His for a year. - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Morning came slow and soft, like it had to tiptoe around the heaviness of the night before. I woke to the quiet hum of machines, the occasional shuffle of feet in the hallway, and the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air. My mom was still asleep, her vitals stable, her breathing steady.
Zade was standing by the window, arms folded, still in the same black shirt from last night. He hadn’t slept, not really. Just sat, watched, waited. I didn’t ask why—because I already knew. Guilt wore us both down in different ways.
When he turned and saw I was awake, he walked over, sat beside me. “You need to go home.”
“I’m fine,” I murmured, trying to sit up. My neck ached from sleeping on the couch.
“You’re not. You haven’t had real sleep in two days. You’ve barely eaten. You’re pale, Olive.”
“I don’t want to leave her.”
“She’s not alone,” he said gently. “My people are here. There are doctors, nurses, guards. They know what to do. Just for a few hours. Okay?”
I hesitated, then let out a tired breath. “I just feel like if I look away… something bad will happen again.”
He sighed. “And if you collapse from exhaustion, then what? You’ll be no good to her if you fall apart. I need you to take care of yourself too.”
It took a long pause, and a long stare at the machines behind the glass, but I finally gave in.
“Okay,” I whispered.
The ride back home was quiet. The kind of quiet that sits between people who are too tired to talk but too wired to sleep. The sun was climbing through Manhattan’s skyline, painting gold on the concrete. I leaned my head on the window and tried not to think of Anna. Or the text. Or what she meant by “entertained”.
When we got to the house, I stepped out of the car and immediately felt it—that cold. Not the weather kind. The kind that lived in walls, too polished to touch, and doors that closed like secrets.
I’d almost forgotten how cold this place felt.
Inside, everything was spotless. As if no chaos had ever touched it. As if grief couldn’t find its way past the security gates.
The bedroom was just as I left it. The sheets smooth, the curtains drawn back slightly, the scent of fresh linens and something masculine lingering in the air.
I sat on the edge of the bed and let my body cave forward. My arms dropped to my lap. The silence here was too clean. Too empty.
Zade returned minutes later and pulled off his jacket. “Go shower,” he said simply.
“I just did,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder.
“Then get in bed. Rest.”
I didn’t argue. I peeled off the clothes I barely remembered putting on and slipped under the sheets. The mattress was soft—unreasonably so. It welcomed my body like it had missed me.
Zade disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the water run. I closed my eyes.
When he came out, steam trailing behind him and his skin still damp, he dropped his towel on the chair and joined me in the bed. He smelled like sandalwood and mint.
“Aren’t you going to work?” I asked softly, turning to look at him.
“No,” he replied, eyes still on the ceiling. “I’m staying with you.”
There was a beat of silence. My chest eased, but only a little.
I didn’t say anything. I just nodded, because if I spoke, I’d cry again.
He let out a deep breath. “Close your eyes, Olive.”
Then, without looking at me, he spoke again. His voice was lower this time, almost too calm.
“People like me…” he paused. “People like us, now, don’t get to be used to peace.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
His eyes flicked to mine, cool and unreadable. “Peace makes people like us stupid. Soft. Complacent. You let your guard down for one second and that’s the second someone decides to destroy you.”
The sharpness in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I sat up slowly.
“But I don’t want to live in fear—”
“Then don’t,” he cut in, voice sharp. “Fear is a choice. You either drown in it, or you learn to make it fear you.”
I stared at him, my throat dry.
“You want to survive this?” he continued, sitting up too, his gaze slicing through me. “Then stop letting people scare you. Stop letting them trample on you. You think I got to where I am because I flinched every time someone threatened me?”
“No,” I said quietly.
“Exactly.”
His hand reached for mine, warm and commanding. “You’re in this now, Olive. With me. That means no more looking over your shoulder with wide eyes. You stand. You fight. You make them wish they never crossed you.”
My heart pounded harder. His words were brutal, but something about them stirred me. Like a slap that clears your vision.
“Rest now,” he said, squeezing my hand. “We continue the fight stronger.”
I nodded slowly, but before either of us could sink back into the silence…
Click.
Our heads snapped toward the door.
Another sound followed—the faint clatter of a handle twisting. The lock held, thank God, but the air shifted in the room, tension seeping through every crack like smoke.
Zade was already halfway out of bed before I even moved, his body taut and alert. His hand reached for the drawer beside the bed, fingers grazing the handle.
