His for a year. - Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Then I walked to Zade's room.
I paused outside his room like someone considering walking into enemy territory. One knock. Then two.
Nothing.
I exhaled and pushed the door open—
Only to freeze.
Zade and Leo were in the same bed.
Both shirtless.
Both... cuddled up like oversized babies after a long night at the pub.
Leo’s leg was literally over Zade’s thigh. Zade’s head leaned awkwardly on Leo’s shoulder.
I slammed the door shut impulsively and leaned on it, hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh bubbling in my throat.
Was I hallucinating?
Did I just walk in on a bromance cuddle hangover session?
I cracked the door open again, just to confirm I hadn’t imagined it.
Nope. Real.
I tiptoed in, holding back laughter as I stretched my arm to gently poke Leo. "Leo... hey..."
He jolted up like he'd been electrocuted, knocking Zade in the chin in the process.
"Ow! What the hell?" Zade groaned, rubbing his jaw and blinking at me.
Leo looked from me to Zade, then at himself. “Are we—did we—”
“I SWEAR I slept on the couch!” Leo scrambled to the edge of the bed, his curls sticking out in all directions.
“You’re in your shorts,” I said, biting my lip to contain the laugh.
“Why are you here?” Zade asked, groggy, voice husky and annoyed.
And I couldn’t hold it anymore.
I let out the loudest laugh I’d had in days. It echoed around the room.
“Relax, Romeo and Romeo,” I teased. “I just came to check if you were both still alive.”
Zade rubbed his face with one hand. Leo groaned and dropped back into the pillows like a man who’d just given up on existence.
“You’re both hopeless,” I said, still grinning. “Get decent. I’ll have the chef make something to cure your hangovers.”
I walked out before either of them could come up with a comeback.
Downstairs, I leaned on the kitchen counter and told the chef, “They’ll need ginger, garlic, pepper, and anything strong enough to burn the nonsense out of their systems.”
The chef nodded like he’d heard this request a thousand times before.
Honestly, maybe he had.
_ _ _
I sat cross-legged on my bed, still giggling at the memory burned into my brain—Zade and Leo tangled on the bed like overgrown toddlers at a sleepover gone wrong. I shook my head, muttering to myself, “Men are so dramatic.”
My eyes wandered to the navy blazer draped neatly over the arm of the couch. Zade’s. I’d washed it days ago, pressed and aired it because I couldn’t stand wrinkled clothes sitting around. I meant to return it earlier, but after everything—the accusations, the kiss, the argument, the hospital—it kept slipping my mind.
Now felt like the perfect time. They were definitely awake, and hopefully fully functional again. I gave it another thirty minutes, just to be safe, before slipping the blazer over my arm and heading downstairs.
I stopped short at the dining area.
There they were—Zade and Leo. Sitting at the table like schoolboys being punished. Zade had a glass of something dark in front of him, eyes slightly squinting like the sunlight offended him.
Leo had his head halfway propped in his palm and was chewing slowly, like every bite was a battle.
Their heads turned simultaneously when they noticed me. Then, just as quickly, both sets of eyes darted away in perfect, awkward synchronization.
I pressed my lips together, trying hard not to laugh.
“I, um,” I began, holding up the blazer, “wanted to return this. I already washed it. I’ll just go drop it in your room.”
Zade didn’t look at me directly, just gave a stiff nod. “Okay.”
Leo cleared his throat and said in a deadpan voice, “If you find a shirt in there that looks suspiciously like mine… it’s not mine.”
The chef, who had just set a plate of toast and eggs in front of them, glanced at me and shook her head with the most dramatic side-eye I had ever received.
That did it.
I let out a light laughter, the kind that bubbled up from my stomach. I couldn’t help it—the ridiculousness of it all.
“Hangover food’s on the way,” I said between giggles. “Y’all need it more than you know.”
Then, with the blazer still in hand, I turned and strolled toward the hallway, still chuckling under my breath.
Zade’s room was quiet when I walked in, the air perfectly still and faintly spiced with the scent of his cologne—rich, woody, and so him, it was almost unsettling. I glanced around, then made my way to his walk-in closet.
The second I opened the door, my eyes widened.
It was… enormous.
Not just big—it was the kind of closet you see in magazines or Pinterest boards tagged “dream spaces.” Polished mahogany shelves lined the walls, each perfectly curated with rows of suits, coats, crisp shirts, and drawers that probably folded themselves. A whole section just for ties. Another for shoes, some of them still wrapped in tissue.
And it smelled good. Like cedarwood and fresh linen and money.
