His for a year. - Chapter 59: Chapter 59

He walked into the closet, and I could hear the faint clinks of his belt, the quiet thud of shoes against the wooden floor. Then he disappeared into the bathroom. The water came on. The sound of the shower, a steady hush. He emerged minutes later and walked to the bed, towel low around his waist, his expression unreadable.
He didn’t say a word.
Just dropped his phone on the nightstand, slid into a pair of shorts, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Something inside me twisted.
I paused the video, unsure why I felt like I needed to say something. Maybe because silence had never felt this loud.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t. His voice was sharp, clipped—too detached. This wasn’t the Zade I’d woken up beside, who whispered for me to rest, who told me to be strong and firm. This was someone else.
“Why did you lock me up like a prisoner?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could.
He finally glanced at me, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t read. “You should be grateful, not annoyed.”
I blinked. “Grateful?”
“You needed rest. You said that yourself. And I made sure you got it.”
His tone stung. It was cold and dismissive. A little cruel.
The kindness from this morning… was gone.
I swallowed hard. “You can’t just keep controlling every aspect of my life and expect me to be thankful for it.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he muttered. “You’re here, alive, safe, with food and warmth and everything else.”
“That’s not the point,” I said, heat rising to my face. “You don’t get to make every decision for me. I’m not your possession.”
He looked at me, long and hard. Then scoffed under his breath, rolled over, and turned his back to me.
That was it.
I stared at him, stunned. A thousand words sat on my tongue, but none of them made it out.
He’d shut me down. Shut me out.
I wanted to say something—anything. But all I could do was close the laptop, its glow fading into darkness. I set it aside carefully and pulled the blanket over my legs.
My eyes burned.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. We weren’t in love. We weren’t anything close to it. And yet… there were moments. Little flickers of something almost tender. Something that made me think maybe we could survive this strange arrangement.
But now, here we were.
Him, cold and unreachable.
Me, teary-eyed, alone beside someone I always felt too much for.
A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it fast, then another came.
And then more.
I turned my face to the pillow and let them fall silently.
Why does nothing ever go right for me?
Why do people always… leave or change?
Why do I always end up being the one holding it together while everyone else tears me apart?
I sobbed gently, quietly, like I’d done so many times before. I felt something shift. He moved.
His shoulder twitched, and then slowly… he turned.
I felt his gaze before I saw it.
I didn’t look up.
I just kept crying into the pillow—small, broken sobs I couldn’t hold back anymore.
And then the bed dipped slightly beside me.
He noticed.
“What’s wrong with you?” His voice came from behind me, calm but cold. Too calm.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
He asked again, more firmly this time. “Olive. Answer me.”
I tried to stop. I really did. But the more I held my breath, the louder it got. The sobs came out jagged and uncontrollable, like they’d been waiting for this very moment to betray me.
He moved closer and reached for my shoulder, trying to turn me toward him.
I jerked away, shrugging off his hand like it burned me.
“I told you not to be weak again,” he said quietly, like it was something obvious. Like it was a rule we’d both agreed to live by.
I turned then, half-sitting, face wet, my voice rising in a sharp sob.
“Just—leave me alone,” I choked out, my breath hitching between words.
I stood up too quickly, dizzy for a second, but I walked toward the chaise by the balcony door and sank into it. The world around me dulled. I curled into myself, arms hugging my stomach like I could hold myself together that way.
He said nothing.
But I could feel his eyes on me. Watching. Studying. Judging, maybe.
I didn’t care.
I stared blankly at the floor while the tears kept falling, until there were no more left to cry. Until my head ached again, sharp and piercing, the kind that made everything feel distant. There was a ring in my ears. A hollow space in my chest.
And still, he watched.
Minutes passed.
Then finally, his voice broke the silence.
“I just had a bad day,” he said quietly, as if that explained anything. “Come back to bed. Get some sleep.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t answer.
He waited a beat. Then sighed.
“Fine. I know I’m the problem.”
There was a bitter edge in his tone—like he meant it, but didn’t want to.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him rising from the bed. He walked to the door, twisted the lock open, and paused.
“Just get some sleep,” he muttered.
Then he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
The sound echoed in the silence like a verdict.
I pressed my knuckles to my lips and crumbled again, silently this time. No more arguments, just the ache of being abandoned twice in one day.
Sleep was elusive. I had drifted off sometime past 4 a.m., exhausted but not peaceful. When I stirred again, light was pouring in through the curtains. The clock on the nightstand blinked: 8:07 a.m.
My phone rang.
It was Aliyah.
