Chapter 3
THREE
Iwake with the sun. My neck aches and my legs have pins and needles running through them, but when I open my eyes, I see him. His face is pressed against the window, slack in his sleep, and his large frame is scrunched up, his feet hanging off to the side. He’s snoring, and I can’t help but grin.
He stayed with me all night and helped me when no one else would have, especially without receiving anything in return. I don’t know what type of man he is outside of this bubble we created, but I know it’s a good one.
We talked for hours last night. I swear this man saw every deep, dark part of me that no one else ever has.
I hear my phone buzz deep in the apartment. He plugged it in to charge for me since it was dead. I know I should get up and call a mechanic then my assistant and figure out where I should go from here—not just from this gym, but also in my life—but I just lie here and watch him.
In some ways, Nikko’s life is so simple. He has a dream, and he’s working toward it. He also has a normal job, a family, and a stable home and income.
He doesn’t spend his days looking over his shoulder, surrounded by guards, his name a threat to everyone around him. I can’t infect his life with the darkness in mine, but I give myself a moment to soak in the warmth that seems to follow this adorably clumsy man around.
The bubble pops, and I slide away. I’m not normal and never will be. It’s time to stop running from that and embrace it. I am who I am, and it’s time I find happiness in that as well as my purpose.
Silently getting to my feet, I walk away from Nikko and his endearing innocence.
What we found last night can’t last. The false sense of safety and reprieve from my life doesn’t really exist, and he wouldn’t want me to stay either.
He would grow tired of me just like everyone else.
We aren’t even friends. We are just strangers who met in passing and forged a temporary connection.
We are worlds apart, and I’m acutely aware of that.
Unplugging my phone, I sink down into his bed, the slightly ajar door letting in his soft snores.
There are no messages or missed calls from Faiz to show he cared or was worried.
Did he even notice I was gone? I don’t think so, or if he did, then he didn’t care enough to even reach out.
I don’t know what’s worse. Navigating to my call list, I ignore the pounding pain in my chest, one that has been a constant for years, but this time it’s different.
It’s as if my heart is finally realizing this will be over soon and only the pain will be left.
I hit the number that takes up most of my call list, and it rings once before he answers, his voice sharp even this early in the morning. At least he is always happy to talk to me.
“Sir? Are you okay?” Yuki asks. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Technically, Yuki is my executive assistant, but he’s more of a friend than anything else. Yes, he does his job, and he does it fucking well, but we have a bond I can’t explain. Over the years, it’s gone from professional to openly joking and talking with each other, a friendship I cherish.
“My car broke down last night just down the road from Nexus Gym. I don’t know the address—”
“On it.” I hear him typing. “I have the address, and a tow has been ordered. I’ll get it to the garage. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“The son of Nexus’s owner let me stay since the weather was bad and my phone died. Can you send the car?” I ask softly, trying to be quiet so I don’t wake Nikko.
“Of course. We’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
“No, don’t worry about going with it. It’s early—”
“Sir,” he snaps, “I will be there.” He’s quiet for a beat, and I know he’s debating if he should bite his tongue. Two years ago, he would have, but I guess time changes everything. “Are you okay? You sound sad.”
I consider my answer, my gaze going to the partially opened door as I realize the snoring stopped. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Yuki. See you soon.” I hang up, unsure what else to say.
He will take one look at my face and realize the truth.
He always knows. It’s his job to cater to everything I need without asking, and that came with an understanding.
He sees my life more clearly than I do. I’ve watched him bite his tongue around Faiz, even as annoyance flashed in his eyes.
I don’t know what he thinks about our relationship, but he’s always the one who pours me a drink and sits by my side when I can’t sleep because of it.
On the nights when I would sit up, waiting for Faiz to come home, knowing what he was doing, Yuki was always right there.
In a world where friendships come with expectations and strings, ours has none, and I’m grateful.
Maybe it’s an odd relationship to have, but I can trust in Yuki—not just because he is paid to be at my side, but because he’s earned my trust over the years and proven his loyalty many times over. In some sad way, we have become each other’s family.
Pocketing my phone, I head out to see Nikko in the kitchen, chugging water. “Morning,” he grumbles with a deep, raspy voice that ignites something within me.
