His for a year. - Chapter 48: Chapter 48

I didn’t answer.
I just kept climbing, refusing to let him see the fear in my eyes. Not yet.
When I got to the room—his room—I grabbed my bag from the closet. My heart was slamming against my chest. I didn’t even know what I was packing. Clothes. Sanity. Air.
The door opened behind me.
“Olive,” Zade said again, firmer now. “What the hell is going on with you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
He stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the shift in the air. Then he reached out and grabbed my arm—not harsh, just enough to stop me. But it was too much.
I turned.
And I saw it. His face. His concern. His confusion.
But all I could think about was how he’d watched me—followed me, stalked me—before he ever spoke to me.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“What?” His brows furrowed. “Talk to me—”
Before I could think–or control my emotions, the irritation spreading in me–my hand landed on his cheek. The sound cracked through the room, loud.
He just stood like nothing had just happened, his cheek red, his eyes widely looking at me.
I stood there, trembling. Breathing like I’d just climbed ten flights of stairs.
“You don’t get to do that,” I choked out. “You don’t get to act like you care, to confuse me, to make me feel—feel safe, feel seen, feel heard when none of it is real.”
He opened his mouth. “Olive—”
“You followed me,” I said, voice breaking. “You knew me before I even had the chance to know you, and you said nothing. You lied by omission. And you let me fall.”
His silence hurt more than any truth.
I turned back to the bed, yanked the zipper on my bag.
“I don’t know what I am to you, Zade. A toy? A game? A project you built in your head years ago?” I laughed bitterly. “You said I was your wife. But I don’t even know who my husband is.”
He took a step forward, his eyes screaming guilt and pain. I raised a hand instinctively.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
And for once, Zade Avner Lloyd—the one who always had something clever to say—had nothing to say.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, grabbed my phone and charger.
“You can keep the room,” I whispered. “You already kept the truth.”
Then I walked out of the room. I didn't know where to go, but my feet carried me down the stairs and towards the front door.
I hadn’t even made it to the door when I saw Leo leaning against the railing downstairs, arms folded, his expression already loaded with something I didn’t want to hear.
“Olive,” he said softly, stepping toward me. “Please. Just listen for a second.”
I didn’t stop walking, but I slowed.
“I know you’re angry. You should be. But I swear to you—Zade isn’t what you’re thinking right now.”
He definitely overheard our conversation.
I turned slowly, my hand gripping the handle of my bag tighter than necessary. “Then what is he, Leo? Huh? Because what I just learned doesn’t exactly paint him as Prince Charming.”
Leo ran a hand through his hair. “There are things I can’t say without his permission, okay? But you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Jumping?” I laughed, bitter. “He stalked me. From college. He watched me without ever saying a word, and you think I’m jumping?”
“He wasn’t watching you like that—he was… interested. Obsessed, maybe, but not in a dangerous way.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? I'm supposed to feel flattered by that invasion of my privacy?”
Leo sighed. “He didn’t know how to approach you. You weren’t like the girls he grew up around. You were different. You were real. You made him nervous.”
My chest rose and fell quickly. I wanted to believe it. I almost did. But there was something sharp digging into my heart—something called fear and uncertainty.
“Then why isn’t he saying this?” I asked, voice low. “Why send you, Leo? Why hide behind his silence if he’s so damn in love or obsessed or whatever you call it?”
Leo looked away for a second, then back at me. “He didn't send me Olive.” He ran his hand through his hair, “he’s trying, but he’s scared too. You mean more to him than you think.”
I swallowed hard and shifted the bag on my shoulder. “Well, maybe he should’ve thought about that before making me feel like a case file.”
“Olive—”
“I’m done being with a stalker,” I cut in softly, not yelling anymore. Just tired. “Please, Leo. Let me go.”
He stared at me for a beat, like he wanted to say something else, something heavy—but then nodded slowly and stepped aside.
I walked past him. My steps were unsteady, but I kept going. I reached the door, ready to pull it open and step into whatever mess was waiting beyond the doors.
Then my phone vibrated in my hand.
I glanced down, my heart was already thudding from everything else.
Amanda:
We need to talk. Now. Meet me. It’s about your brother… and Zade.
My breath caught.
All of a sudden! Why did she want to talk when she had already done her worst?
But then, I realized the storm wasn’t over.
Maybe it was just beginning. And I wanted to hear everything, I deserved to know everything.
So I walked back to my room–my initial room, sat on the bed and texted her back.
“You can come over instead”
I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, my fingers tightly interlocked on my lap. I had told the workers Amanda was coming—someone important. But now that Amanda was finally here, standing in the grand foyer of the Avner estate, I didn’t know what to say.
