His for a year. - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

I lay curled on the far end of my bed, staring at the ceiling like it held some kind of answers. But the only thing it held was the weight of everything I couldn’t unhear.
What did he want to say before the coughing started? What part of the truth was still buried?
If my dad had killed someone by accident… as defense… if they were attacked first, then why was he branded a murderer? A criminal?
Why did he run?
And why hadn’t Mr. Avner, his so-called best friend, said anything? Why didn’t he defend him all these years? Why let the world think Trevor was a monster?
Tears stung the corners of my eyes again, but they didn’t fall. I was past that now.
I didn’t know I still loved my father this much. I thought I’d buried all that affection the moment he obviously showed my siblings more love than I ever got, the moment he vanished. But no—there it was, blooming like pain under my skin. A daughter still mourning, still aching for the truth.
A soft knock pulled me from the tangle of thoughts.
“Ma’am?” It was Ray’s voice.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
I hesitated. Then answered, “I will be.”
There was a pause, then, “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
I hadn’t taken my bath the entire day. My clothes clung to me uncomfortably. My eyes were puffy and hot. I didn’t look like myself.
And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just stayed there, thinking. Feeling. Regretting going to see Mr Avner.
It was late—close to midnight—when I heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. A quiet familiar engine.
Zade.
My heart flipping for reasons I didn’t understand.
A minute later, his voice floated in through the slight crack in my room's door.
“She’s inside?”
“Yes, sir,” Ray replied.
“What did you two do?”
There was a pause. Ray’s silence stretched for a beat too long. “Not much, sir. Just visited her sister.”
Zade didn’t say anything. I could imagine the look on his face. Suspicious. Annoyed.
I sat up, wiping my face quickly. My hair was a mess. My shirt creased. I could already feel him coming in.
And then he did.
He didn’t knock.
The door opened and he stepped in like he owned the entire world. His tall frame filled the space as he took one long look at me—his eyes scanning everything.
I adjusted, pulling the covers over my legs, pretending I hadn’t been lying in that same spot for hours.
He didn’t speak right away.
He walked to the edge of my bed and sat down like it was his space. Like he belonged here.
His gaze settled on me, unreadable. Quiet. Then he spoke.
“What was your day like?”
His voice was low and casual, but I wasn’t fooled.
I blinked. Slowly. The question wasn’t innocent. Nothing about Zade ever was.
I took a breath. My heartbeat loud in my ears.
“It was… long,” I said simply.
He nodded once. Still watching me. Still trying to pull the truth from my face. His eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t look convinced.
Then he tilted his head, his voice softer but sharp with curiosity. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’d been hit by a train.”
I gave a small, forced laugh. “That’s dramatic.”
He didn’t laugh with me. Instead, he motioned toward my face. “Your eyes are puffy. And you’re lying on the bed fully dressed. You didn’t even try to freshen up. Don’t lie to me, Olive.”
I opened my mouth, but the words got caught in my throat. All the grief, betrayal, confusion—it rose like a wave too heavy to speak through. My lips quivered.
And then… the tears came.
One fell, then another. And another. Before I could stop it, I was silently crying, just staring at the space behind him as everything unraveled again.
His face shifted in a flash—from irritation to stunned concern.
“Damn it,” he whispered, and the emotion behind it shook me. “Olive…”
He leaned forward, his voice suddenly full of frustrated tenderness. “You promised you’d tell me immediately if something happened. You promised you’d stop keeping things from me.”
I shook my head, unable to find any defense.
His brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you call me? What is it? Who hurt you?”
I couldn’t even speak. The sobs came quietly, but deeply. My chest shook with the weight of everything—Amanda, my dad, Mr. Avner, the lies, the questions. It was too much.
He exhaled sharply. Then, without saying another word, he climbed up the bed—slowly but with intent—and reached for me. His arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling me against his chest.
I collapsed into him. Fully. I held him like I was holding the only stable thing in the world. Because maybe, right now, he was.
He didn’t speak at first. He just let me cry.
His hand moved slowly up and down my back, steady and warm, until my sobs began to calm.