Then; Knock knock knock.
Three loud, obnoxious bangs.
“Zade!” came a sharp, feminine voice. “Open up. It’s important.”
I exhaled shakily. Zara.
Zade stayed frozen for half a second longer, then cursed under his breath and glanced at me.
“She’s like a feral cat. Persistent and rude,” he muttered.
“Zade, I know you’re in there!” Zara called again, her tone theatrical. “Mother said I shouldn't tell you yet, but I want to speak to you first.”
“Tell me what?” he murmured, to himself more than me.
I touched his arm gently. “You should open it.”
He gave me a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. If I don’t, she’ll just keep yelling until the hallway security escorts her.”
He grabbed a shirt, tugged it on swiftly, and turned to the door. Then paused.
“Lie down. Pretend you’re asleep. I don’t want her bothering you too.”
I nodded, curling back under the covers, heart still thumping from the near intrusion earlier.
As he unlocked the door, I tucked my face into the pillow, the scent of lavender and fear mixing strangely in my lungs.
And I couldn’t help but wonder what important business Zara and her mother have this time.
I stayed as still as I could under the covers, though my pulse hadn’t quite recovered from the sound of the doorknob turning.
The door opened, creaking lightly on its hinges, and I heard Zara’s voice slice through the air like a belligerent wind.
“Finally,” she huffed. “You’re really going to keep your sister waiting like that?”
His voice was cool, bored. “It’s still early in the morning. What could possibly be this important?”
Zara didn't even hesitate. “Mother’s Christmas party.”
I blinked. I must have misheard her.
“…Seriously?” Zade said flatly.
Zara gasped, offended. “Yes, seriously. It’s already October. That’s only two months away. Do you think magic will plan it?”
He sighed. “You knocked like someone was being murdered to tell me that?”
“I came with urgency,” she said as if that made sense. “And you—neglecting your family obligations—is becoming too common these days. Or should I say years?.”
There was a pause. I imagined Zade giving her that cold, slow blink he reserved for nonsense.
“Zara,” he said, “you’ve lost it.”
Then her voice lowered just enough to carry her disdain, sugary and sharp.
“Oh,” she said. “She’s back.”
I flinched under the covers.
“I was wondering where she ran off to this time.”
I couldn’t see her, but I could feel her eyes sweeping over me like I was dirt she hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up yet.
Zade’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as glass. “Watch it.”
Just one warning. But the weight of it was unmistakable.
Zara scoffed, and I imagined her tossing her perfect hair back in defiance. “You’ve really changed,” she said. “Letting a woman make you soft. Letting her—”
The door slammed before she could finish. The lock clicked back into place.
I didn’t move as I heard Zade’s footsteps return to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight and I felt his warmth slide behind me.
A beat of silence. His arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer until my back fit perfectly into his chest.
“She’s insufferable,” he muttered against my hair.
I turned slightly to face him. “The Christmas party?” I whispered.
“Exactly,” he muttered. “That’s the important business. Planning Christmas like it’s a military operation.”
I tried not to laugh, but a small sound escaped me anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a beat. “About earlier. The scare, the guards, all of it.”
His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “Stop apologizing for things you didn’t do.”
I searched his face, tried to say something else, but he leaned in and stopped the words with a kiss.
Slow. Firm. Intentional.
His lips pressed into mine like a command and a comfort all at once. My fingers curled against his shirt, and the knot in my chest began to loosen.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “Just rest,” he murmured. “You’ll need it.”
I wanted to speak. To say thank you. To tell him I didn’t deserve how steady he’d been lately. But the words melted on my tongue, useless in the face of everything he was trying to shoulder for me.
So instead, I nodded.
And in the silence that followed, I let him hold me.
Safe—if only for a little while.
When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in shadows. The once bright sky had turned into a dusky purple, streaked with the dying hues of sunset. I blinked rapidly, sat up, and reached for my phone on the nightstand.
6:03 PM.
I scrambled out of bed, my heart thudding as guilt smothered my chest. I had meant to rest for just an hour, not half the day. My mom—God, what if something happened? What if she’d woken up and no one was there?
I rushed to the wardrobe, changed into something simple—jeans and a soft sweater—and threw my hair into a messy bun. My fingers trembled as I reached for the door.
But just as I turned the knob, it opened.
Ray stood there.
I blinked. “Ray?”
He smiled faintly, eyes unreadable. “Good evening.”
