen. But here's what I know now: He orchestrated every moment. The "chance" meeting. The familiar comfort. The way he made me feel seventeen and safe right before he took what he'd been waiting for since I walked into his office in my school uniform.
This is how they operate—these wolves who wear kindness like cologne. They plant seeds when you're young and vulnerable, then harvest when you're old enough that no one will call it a crime.
Your work, beloved warrior, is to recognize when someone is making you complicit in your own erosion. When they're using your trust as a weapon against you. When they're counting on your younger self to make decisions for your adult body.
That counselor? He knew exactly what he was doing. The timing, the location, the gentle pressure—all of it designed to crack me open at my most vulnerable point.
And here's what I need you to understand, tattooed on your heart:
People know exactly what they're doing. Don't let them slide by feigning ignorance.
Don't let them pretend it "just happened." Don't let them claim they "misread signals." Don't let them hide behind kindness while they sharpen their teeth.
You are not responsible for the violence done to you, even when it's wrapped in nostalgia and steeped in familiarity.
Stand in your power. Trust the discomfort in your gut. And remember—the ones who truly care for you will never use your vulnerability as an access point.
You are sovereign. You always were.