I found the section where blazers hung, all color-coded and spaced out like museum pieces. I placed his neatly laundered blazer on a hanger and adjusted it like a staff member at a high-end boutique.
Then I lingered—just for a second—eyes flitting over the space. I didn’t know why I was curious, but… there was something about stepping into his world that made me feel like I was trespassing.
“Admiring my work?”
I jumped slightly, spinning around. Zade was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired… and amused.
I blinked. “You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping inside. “I was looking for you. Thought you’d gone out.”
“I was just returning your blazer.” I gestured toward the hanger and walked past him, but he moved slightly into my path.
“I hope,” he said, his voice lower now, “you won’t use what you saw earlier against me.”
I raised a brow, my expression neutral. “What, the slumber party vibes?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Relax,” I added coolly, “we’re not that close. It’s not my business.”
He nodded once, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Still,” he said, “we have dinner to reschedule. I expect you’ll keep your word.”
I tilted my head. “And you’ll keep yours?”
He didn’t answer, just gave me a look that almost—almost—felt like a smirk.
I brushed past him gently and headed back to my room.
On my way to my room, I dialed Aliyah’s number. It rang once before she picked up.
“Aliyah.” I said as soon as she answered.
“Olive!” she chirped, then her tone softened, “You okay? You sound tired.”
“I need to tell you something," I said, voice trembling just slightly. “It’s about Mom.”
There was silence.
“She—” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She has a brain tumor. They missed it before, but it’s… it’s gotten worse.”
Aliyah let out a sharp gasp, followed by quiet sobbing.
“Is she going to die?” she whispered.
“No. No, I don’t know—but the doctors said they’ll try their best. Zade already offered to get specialists. We’re doing everything we can.”
There was some muffled shuffling, then Jake’s voice came on the line.
“I’ll take care of Aliyah,” he said gently. “You don’t have to worry about her. Just focus on your mom and yourself.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks, Jake. Really.”
Aliyah came back on, still sniffling. “Tell her I love her. And I love you too, Olive.”
“I love you too,” I whispered. “I’ll call again soon.”
I ended the call, my chest heavy, but oddly… steadier. Maybe it was Jake’s calmness. Maybe it was knowing Zade hadn’t completely bailed on me.
When night fell, I took my time preparing for the dinner—not because I wanted to impress Zade, but because I wanted to look composed. I choose something clean, simple, but flattering. My mind was conflicted. I kept reminding myself: This is just dinner. Nothing more.
When I walked into the dining room, I was surprised. The long table was gone. It was just a small setup for two. The lights were warm and soft. He was already there, this time not in a suit but a casual black shirt and slacks.
He didn’t make a joke. Didn't flirt. Just said, “Sit.”
Dinner was a little awkward at first. He talked about work. He asked about my classes. It was polite, cautious, like two people who knew too much about each other yet nothing at all.
Halfway through the meal, he said, “You hate me, don’t you?”
I didn't answer at first. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
He leaned back, studying me like a puzzle he’d been failing to solve. “That night, when you walked away after the kiss… I wasn’t sure if you hated it or hated yourself for liking it.”
I was quiet, caught between emotions I didn't want to admit.
Then he said, softly: “I didn’t mean to kiss you that way. Not then. But I’m not sorry it happened.”
I looked at him, jaw dropped.
He still believed he didn't do anything wrong?
My lips slightly parted, unsure if I was supposed to respond or feel something. But I did feel something. A deep, slow pull I'd tried to ignore. He's never going to take accountability.
He added, “I’ve done a lot of things wrong, Olive. But protecting you? That’s not one of them.”
The silence was heavy, but not cold.
As the dinner ended, he walked me back to my room door. I turned to thank him—nothing grand, just polite—but he said, “Next time, I’ll let you pick the dinner spot.”
I nodded, closed the door gently behind me, and let my back sink into it. My heart felt unbearably heavy. I couldn’t tell if it was fear, confusion, or something dangerously close to desire.
Or maybe… it was the realization.
The realization that the man I was falling for—the one who protected me in the most dramatic, maddening ways, the one who lived rent-free in my thoughts—had no real sense of accountability.
And that… that was so heavy to carry.
I needed water–cold one.
I’d barely made it across the hallway leading to the stairs when I heard voices—low and serious—from the direction of Zade’s study.
I paused, unintentional but curious. It wasn’t snooping if the door was cracked open. Right?
“…You kissed her.” That was Ray’s voice. Calm, but there was something beneath it, something sharp.
A pause. Then Zade’s colder, clipped tone. “What’s your point?”
Ray’s voice dropped even lower, but it carried. “My point is you cornered her, and you didn’t even apologize. You demanded dinner. That’s not how you handle something like that.”
