Chapter Thirty-Four
Chloe
He closed the door and left without protesting. The last thing I wanted was to see his face and be reminded of all the places his mouth had been last night. The thought alone made my stomach twist in knots, and I hated that I’d enjoyed every second of it.
I forced myself to remember the way he’d treated me so coldly afterward.
So cold. So distant.
His words cut through my chest like knives, leaving me feeling exposed and foolish for letting my guard down again. Stupid me—always hoping that one day things might be different. But it never is.
One minute, he’d made me feel I was the only woman in the world, and the next, he’d cast me aside as if I was just another meaningless toy to play with. My chest burned with anger, making me want to slap him, to scream at him for making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
I clenched my fists, fighting back the urge to cry.
But it was useless, tears fell down my face anyways, unable to contain the anger inside.
It hurt.
Every time I opened myself to him, every time I gave him a little more of myself, he just used it to show me how much he could hurt me.
Curling up on my side, I hugged myself tightly, attempting to hold together the pieces of a heart that wouldn’t stop breaking.
I’d wanted so badly to believe that our connection was real.
But Zane had made it clear.
He. Doesn’t. Deserve. My. Tears.
I could hear Zane’s men moving outside, positioning themselves to guard the house as they did every night.
And as the minutes passed by, the house fell deadly silent.
That meant Clarisse had likely retreated to the staff house, and Zane would be in his room.
My stomach twisted, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day.
I figured now was the perfect time to sneak into the kitchen without running into anyone.
With a shaky breath, I pushed myself off the bed. My legs felt momentarily numb and weak from the hours spent lying down.
I didn’t bother turning on the lights.
The moonlight streaming through the windows was enough to guide my path.
I moved quietly, careful not to make a sound as I wandered downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, the cool liquid sliding down my throat as I stood by the tall window, gazing out into the night.
It was raining pretty heavily and just as I was starting to relax, a glimpse of movement caught my eye.
I froze, blinking, my eyes narrowing, trying to focus.
My heartbeat quickened. There it was again, a shadow shifting between the trees. It moved deliberately, like it knew I was watching. My breath hitched.
The shadow vanished for a moment, only to reappear right in front of me, on the other side of the glass. A hood covered its face, water dripping from its sleeves. It stood completely still, like a statue.
I jerked back, a strangled scream catching in my throat as the hand lifted.
It reached up and began to trace something into the foggy glass with one finger.
M.
M… Malia? Could it be her?
My heart stopped.
No. That wasn’t a woman, that was the body of a man.
The glass in my hand went crashing to the floor, shattering into hundreds of sharp pieces.
Then the same finger moved again to where its mouth would be and drew in a single motion: Shhh.
I clambered up onto the counter, shards of glass cutting into my bare feet, desperate to get the window open.
But before I could manage it, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back and before I knew it, I was somehow in Zane’s arms, gripping onto his bare skin as if my life depended on it.
I tried to push past him, but he only held me tighter, pressing my face into his chest.
“Chloe? What the fuck—”
His voice was rough, urgent, but distant, as if he was talking underwater, barely registering in my ears. All I knew was that I was safe in his arms, and that the shadow outside was gone.
So was the letter; no sign of it on the steamy window now, as if nothing had been there in the first place.
Was I imagining things?
The next thing I knew, we were back in my bedroom.
Zane had already pulled the covers aside, and he was helping me sit on the edge of the bed. A first-aid kit was set beside him, and it wasn’t until I felt the sharp sting in my feet that I remembered all those tiny shards of glass.
He was kneeling in front of me, gently cleaning my wound with a cotton swab. Although it burned, his touch was surprisingly delicate.
“It’s not too deep but you should avoid walking on it until it starts to heal,” he said as he started to patch me up with calm precision, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.
The quiet care he took with each movement made something inside me soften.
Once he finished, he gently lowered me to the pillow, brushing a stray hair from my face as I lay down. The way he looked at me, the concern etched in his brow, were so unlike the cold, distant man I was getting used to. It left me momentarily speechless.
“You need to stop crying. You are safe here.” He spoke softly as he brushed a tear.
I said nothing, I didn’t know why I was crying since I had no idea what I saw. It was as if my brain was still trying to catch up.
“I’ll go check it out—”
He started to stand, but I grabbed his hand to stop him, feeling something there.
“You got hurt too?” I asked, staring at the gauze around his palm. Did I hit him? “Did I—”
“You didn’t. This is nothing. Just rest.”
I stared up at him, forcing myself to piece my thoughts together.
My screams must’ve pulled him out of bed in a rush, judging by the way he looked—shirtless, his eyes tired, and his hair messy. He was disheveled, raw, and so unguarded.
“Can you stay here a little longer?” I whispered, my voice small, perfectly aware of how vulnerable I may have sounded despite my best efforts to hide it. “Just so I can close my eyes.”
I didn’t care if I sounded pitiful and I knew he would leave as soon as I fell asleep, but still I tried. I just wanted to be in that bed with him, to let him chase all my demons away.
His eyes studied me cautiously.
But then, something softened in his gaze and without a word, he lay down beside me, his strong arms wrapping around my body.
I instantly nestled against his chest, letting his heat wrap me in the kind bubble of protection I so desperately needed.
He could’ve ignored me, could have punished me for refusing to share a meal with him earlier, but he chose not to.
It didn’t matter where we stood, or how awful we could be to each other. When I needed him—really needed him—he was there, and his kindness meant the world to me.