His for a year. - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Anna turned the tablet toward him. “Your video. The statement you both made earlier. It’s gaining traction—mostly positive. But this comment? It’s starting to snowball.”
She tapped the screen, and read out loud:
@TruthSpill:
“Are you all really buying this? She’s not who you think she is. Ask her about her Dad. About her mother’s debts. This girl’s living a lie. And soon, it’ll all come out. #FakeBride #AvnerScam”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Her eyes flicked to me, then back to Zade. “This is the third time this user’s posted something. Different accounts. Same IP.”
Zade took the tablet from her hand, scanning it silently. Something in his jaw ticked. His grip tightened slightly, just enough for me to notice.
“Do we know who it is?” he asked.
“We’re working on it,” Anna replied. “But whoever it is—they know personal things. Things that were never made public.”
I stood there frozen, shame and panic clawing at me like heat under my skin. I wanted to explain. I wanted to say I didn’t know how they knew—but I also knew it didn’t matter. I wanted to say I didn't know who that was. But in this world, truth came second to optics.
Zade looked up at me, finally, his voice low. “Did you tell anyone? About your family? The contract? Any of it?”
“No,” I whispered. “Only Amanda, my best friend.”
He didn’t speak. Just nodded once—so slight I almost missed it. Then he turned to Anna. “Find them. I want a name by tonight.”
Anna nodded and stepped out.
Zade stood slowly and walked over to the window, his hands in his pockets looking out over the city.
I stayed quiet.
Until he spoke.
“When they attack you, they’re really attacking me. They want me to react. To fall apart. That’s how the game works.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to bring this to you—”
“But you did,” he said softly. Then, a beat later, “Do you trust this Amanda?”
He turned around to face me again. His eyes weren’t angry. They were… conflicted. Like someone fighting a feeling they weren’t ready to name.
“I do,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. “She’s been there for me when no one else was. She wouldn’t—”
“I’m not asking what she would and wouldn't do,” he cut in. “I’m asking if you’re sure.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. A quiet ache rose in my chest. I hated that he had planted even the smallest doubt in me.
“She doesn’t even know what happened last night,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “And we haven’t talked about… details. Not like that.”
He looked at me for a long time. Like he was analyzing every word, every breath, every flicker in my gaze.
“I’ve seen people do worse for less,” he said finally, almost to himself. “Money. Envy. Influence. Sometimes it’s not about what they want—it’s about what they want you to lose.”
My throat tightened. “You think Amanda is trying to ruin me?”
“No,” he said, slowly. “I think she's trying to get to me, might be through another person. You’re just the easiest target.”
His words landed like cold water down my spine. I couldn't believe he just made this about himself.
Then his phone buzzed, sharp in the quiet.
He checked the screen, jaw twitching. “Investor call. Stay here.”
And just like that, he was gone. Just orders and silence, that's always the order of the day with Zade.
My thoughts were spiraling now, faster than I could control them.
Amanda can’t do that. She wouldn’t.
I repeated it like a prayer, willing it to be true. She was my best friend, my only real friend. The one person who knew the truth and didn’t flinch. I had trusted her with everything—my fears, my mother’s condition, the contract I signed like it was the only raft in a storm.
She wouldn’t turn on me.
Would she?
My thoughts twisted like thorns. Maybe someone overheard us. Maybe someone followed us that day in college. Maybe it was the intruder from last night. Maybe they were connected. The person behind those accounts knew too much. They weren’t guessing—they were hitting targets only a close friend or a hidden camera could know.
Why make my life harder than it's supposed to be? Oh my God. I blinked back the tears that were forming in my eyes.
Just then, Zade walked back in.
“It’s been a long day. Let’s go home,” he said quietly.
I grabbed my purse, smoothing down my hair with one hand as I waited for him to approach. He didn’t say another word—just reached out and took my hand.
His palm was warm, steady.
Without letting go, he led me toward the elevator.
The driver was waiting for us just in front of the company, Zade opened my door and shut it as I was in and then a valet opened his.
I sat stiffly, hands folded over my purse, too aware of his presence beside me and the weight of everything that had happened today.
He scrolled through his tablet, the faint glow lighting the sharp angles of his face. But I could tell—he wasn’t really reading. His fingers hovered, unmoving. His jaw was clenched, like he was waiting for the right moment to speak.
“You did well for your first day.” He said, his eyes on his tablet.
“Thank you." I muttered.
“How are you?" He looked away from the phone.
My face gave off my confusion.
“From last night, how are you?*
I didn't know he cared, or even remembered anything like that happened to me.
“Oh, I'm fine.” I cleared my throat.
“About the comments, it's not getting as much attention as Anna made it seem, and we deleted the comments each time. Don't feel bad.”
Was Zade Avner comforting me?
_ _ _
The mansion loomed ahead like something out of a royal nightmare—grand, gleaming, and absolutely uninviting. I’d seen it before, of course, but tonight it felt different. Maybe it was the amount of guards flanking the steps or the silence that wrapped around the gates like a warning.
As the car rolled to a stop, butlers stood poised under the arched entrance, dressed in pristine black uniforms, eyes fixed forward like trained statues.