“Good morning,” I respond curtly. “Thank you for letting me stay last night. My phone is charged, so I called my assistant. He should be here soon.”
He nods as he puts the glass down. “No worries. Do you want breakfast while you wait? I have to carb load, so I eat a lot every day.” He shrugs.
I hesitate. I shouldn’t because it could complicate things. “Sure,” I say as I walk into the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”
He looks me over with a little smirk. “Have you ever cooked before?”
“Um, well, no,” I answer. “Honestly, I’ve never really been in a kitchen.”
He chuckles. “Figured as much. Take a seat. I’m a great cook, so I don’t need your help anyway.” He grabs a chopping board. “Go,” he orders, pointing at a chair.
You bet your ass I sit and prop my chin on my hand as I watch him gather ingredients. “A great cook, huh? Cocky much?”
He smiles. “Someone told me to be proud about what I’m good at.”
“Now who would say that?” I flirt. It’s meaningless but fun.
“A smart man.” He winks as he grabs a bowl and a pan.
Hiding my smile behind my hand, I settle back to watch him cook. He chops the ingredients with deft movements before tossing them into the pan, shuffling around the kitchen with practiced ease. “When did you learn to cook?”
“My dad is shitty at it, so I taught myself when I was pretty young. I didn’t want to eat burnt food, so trial and error were my best friends.
It was a necessity at first, but I learned to enjoy cooking.
It’s soothing, and I like feeding the people I love good food,” he explains as he tosses something else in a pan. “You don’t use the kitchen?”
“I have a chef,” I reply, refusing to be ashamed about it.
I could make excuses, like I don’t have the time or energy, but the truth is, cooking and eating are things I need to survive, not something I want to do.
I have the money, so I took that necessity from my platter to free up more time for things I do enjoy.
“My mom loved to cook, but I guess I didn’t get that gene. ”
“It’s not for everyone.” He shrugs as he watches me. “You can make coffee, right?”
I nod, and he gestures at the machine. “Go ahead, make yourself useful.”
Laughing, I slide down and walk over, turning on the appliance then adding beans. “Milk or sugar?” I call.
“Black, thanks.”
“Psychopath,” I tease as I slide his over and take mine to my seat, blowing the milky top.
I’m beginning to understand Nikko more. He likes simplicity—black coffee, straight alcohol, and candid conversation. He’s very to the point, but there is something beautiful in that.
Not five minutes later, a plate is slid before me, heaped with eggs, chicken sausage, toast, potatoes, and mushrooms. “Um, that’s a lot of food.”
“Eat what you want. Sorry, it’s my usual serving size,” he says as he digs in, scarfing it down.
I watch him eat for a moment before I pick up my knife and fork, carefully cut the food, and take a bite.
I’m not a picky eater, even though most people call me a picky princess, but I’ve never taken more than a few bites of a meal.
I either get bored, don’t have the time, or simply don’t like it.
When the flavors explode in my mouth, I eat quickly—something not even Michelin-star chefs could make happen.
“Good?” he asks, covering his mouth. “It’s probably not as good as your chef. Sorry.”
“It’s amazing,” I tell him. I dig in and eat as much as I can. When I’m full, I sit back, and he eyes my plate. I push it over, since his is empty. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” He makes quick work of my leftovers, polishing off my plate, then sits back.
“I mean it. It was really good. You’re talented,” I say as I sip my coffee.
“It was just breakfast,” he scoffs.
“Something you didn’t have to offer me. Thank you for . . . everything. I don’t think I said that last night. I can repay you—”
“No.” He holds his hand up, stopping me. “You don’t owe me anything, Zia.”
I stare into his eyes, searching them for answers. The gym he owns isn’t struggling, but it also isn’t thriving, so why wouldn’t he accept gratitude in the form of money? Is it pride or simply Nikko being a good person?
“Why?” I ask softly. I don’t even realize I’m leaning closer until he does as well. I glance down from his eyes to his lips and back up again.
I want this man in a carnal way. It might just be from excitement or the fact that he wants me back, but it intrigues me. I won’t act on it though. I would never do that to Faiz, even if he’s willing to do that to me, but it doesn’t stop me from looking.
“You kept me company and made me laugh. You don’t owe me anything,” Nikko says. “I enjoyed my night. I enjoyed you being here.”
“Me too,” I admit.