I sat up quickly, heart in my throat as I answered. Her voice came through the line, high-pitched, shaking with joy.
“She’s awake,” Aliyah sobbed. “Olive, she’s awake. Mom opened her eyes and said my name—she looked right at me.”
I blinked rapidly, frozen in place.
“She’s alive,” Aliyah cried, laughing between sobs. “She’s okay.”
The tears came quietly this time. Not from pain. Not from loss. But from something like relief. Like a weight sliding off my chest.
“I’m happy,” I whispered. “Aliyah… I’m so, so happy.”
We stayed like that for a moment, breathing into the silence. Then I said gently, “Stay with her. Enjoy every second with her. I’ll come visit later.”
“You’re not coming now?” she asked, surprised.
“No… Not now,” I said softly, glancing toward the balcony where guards still stood. “Don’t tell her anything about… the guards. Or about me. Please.”
“I understand,” she replied. “I won’t say anything.”
We ended the call, and I stared at the phone for a long moment before placing it on the bed beside me. A small smile lingered on my lips. All of this—everything I’d endured—it wasn’t in vain. She's finally okay.
But four more months.
Four more long, suffocating months before the contract ends.
And yet, so much had happened already in just eight.
A knock came at the door. The chef entered with my breakfast. He greeted me politely, set the tray down, and left.
I ate.
Happily, this time.
It was the first real happiness I’d felt in months.
Still… beneath the surface, memories began to rise. Bitter ones. Old ones.
My mother’s harsh commands. Her criticisms. The way we argued about everything—from school to food to friends. She never asked, only ordered. Never comforted, only corrected. She pushed me to be strong, but never stopped to ask how much it cost me.
And still, I did this for her.
Every bit of it.
Because deep down, some twisted part of me still wanted to make her proud. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to stop taking care of people. Maybe I was born to protect—to fix—to sacrifice.
First Aliyah. Then Mom.
And now… Zade?
I sat back against the headboard, pushing the tray aside, my appetite fading again.
Zade.
He was… confusing.
Kind one day. Cold the next. He held me like I mattered, then dropped his words like knives.
I didn’t know what was real anymore.
And the worst part?
I liked him.
I liked him in a way that made my chest tighten and my pride ache.
Why did I have to fall for him?
Why couldn’t he just stay cruel—stay distant—so I could hate him like I was supposed to?
Instead, he lingered in my mind like a wound I couldn’t stop picking at.
And now I was here—stuck—because I’d started caring about someone who could break me without even trying.
I leaned my head back and shut my eyes.
One part of me wanted to run.
The other just wanted to be enough for once.
Even if it was only for him.
I was brushing the last crumbs of croissant from my fingers when a knock came again. This time, it wasn’t the usual soft double tap of the chef. It was slower. Heavier.
I opened the door cautiously, expecting maybe a staff member—but it was just a box. A medium-sized parcel, brown and unmarked, lying right there on the polished marble floor.
No card. No name. Nothing.
I hesitated. Something felt off.
Still, curiosity pushed me. I pulled the smaller box inside, shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t taped shut—just folded. My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside lay a cracked polaroid photo of me, Aliyah, and Amanda—years ago, in the backyard. The one where we were all smiling. I remember this photo. I had thrown it away the night David trashed my room.
My pulse quickened. Underneath the photo was something wrapped in tissue—soft and dusty.
I peeled it open.
My childhood necklace.
The one David had yanked off my neck during our last fight. The clasp was broken, the tiny bird-shaped pendant bent sideways. There was a smear on the chain. Red-brown. Old. But unmistakable.
Blood.
Beneath that was a folded note. Sloppy handwriting in thick black ink:
“I never forget my blood. Neither should you.”
My stomach dropped.
I stood, shivering, though the room was warm. I turned the box upside down, searching for any other clue—but there was nothing. Just that photo. That necklace. That message.
I ran to the door to call someone—anyone—but when I pulled it open, the hallway was empty.
The bigger box was gone.
Gone.
My breath caught in my throat.
Someone had taken it while I was inside. Someone who wanted me to think I was going mad. Or someone who wanted me alone in that madness.
I turned back into the room and locked the door.
I locked the door and stood there for a moment, hand still on the knob, trying to calm the tremble in my fingers.
He was here.
Or someone working for him.
I turned slowly, my eyes sweeping over the room as if someone might be hiding behind the curtains or tucked beneath the bed. But there was no one. Just the silence of the house—and the sharp roar of panic in my chest.
I didn’t know what scared me more: that he had sent something… or that he had gotten so close to deliver it.