I could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Strong. Grounding.
He finally pulled back just enough to see my face. His palms cupped my cheeks, gently dabbing at the tear trails with his thumbs.
His voice was a whisper. “I’m staying with you tonight.”
I didn’t argue.
I just nodded. Silently. Gratefully.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I liked his possessiveness.
He didn’t say anything else.
He stood, removed his shoes and jacket, then pulled the covers back on the bed. I shifted slightly to make room for him, and he settled beside me without hesitation—his presence calm but heavy with unspoken emotion.
The lamp on my nightstand was still on, casting a warm, soft glow across the room. He reached over and turned it off, leaving only the silver lines of moonlight slipping through the blinds.
I thought he’d try to make me talk.
He didn’t.
He just laid there, one arm behind his head, the other resting near mine. I watched the ceiling while I felt his eyes on me, watching me.
Then slowly, without a word, his hand found mine.
My fingers trembled a little before lacing with his.
His thumb brushed over my skin—absentminded, patient. Reassuring.
“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured at last. “But you’re not sleeping like this.”
I turned my head toward him. “Like what?”
“Still in your jeans.” His tone was soft but matter-of-fact. “You look like you just came back from war.”
I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I blinked away fresh tears and whispered, “I just… didn’t feel like changing.”
He looked at me for a long second. Then quietly stood from the bed, walked out of my room, and came back with one of his oversized shirts and handed it to me.
“Go shower and change,” he said gently. “I’ll do likewise but I'd be back before you notice.”
I hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes gave me enough strength to move. I slipped into the bathroom, had a shower with cold water , and changed into his shirt. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me like a secret comfort.
When I returned, he was lying on the other side now, watching the door.
I climbed back in beside him and sank into the bed, my body still heavy with emotion.
He didn’t say anything. Just pulled me close, wrapping one arm around my waist, the other under my head.
And for the first time in years, I was held. Gently.
We didn’t talk.
Not about my day. Not about the tears. Not about the storm still screaming inside my chest.
But his arms said everything.
I’m here.
I’m not letting go.
You’re not alone.
Eventually, I drifted to sleep against the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Safe for now.
But far from healed.
When my eyes opened, I stirred slowly, feeling unusually warm—comfortably trapped in something that didn’t feel like a blanket.
I blinked and looked down.
Zade's arm was still wrapped around me, firm and secure. His breathing was steady against the back of my neck, and when I dared to glance behind, his face was only inches from mine—peaceful, calm, gorgeous. How can someone look like this while sleeping?
I froze.
I was still in his arms. Literally wrapped up like I belonged there.
How did I even fall asleep like this?
I tried to move carefully, slow enough not to wake him, but the moment I shifted, his grip tightened and he mumbled, “Where are you going?”
His voice—husky with sleep and deeper than normal—sent a jolt straight to my stomach.
“I, uh…” I swallowed, flustered. “Nowhere.”
He cracked one eye open, the corner of his lips tugging into a lazy smirk. “Didn’t sound like nowhere.”
“I just… thought I should freshen up,” I muttered, trying not to sound like my heart was racing from the warmth of his skin against mine. I hadn't even realized my head was resting on his bare chest until he adjusted slightly, bringing me closer.
“No need,” he whispered, voice deeper now. “You smell like sleep. I like it.” He drew in a deep breath, as if sniffing me.
I forgot how to breathe for a second.
Then I tried to move again, only for him to pull me against him with a quiet groan, like he'd waited all night to do that.
“You’re not running off,” he mumbled.
“Why not?” I asked, daring to lift my head just a little.
He looked down at me, eyes still half-lidded, warm with something I didn’t understand yet.
“Because I want to spend the day with you,” he said. “I’m bored with work. And you’re softer than my duvet.”
I blinked. What!?
“That… is not a normal compliment.” I said after finding my voice.
He smirked again and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Neither are you.”
My brain momentarily stopped working.
“Seriously though,” he added, pulling the duvet over us again, “cancel everything. I’m not doing today without you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure if my face was burning from how close we were or the fact that I’d never felt more wanted than I did in that moment.