Zade stepped out first, the lights catching the sharp lines of his tailored suit. He didn’t offer a hand this time. I stepped out on my own.
The air was colder here—literally or emotionally, I couldn’t tell.
He muttered something under his breath as we approached the doors to our wing. “Just make sure you're not lying to me.”
I paused.
He turned, and his voice was like a whip in winter. “If I find out you told that person everything, it won’t be funny.”
No warmth. No curiosity. Just words wrapped in steel.
There it was again—Zade Avner, in all his ruthless glory. Cold. Threatening.
I didn’t respond. Just lowered my gaze and walked past him as the butler bowed and held the door open.
"We're going to have dinner at the main building tonight," he added. "Get ready and meet me downstairs in ten."
I nodded.
_ _ _
The dining room was a cathedral of old money—gold-rimmed plates, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in the Louvre. Every Monday evening, like tradition-bound royalty, the Avners gathered at the long dining table. Tonight was no different, except I was an addition.
Mrs. Eloise sat at the head, draped in emerald silk and judgment. Across from her was Zade’s uncle and his family, three grown men and two women. Zara was present as well. Anna sat at the far end, with Zara's assistant. Zade and I took our seats in practiced silence.
Dinner began with soup. Then roasted chicken. And finally, the interrogation.
“So,” Eloise began, her fork barely touching the edge of her plate, “how was your first day as husband and wife at AvnerTech?”
I swallowed a piece of bread too quickly and nearly choked. Zade didn’t save me this time. He was concentrating on his food instead.
“It was fine,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Just fine?” She cocked a brow. “I would imagine, being the new face of the company, you’d do more than fine. Or is that too much responsibility for someone with your… background?”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was loaded. Every fork slowed. Every gaze shifted.
Across the table, Zade’s uncle—a man with silver at his temples and a voice like gravel—let out a quiet chuckle. “Kids these days,” he muttered to his wife. “No backbone. Everything’s handed.”
I pretended not to hear.
Zara leaned toward her assistant and whispered something. Both of them looked at me and smiled—tight-lipped, pitying. Like they were already rehearsing how they'd retell this moment later.
My spine stiffened.
“I’m still adjusting,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
“Hmm,” Eloise mused, dabbing at the corner of her lips with a monogrammed napkin. “Adjust quickly. This family doesn’t tolerate mediocrity. Or scandal.”
Zade’s fork scraped sharply against his plate.
“Mother—” he stared, but she didn’t even look at him.
“I’m merely offering her perspective,” she said, as if I wasn’t there. “She must learn what’s expected. Being an Avner isn’t just about marrying into the name—it’s about carrying it without staining it.”
Across the table, one of the cousins—tall, smug, and probably used to private jets and gold spoons—smirked. “Maybe we should hire a PR coach. Grooming matters. Especially when you're on camera.”
Anna shot him a warning glance from down the table. “We already have a team for that.”
“I wasn’t joking,” he said with a shrug. "She really needs it."
The knife in my hand trembled slightly as I set it down on the plate. I wasn’t raised for this.
But I lifted my chin anyway. “Thank you all for the feedback.”
Eloise arched a single brow. “You’re welcome, dear.”
Zade didn’t speak again. But when I looked over, his jaw was clenched like he was grinding his own restraint into dust.
The rest of dinner passed in a flurry of shallow conversation—stock market chatter, a potential acquisition, and who wore what at last week’s gala. I nodded and smiled when expected, but I was somewhere else entirely.
When dinner was done, Zade disappeared into the hallway with Anna.
I watched from the archway, pretending to adjust the bracelet on my wrist while really just stalling—lingering long enough to catch their exchange. Anna stood at the far end of the corridor, her tablet angled toward him, her expression unreadable but intense. She leaned in a little too close, her voice low, her eyes only on him.
He didn’t move away.
He didn’t even seem surprised by her nearness. Like this was normal. Familiar.
My chest tightened.
I didn’t know what I expected—some distance? Some subtle line of propriety? A glance back at me?
None came.
I turned away, sounds of my heels whispering over the velvet carpet as I climbed the grand staircase alone. The air in the hallway felt colder than before, like the walls knew something I didn’t.
Back in my room, the guards were still there—two stationed at the hallway entrance, their arms folded over bulletproof vests, another posted on the balcony like I was some political asset, not a wife. Not a woman.
I stepped inside and shut the door, but the silence did nothing to quiet my mind. My body ached from holding in tension all day. I reached behind me and pulled down the zipper of my dress, letting the fabric slide down my spine like relief.
The top half of the dress slipped from my shoulders. I caught it instinctively against my chest.
Then suddenly, the door flew open.
I gasped, spinning around, the dress clutched in a fist at my heart.
Zade stood in the doorway, unannounced, unmoved by the sight of me half-undressed. His jaw was clenched, nostrils flared, eyes like a storm that had found its name.
“What the hell—” I glared.
“Who’s David?” he snapped.
My mouth opened, but no sound came.
“What?”
He shut the door behind him with a slam that echoed through the room like a warning.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, walking toward me with fire in his eyes. “Who the hell is David?”