Amanda walked in hesitantly, her arms pressed to her sides, her eyes shifting from the gold-accented walls to the glossy floors, like she was afraid to be seen… or caught. She stood before me, her lips trembling slightly.
“Amanda,” I said, rising to my feet slowly.
Her eyes dropped, then lifted again filled with something watery and uncertain. She raised her hand to her chest, voice fragile. “Olive…”
There was fear in her voice. My brows furrowed.
“What is it?” I asked carefully. “What’s going on?”
She let out a breath, shaky and unsteady. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words tumbling out now. “I’m so, so sorry. It was me. I gave Anna everything—your past life, your family, everything. I was the one who told her about Aliyah too. I caused your fights. I caused—everything.”
I blinked, my body freezing in place at her sudden confession.
“What? Tell me something I didn't know.”
I tried my hardest to hide my tears, and I was doing a good job.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly, as if rushing to clear guilt from her soul. “I didn’t think she’d go this far. She said—she said you were manipulating Zade, and that you weren’t who you pretended to be, and I—” She stopped, swallowed. “I believed her.”
I shook my head, my voice rising. “Believed her? Amanda, you—! You sold me out. For what? What could she have possibly promised you that made you do this to me?”
Amanda’s face twisted then. All traces of guilt vanished, replaced by a crack in her mask—jealousy, festering, alive.
“You always do this,” she snapped. “You always act like the victim. Like you’re some harmless little good girl in baggy clothes with nothing to offer—but somehow, everyone ends up loving you anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” I drew in a breath.
“Freshman year,” she hissed. “Zade. I was the one who liked him first. I was the one who watched him from afar. And you—you stole him.”
I recoiled. “I never even knew him until that day—until I was desperate and I had no choice. You know that. And you stopped talking about him for a long time.”
Amanda’s voice trembled with frustration now. “But that’s you, isn’t it? You always somehow make people want to save you. It’s like you’re built to be pitied. And it’s exhausting.” She scratched her face with frustration. I'd never seen her this irritated, especially not by me.
“Anna promised she’d talk to Zade for me. Said she could get him to see me. To choose me.”
My voice cracked. “You should have just told me. I would’ve stepped away. You are…were my best friend.”
She looked at me, emotion flashing, but it quickly darkened again.
“You're so annoying Olive. You're so fake and you somehow still manage to get everyone flocking around you.” She walked closer to me, maintaining eye contact.
“You are not a good girl, you have never been, you were the stripper, remember?” she said, her voice filled with venom. “Don’t act like you were so innocent. You climbed into his life with your secrets and your fake life—”
My hand flew and landed on her cheek before I even processed the rage surging through me. Amanda staggered slightly, holding her cheek, stunned.
Silence fell. Heavy, suffocating. Her lip trembled now, for real.
My breathing was hard, my chest rising and falling. “Don’t you ever call me that again,” I said, my voice was low and shaking. “You don’t know what I had to do to survive. You never asked. You only judged.”
She stared at me with wide blinking eyes, and I could see behind the venom, there was pain too. But it didn’t excuse anything.
Not this.
Not the betrayal.
Not the years of friendship flushed away like trash.
Her cheek had my fingers imprinted on it, I didn't realise how much I hit her.
Her eyes sparked with something wild—desperation wrapped in venom. She straightened slowly, her voice low now, colder.
“You think that accident just happened?” she muttered. “It was Anna. She got your brother, David, to do it. He was also the one that broke in on your wedding night.”
I froze. This confirmation hit me harder than I expected it to. Her words sliced through the air like broken glass.
“If Anna really wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now. She’s stronger than you think, Olive. Bigger than anything you’ve imagined.”
I stared with trembling lips, my throat tightened. “You—” I whispered, “you knew all this? And you didn’t warn me?”
“I came to,” she snapped. “This is your warning. Leave. Before it gets worse.”
“You joined forces with people who hate me…” I murmured, shaking my head in disbelief. “Just to get a man?”
She scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand. You came from a family that hated you. You were made to survive rejection. I wasn’t.”
I swallowed hard, blinking against the pressure behind my eyes. My ribs ached. My chest tightened. I didn't know what part of the pain to focus my attention on.
Amanda stood straight again, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve like she’d just delivered a sermon. “Disappear, Olive,” she said, turning. “That’s the best thing you can do.”
But just as she reached the threshold, she gasped and stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth.
I sat upright, brows furrowed. “What—?”
Then I saw Zade emerging from the corridor like a storm in a black shirt and burning eyes. He walked with eerie calmness, each step sinking into the silence like a warning bell. Amanda backed away from him like prey.