“How’s the hospital?” I asked quickly, stepping into the hallway. “Is Mom—?”
“She’s stable,” he said gently. “No changes. She’s okay.”
Relief melted into my veins. “I need to go,” I muttered, moving forward.
But he didn’t step aside.
I stopped short, staring at him. “Ray?”
He looked away.
I moved to the left. So did he.
I moved to the right. Again, he mirrored me.
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. “What are you doing?”
Ray sighed like this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. “I have orders,” he said quietly, still avoiding my eyes.
My stomach dropped. “Orders?”
He finally met my gaze. “Zade doesn’t want you leaving the room tonight.”
My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“He said you need to rest.”
“I did rest. Clearly too well,” I snapped. “Please move.”
“Olive…”
“Move, Ray.”
“I can’t.”
“All these for what?” I asked, my chest rising and falling quickly. “You’re seriously standing in my way?”
His jaw clenched.
I shoved at him with both hands. He didn’t even flinch.
I tried to push past his shoulder, but he stepped with me like a shadow.
“Stop treating me like a prisoner!” I hissed.
“I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m protecting you.”
“No,” I said bitterly, turning back toward the room. “You’re protecting his ego.”
I slammed the door behind me and locked it with a trembling hand.
My phone was already in my other hand as I dialed Zade.
It rang. And rang. Then went to voicemail.
I stared at the screen. My hand tightened around the phone.
He really meant it. He had instructed people—grown adults—to keep me locked in this room like some child in time-out.
My chest burned with humiliation. My head spun with rage.
There was a knock ten minutes later.
I opened it hesitantly, but it was just one of the chefs. “Dinner, ma'am,” he said politely, wheeling in a cart with covered trays.
“Thanks,” I murmured as I watched him lift the silver lids and arrange the food like it was some royal meal.
But I couldn’t touch any of it.
As soon as he left, I went to the balcony doors and slid them open.
Cool air greeted me, but so did the bleak view: guards. Everywhere. One glanced up, met my eyes, and nodded stiffly.
I shut the doors and drew the curtains.
I could’ve screamed.
Everywhere I turned, it was like Zade had already been there—blocking, sealing, controlling. He said it was for my protection, but all I felt was the slow tightening of a noose.
I sat at the edge of the bed, glaring at the untouched meal.
This wasn’t how I thought my life would turn out—trapped in luxury, guarded by strangers, a hospital down the road holding the precious possession of the only family I had left.
And all I could do was sit. And wait.
I wanted to cry. But I didn’t.
Instead, I whispered to the room, to myself, maybe to no one at all:
“Just a few more months. Then this nightmare will be over.”
I laid down again, curling into the soft bed that mocked me with its comfort.
I didn’t want this life.
I wanted my mom to wake up.
I wanted my sister to be safe.
I wanted freedom.
But all I could do now… was wait.
The food stared at me for almost an hour before I gave in.
My stomach had been gnawing at itself for days now—too many skipped meals, too many cups of water pretending to be dinner.
I sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, picked up the fork, and slowly began to eat. At first it felt like a betrayal to enjoy anything while my mom was lying in that hospital bed… but the call from the nurse had made it a little easier.
“She’s still stable,” the woman had said gently. “Her vitals are improving slightly. We’re keeping her warm. Talking to her. Playing the music you suggested.”
For the first time in weeks, I exhaled without shaking.
Still, as I chewed, I couldn’t stop the quiet question that gnawed at me harder than hunger ever could.
Why was I this desperate to protect her?
Mom had never really worried about me—not in the way I wished she would. Not the way I did for her. Not like she did for Aliyah. But maybe that’s what made it make sense. Maybe the reason I cared this deeply… was because I was the one who had always had to. Aliyah was my responsibility. She always had been. And Mom, whether she asked for it or not, became mine too.
Protecting her was part of protecting the only family I had left.
I popped a painkiller after dinner. The ache behind my eyes had turned into a throb, and I needed it gone if I was going to focus. Because I had to focus.
I opened my laptop, pulled up the learning portal, and caught up on the courses I’d missed.
It was hard to focus at first, but the act of watching, writing, learning—it grounded me. Storm or no storm, I couldn’t afford to fail here. My future wasn’t just a dream anymore—it was my last line of defense. My only way out.
It was nearly 1 a.m. when I heard the door open.
I didn’t look up. I knew the rhythm of his footsteps by now.
Zade.