There was silence. The kind that felt heavy.
Zade scoffed. “She didn’t push me away.”
“That doesn’t mean she wanted it,” Ray snapped. “She’s vulnerable. She’s grieving, overwhelmed, stuck in this house with no real power—”
“She signed the contract,” Zade said stiffly. “She knows the rules. You also know the rules.”
Ray laughed bitterly. “Rules don’t cover emotions, Zade. You broke something. And you know it.”
My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t meant to hear this. My hand curled around the bannister as my heart thudded hard in my chest.
“You’re crossing a line now, Ray.” Zade said. His voice was quieter now. Dangerous.
“And you already crossed it with her,” Ray answered.
The silence that followed made every inch of me stiffen. I could practically feel the tension between them thickening the air.
Then Ray added, more carefully, “I’m not your enemy, Zade. And I know I shouldn't talk to you about…”
“Then don't talk damn it!” Zade growled.
I slipped away before I heard more, my heart a riot of confusion.
I closed the door gently behind me and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
What... was that?
I crossed my room, my limbs stiffened.
I sat on the edge of the bed like someone who had just witnessed a crime. Or a miracle. I wasn’t sure which.
Ray had defended me. Not in the polite, pretend way people did when they were trying to impress or look good. No. He’d gone head-to-head with Zade—his boss, the billionaire control freak who wasn’t exactly known for tolerating backtalk. And he'd done it for me.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and clasping my fingers together tightly. My heart was still racing, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was... confusion. Frustration. And maybe something I didn’t want to name.
Two men. Two complicated, maddening men.
Zade. Who stormed into rooms like he owned the air, who kissed me without warning, who confused the hell out of me and then tried to fix it by buying the most expensive solutions. Who looked at me like I was both a puzzle and a prize.
And Ray. Calm. Protective. Steady, even when I wasn’t. His voice had burned with something close to rage—but it hadn’t been for himself. It was for me.
I pressed my palms into my eyes. This was insane. I wasn’t here to fall for anyone. This wasn’t some fairytale with two rivals and a girl in the middle. This was my real life. My mom was sick. My future was hanging by threads. And yet—
My heart was torn. Or maybe just cracked open in too many directions.
And I hated that a part of me had wanted that kiss. I hated that I’d wondered what it meant when Zade stopped me in the car, when he looked at me like I mattered.
And now... now I was wondering what I meant to Ray that he had the nerve to speak up. To say what I couldn’t.
I fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
I was not falling for anyone.
But my heart? My heart wasn’t listening.
A soft knock on the door woke me up.
“Who's there?” I yawned, stretching my hands.
“It's Ray.”
I blinked quickly, rushing to the bathroom. After splashing water on my face, I adjusted my robe properly and padded barefoot to the door.
“Hi,” I said, offering a faint smile.
He stood there, holding a tray with apple juice and cold water, his expression unreadable but gentle.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I nodded and stepped aside, giving him space to enter.
He walked in without saying much and set the tray carefully on the small table near my bed. His movements were calm, precise—like he didn’t want to disrupt the quiet.
Then he straightened and looked around, as though checking if I was okay without asking outright. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the apple juice.
I sipped it slowly, pretending not to notice how he hadn’t said a word since walking in. The silence stretched—but not in an uncomfortable way. It was weighted. Like it meant something.
“You’ve been different lately,” he finally said.
I blinked. “Different how?”
Ray gave a half-shrug, then turned to face me fully. “Focused. Quiet. Sad, too. But also… stronger.”
I gave a small laugh, trying to keep it light. “You sound like you’ve been studying me.”
He didn’t laugh back. “I have.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the cup. A weird heat flushed my cheeks, spreading dangerously.
“I see things, Olive,” he went on, walking a little closer. “The way your eyes shift when you’re holding back. The way you still flinch when you think no one’s watching. And how you breathe easier when he’s around… even if he doesn’t deserve that privilege half the time.”
“Ray…” My voice was barely a whisper. “Please don’t—”
“I’m not saying anything you don’t already know,” he cut in gently. “I’m just… reminding you that being seen isn’t the same as being controlled. And if he can’t see what he has—really see it—someone else will.”
My throat tightened. The air around me felt warmer. Too warm.
His eyes dropped to the floor for a second, then found mine again—steady, unreadable, but open. “But maybe it’s not my place to say that. Maybe I’m just the bodyguard who notices too much.”
“Ray, don't….” I started.
He gave a tight smile, turned, and walked away without another word, leaving me sitting in a place I couldn't understand, my heart thudding like a warning bell.