His jaw was clenched, his body taut with fury, and yet his voice came out low and lethal.
“What did you just say?”
Amanda’s lips trembled, but no words came. That self-righteous fire she had earlier was gone. She was like a child caught with a match in her hand and smoke all around her.
Zade stopped inches in front of her, towering with dark, quiet rage. His eyes didn’t blink.
“I asked you a question,” he said again, deeper this time. “Repeat it.”
Amanda’s eyes darted to mine, then back to him.
“I—she asked to see me—”
“I don’t care who asked,” he cut in sharply. “You said if Anna really wanted her dead… she would be. And that she got David to do everything. Right?”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He took a slow step closer, his face inches from hers now.
“Because if that’s true,” he murmured, “then I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember the moment you gave me every reason to burn down the ones who helped hurt my wife.”
Her legs were visibly trembling now.
He leaned even closer, his voice now barely a whisper but more terrifying than a scream.
“Run. Before I forget I still have patience.”
She turned and fled, nearly tripping over herself as she hurried out of the house.
As the front door slammed shut behind Amanda, the silence that followed was suffocating.
I sat frozen, my breath got caught in my chest. Zade turned to face me slowly. His expression softened when our eyes met—but only a little.
He turned to me, his eyes softening, hand slowly reaching out toward mine. “Olive—”
But I flinched.
“No,” I breathed, backing away from him like his touch might burn me. “Don’t.”
“Can you—”
“Why are you still hovering around me?” I said, my voice edged with bitterness and disbelief.
He blinked. “What?”
“Is it a crime to exist around you?” I snapped, my chest rising and falling unevenly. “Because that’s what it feels like. You’re always watching me—every move, every conversation. Like some hawk waiting for its prey.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Then what were you doing?” my voice cracked now, trembling under the pressure of everything I’d just heard. “Lurking around the hallway, listening to conversations that weren’t yours. Are you tracking me too? You already had pictures of me before we even spoke—”
“I wasn’t hovering,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his tone defensive but low. “I came in because I heard Amanda raise her voice. I was coming to talk to you, Olive, not spy on you.”
I gave a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, so now you want to talk. After everything?”
“Olive—”
“Just stop Zade.” I raised my palm, cutting him off. “I can't do this right now. Amanda just told me she helped people try to kill me, Zade. My brother wants me dead. Anna’s been feeding her lies, or maybe not lies. Maybe truths I wasn’t meant to know. And now you're here, standing like none of this matters. Like I’m not supposed to be falling apart inside.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but I was already turning away, my voice quieter now, exhausted.
“Please just… stop following me.”
Before he could say another word, I shot up from the couch. The pain in my ribs tugged at my side, but I ignored it. The ache in my chest got worse.
I turned and bolted up the stairs, my bare feet thudding against the polished wood. Behind me, I heard Zade call my name once—low, broken—but I didn’t stop.
Then I walked back to my old room—the one that still felt a little like mine. The room that held fewer secrets.
I sat in the corner of the room, curled up in the armchair by the window, my knees hugged to her chest. The air was heavy, silent. The chaos from earlier now a hollow echo in my skull.
Maybe they were right, Amanda and David, they said I'm not a good girl. That I was made to crumble.
Maybe I should just allow it to happen. I should crumble and give everyone their peace and satisfaction.
Then my breakdown came softly, like the way night slips into day—gradual, quiet, consuming.
My eyes welled up until my vision blurred. I just... let go. Tear after tear rolled down my cheeks and onto my arms. My body trembled not from cold, but from helplessness.
From betrayal.
From the fact that my own brother wanted me dead.
That my best friend stood by and watched it happen. And even partook in some cases.
That Zade—complicated, confusing Zade—wasn’t the man I thought he was. Or maybe he was, and the mystery was just beginning to crush me.
I sat there, silent, trying to piece together all the versions of myself that had been broken by those I loved.
And eventually... My body gave in.
My head slumped sideways onto the cushion, my legs still curled beneath me. I drifted off that way—heart weary, face still damp, thoughts chasing each other in circles.
When I opened my eyes again, daylight had already painted soft shadows on the floor.
I hadn’t moved, my arms were still wrapped around my legs, my neck was sore from sleeping in an awkward angle.
And for a moment, I just sat there, trying to remember what peace used to feel like.
I froze mid-step, my hand hovering near the bathroom door, when the first bang shattered the morning silence.
“Where’s that wench?”
My heart stopped for a second. The voice—sharp, wrathful, and commanding—was unmistakable. Mrs. Eloise.