Chapter 19
NINETEEN
nathaniel
The first thing I register is Olivia’s warmth beneath my arm.
I woke before the sun, as I often do. The room is still cloaked in shadows, but the soft glow from the city lights filters through the sheer curtains, casting faint gold over Olivia’s skin.
She lies nestled against me, her breathing slow and even, the tension from last night having melted away into the reprieve of sleep.
I trace the line of her shoulder with the barest touch of my fingertips, pressing my lips against her hairline, breathing her in. She’s still here. That thought alone soothes some of my anxiety, yet unease lingers like a splinter beneath the skin.
She fell asleep in my arms, but not before tears had stained her cheeks, not before she tried to pull away. And that, I remind myself, is the part I can’t ignore.
She didn’t mean it, not truly. Of that, I am sure.
If she tries to leave, I’ll pull her back. Again and again, if I have to.
She shifts in her sleep, curling closer. I nearly groan at the sensation. She doesn’t even know how tightly she’s wrapped around my every thought.
But somewhere beneath the satisfaction, doubt creeps in.
I can’t help but wonder…
Did she reach for me in the end because she didn’t know how else to pacify me?
Is she only still here because she doesn’t know how to walk away?
When she leaves the penthouse, will she come back willingly?
I feel something ugly stir inside of me, gnawing at the edges of the calm I try so hard to maintain. I pull her closer, wrapping my arm fully around her waist, pressing flush against her back.
Last night I saw the questions behind her eyes that she didn’t dare voice directly.
She didn’t push, but it’s clear that she’s starting to notice.
My beautiful girl is perceptive to a fault.
I have no doubt that the gears in that brilliant mind of hers had already begun to turn.
But if she figures out the truth before I find the courage to tell her… that might be the final straw.
I brush her hair back from her face, careful not to wake her, but my jaw clenches at the thought of her slipping from my grasp. Olivia can drift all she wants in her dreams, but I won’t lose her to them.
I press closer, my body curved along the length of hers, heat spreading low in my stomach at the way she fits so perfectly against me. She makes the smallest sound, barely audible, and it’s like fuel to the fire that never really extinguishes where she’s concerned.
I could keep her in this bed forever. A twisted part of me even fantasizes about it, but the world will keep pulling at her—friends, old attachments, memories of the life she lived before I existed in it.
And Landon.
I would tear his name from the fabric of existence if I had the power.
I think about him more than I want to admit, even to myself. He hasn’t messaged her. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. Guys like him don’t give up. Especially not when the prize is someone as perfect as my Olivia.
I kiss her hairline, inhaling deeply as if it could cleanse the thought from my mind.
It doesn’t.
I’ll just have to keep him away by any means necessary.
I’m not blind to Olivia’s soft heart—the way she tries to make room for people who don’t deserve her. I can feel that attachment like a thorn buried deep between us, and I’ll let the rest of the world bleed before I let it fester.
“Don’t,” she mumbles in her sleep, pushing half-heartedly at the arm that tightens around her.
I smile against her skin. “Don’t what?”
But she has already drifted back into unconsciousness, unaware of the weight of my thoughts or the direction they’re spiraling in.
Let her sleep. I will handle the rest.
Olivia sits across from me in silence. The scrape of her fork against her plate is the only thing she offers. She barely ate half the eggs I made before pushing them around the plate.
I lean against the counter, watching her from across the kitchen.
Her hair is still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends as it clings to the collar of my sweatshirt she’s wearing. I like the way it looks on her, oversized and hanging off one shoulder. She always fixes it when she catches me staring.
Not today.
“Not hungry?” I ask lightly, crossing the space between us. I press my hands to the edge of the table, leaning just close enough that she can’t ignore my presence.
“I’m just tired.” Her smile is thin, fragile at the edges. “Last night drained me.”
Good. I want her tired. I want the memory of her trembling in my arms to weigh down every limb. If she’s exhausted, she won’t run.
But exhaustion doesn’t explain the distance in her eyes.
I brush my thumb along the curve of her jaw, tilting her face to me. “You didn’t sleep well.”
“I slept fine.”
Lie.
I let my hand drop but don’t step away. She lowers her gaze again, focusing too intently on the cup now cradled between her hands.
Avoidance.