I nodded slowly.
“Okay,” I whispered.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Okay,” he echoed softly, pressing his chin lightly against my forehead and holding me like we had nowhere else to be but here.
Wrapped in the comfort of a man I couldn’t quite figure out.
But somehow—felt safe with.
We stayed that way for a while.
No alarms. No knocks. No trouble. Just the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear and the low hum of the world outside his arms. It felt like the safest silence I’d had in ages.
But my mind wasn’t quiet.
I wanted to tell him. About stalking his mother. About his father. About everything. It coiled in my chest like guilt laced with barbed wire. But every time I imagined the look on his face, the storm I knew might follow… I stayed quiet.
I didn’t want to ruin this. Whatever this was.
Just then, he shifted, reached for his phone from the nightstand, and without hesitation, dialed.
“Cancel everything planned for today,” he said flatly.
I blinked. “Who was that?”
“Anna,” he replied, dropping his phone back on the table like he’d not just changed an entire day.
“Why would you cancel everything?” I asked quietly.
He tilted his head toward me, a small amused smirk playing on his lips. “Because I want to hang out with you.”
My heart jolted again.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, eyes lazily scanning my face.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t know how to say I just wanted to stay here, like this. I didn’t know what I wanted that wouldn’t make me sound like I was spiraling.
So I just shrugged.
He studied my silence for a second and then announced, “We’re going golfing.”
My brows shot up. “What? No. I don’t know how to—”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, climbing out of bed, revealing just enough skin to leave my brain spinning. “You’ll be fine.”
And with that, he walked off into his room.
Leaving me blinking after him, my head was hot, cheeks hotter. I buried my face in my hands.
I spent the night in Zade’s arms. What even is my life right now?
A small part of me wanted to stay wrapped in that comfort. The other part—the louder part—was panicking. If he found out what I’d done yesterday… I didn’t even know what he’d do. He didn’t like lies. And this—this was definitely a lie, a big one.
But then again, today wasn’t for that.
Today was for whatever we were becoming.
I stood, bathed quickly, slipped into a comfortable white top and beige shorts. Kept my makeup light. A bit of gloss. Hair up. Something about Zade made me want to look pretty without looking like I tried to.
By the time I stepped out, he was waiting in the hallway in a black polo and dark jeans shorts that fit him like a sin.
“Ready?” he asked, twirling his car keys.
“Not really.”
“Too bad.”
The drive to the golf course was a slow burn in itself. He had one hand on the steering wheel, sunglasses on, and that unbothered calm that made everything around him feel like it was his to control—including the air.
“How are you doing?” he asked after a few minutes.
I smiled faintly. “I’m okay.”
“That’s code for I’m not okay but I don’t want to say it.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “Are you reading my mind now?”
“I’m trying,” he said, grinning. “But you’re too damn guarded.”
I looked away, biting my lip.
He glanced at me again, then muttered, “You should stop biting your lip like that. It’s distracting.”
My eyes widened.
He didn’t elaborate. He just smirked and kept driving. He knew exactly what he said.
We arrived at the golf course, it was quiet, private, luxurious. Same place we’d FaceTimed his mom from. But today, there was no pretense. No script. Just me and him.
He handed me a club. “Let’s see your stance.”
I frowned. “Like this?” I knew I held it awkwardly.
He tried not to laugh. “You look like you’re about to sweep the floor.”
“Oh my God.”
“Here.” He walked up behind me, slid his arms around me to adjust my grip. His hands were warm. His touch intentional.
“You need to relax your shoulders,” he whispered, his voice right by my ear.
I nodded, unable to breathe.
“Now swing.”
I did. And missed.
He chuckled, his chest brushing my back. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”
I stepped aside, trying to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest. But every time he touched me—even just to adjust my elbow or straighten my posture—something deep inside me shifted.
This wasn’t pretend. It wasn’t about the contract or the cameras or the show.
We kept playing—badly in my case, flawlessly in his—and the whole time, that tension never left. The teasing touches. The lingering glances. The way he reached over to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers grazing my skin too softly to be casual.
Something was happening.
And we both felt it.