I shoved the box under the bed, then slid the necklace and the photo between the pages of one of my thickest textbooks. I don’t know why I hid it.
Maybe because part of me didn’t want Zade to see just how vulnerable I still was. Maybe because I didn’t want to give David the satisfaction of causing drama. Or maybe because I didn’t want Zade to snap again.
After last night, I wasn’t ready to be barked at like a burden.
I needed to think. To breathe.
But breathing felt like a luxury.
I texted the hospital and asked one of the nurses to send me a video of Mom. I needed to see her. Just to remind myself of the reason I hadn’t given up.
While I waited, I sank to the floor by the chaise, the necklace still burning in my mind. That bird pendant used to mean freedom. Hope. Now it felt like a noose.
My phone buzzed. The video came in.
Mom was sitting up in bed, propped against pillows, looking tired but awake. Alive. Her eyes were on the window, and Aliyah was feeding her something from a tray. She looked peaceful in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
I held the phone to my chest and shut my eyes. A tear slipped down my cheek.
She was okay. For now.
But David… he wasn’t done.
And the worst part? I had no idea what he wanted.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to do worse.
I had to meet him, to ask him what he wanted. To ask why me? What did I ever do to him? To just ask him something.
I picked up my phone and sent a text to Ray.
“Please I need to see you.”
If David was watching, then I have to lure him out, to me.
I had planned it all—the excuse about sanitary towels, the obscure brand name, the promise that only I knew how to find it. Ray, the ever loyal bodyguard, hesitated. But I layered on the desperation, the urgency. He relented, though I knew he’d never leave me alone. And I was right. He trailed me like a shadow.
The mall felt suffocating the moment we stepped inside. I managed to get rid of Ray by walking fast and scattered in between people.
When he was not in sight anymore, I walked slowly. Casually. Until I reached the fresh produce section—colorful, crowded, and open. That was where I saw him.
David.
Leaning against a fruit stand like a vulture in human skin. Dressed in a plain black tee, and ripped jeans, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of pleasure.
My heart thudded hard. I froze for a split second. Then forced my legs to move, forced my spine to stiffen, forced the fear to hide behind my ribs. I couldn’t run. Not this time.
I walked straight up to him.
“What do you want?” I whispered, voice calm despite the tremble under my tongue. “Why are you so hellbent on torturing me?”
His smile widened, like I’d just handed him a gift.
“Because it’s fun,” he said. “And anyone on earth who wants your downfall? I’ll shake hands with them happily.”
I flinched. “Why? Why do you hate me this much?”
He tilted his head, as though the question amused him.
“No one needs a reason to hate you, Olive,” he said slowly, leaning closer. “You’re the kind of person that pisses people off just by existing. You’re soft. Timid. Naive. You act like you care too much. You forgive too easily. You keep trying to prove you’re good—even to people who treat you like dirt. Like Mom. Like me. Why the fuck can’t you just hate us back?”
My hands balled into fists at my side. “So that’s my crime? Being better than you?”
“No.” His eyes turned cold. “Your crime is thinking that makes you safe.”
“I never said I was safe.” My voice shook. “But my life is mine. And I want you out of it. Just stop it now. Please.”
He took a step forward. I didn’t back down.
“The world would be a better place without hypocrites like you,” he sneered. “And I’m going to see the end of it.”
“Then leave Zade out of it,” I hissed. “Whatever your problem is, it’s with me. Not him.”
He laughed out loudly. Bitterly.
“He doesn’t even love you, Olive. You’re just a toy with a shelf life. And you’re still protecting him? God, you’re pathetic.”
I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “Even then... he’s still better than you.”
His hand landed on my cheek, loud. My head snapped to the side, and I stumbled to the ground, eyes tearing. Pain bloomed in my skull.
A woman nearby gasped. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing—?!”
He bolted before she got closer.
By the time I sat up, he was gone. The woman knelt beside me, fussing over me. I mumbled a thank you and quickly stood, brushing her off. I couldn’t cause a scene.
Not now.
Ray met me at the entrance to the parking lot. He saw the red slap mark immediately, his brows pulling together.
“What happened to your face?” he demanded.
I offered the weakest excuse. “I slipped. Hit the side of a rack.”
He didn’t believe me. But he nodded stiffly and opened the car door.
I didn’t say a word for the entire ride back. Just held the side of my face, my eyes stinging, my soul thudding like bruised fruit inside me.
And then we saw Zade.
He was standing outside by his car. One hand in his pocket. The other holding his phone. As if he’d been pacing.