I watch her silently, the weight of suspicion pressing in like a steady pulse at the back of my skull.
I know she feels me watching. Olivia always looks up eventually, meeting my gaze with that soft, knowing smile.
But this morning, she doesn’t.
I study her, cataloging the faint furrow of her brow, the way she chews the inside of her cheek.
She’s keeping something from me.
“What’s your plan for the day?” I ask.
She hesitates. There. Again.
“Running errands.” Her voice is light, but I hear the shift beneath it. “Might meet Sophie later.”
The answer is too clean, too rehearsed.
My mouth curves faintly, masking the coil of unease winding tight in my chest.
“Sounds fun.” I lift the mug from her hands, taking a sip for no reason other than to watch her reaction. Her fingers tense faintly, like she wants to snatch it back but doesn’t dare.
I set it down slowly, deliberately. “Want me to pick you up after?”
She shakes her head a little too quickly. “No need. I’ll probably take the train back.”
Probably.
Her vagueness hangs in the air like a thread begging to be pulled.
I round the table and bend to press my lips to her forehead, lingering against her skin. She sits still, unmoving beneath me.
But I feel the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
She’s waiting. Testing.
My hand drifts down her throat, grazing the delicate chain of the necklace resting against her collarbone.
“You’ll text me if you need anything,” I murmur.
She nods.
I release her, watching her retreat from the table with the same subdued demeanor she’s worn since breakfast began. My eyes track her movements as she makes her way back to the bedroom to change, but I don’t follow.
I don’t move until the front door eventually clicks softly behind her, its echo fading into the stillness of the penthouse.
I let out a slow breath, dragging my hand down my face.
She knows.
Not everything—not yet. But she’s starting to feel it. The cracks in the surface, the moments when I knew too much, when I appeared just a little too quickly, answered questions she hadn’t asked.
I thumb the screen of my phone, pulling up the tracking app synced to her necklace. The small dot blinks steadily—her location lighting up at the station.
I shouldn’t need to check.
But I do.
My grip tightens around the phone as I flip to her messages. Her last exchange with Sophie was about a project—nothing about today, no plans. And nothing from Landon.
It doesn’t reassure me. The absence feels louder than any conversation we could have. Too clean. Too empty.
I set the phone down on the counter, screen facedown.
She knows I’ve been watching.
The question is, why hasn’t she called me out yet?
I exhale, running a hand over the back of my neck.
Let her think she’s hiding something.
Let her play this game.
I’ll win.
The gym does nothing for me. I’ve been here for hours, pummeling the bags until my knuckles ache and burning through sets until my arms go numb. The exhaustion should be satisfying, but all it leaves is a restless static beneath my skin.
I stare down at my phone as I sit in the locker room, the cool tile biting against my back.
Olivia’s still there—a café near the park.
One I don’t recognize. Olivia has been there for the last two hours.
I watch the blinking dot of her location as if I could will it to move.
She didn’t tell me where she was going, but she’s been there long enough for the question to coil tightly in my chest.
I tell myself not to go. I have no reason to. Still, I feel the tug. A need.
My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to call her. A simple excuse would suffice—ask if she wants me to pick her up, if she needs company. But I don’t. Let her sit there. Let her feel like she’s getting away with something.
I stay long enough to watch her location shift, the dot moving steadily toward the train. I leave the gym before she makes it halfway home.
She breezes through the front door minutes after I arrive, the scent of wind and faint espresso clinging to her clothes.
“Hey,” she says in greeting, setting her bag near the kitchen island like it’s any other day.
I lean against the counter, keeping my expression easy. “Hey, baby. How was your afternoon?”
Her green eyes flick to me, gauging. “Good,” she answers lightly. “Just ran some errands. Stopped by a café for a while to read.”
Stopped by. As if it was a fleeting decision, not the hours-long visit I watched from my phone.
I nod, holding her gaze, but say nothing else. She offers no follow-up. No invitation to close the space growing between us. Instead, she moves past me, grazing her fingers across my wrist in a brief, habitual touch before heading toward the bedroom to change.
I track every step.
The movie plays, but I don’t absorb a second of it.Olivia curls against my side on the couch, her head resting beneath my chin. I cradle her there, grateful for the weight of her against me.
But she’s too quiet.