Chapter 20
TWENTY
olivia
His arm lies across me, but it doesn’t feel the same. What once felt like reassurance—the steady press of his palm against my stomach, his fingers curling just enough to remind me that I’m his to hold—now feels heavier. Weighted by something else. The weight of knowing.
I stare at the outline of the window across the room, the soft glow of morning seeping through the gaps in the curtains.
The penthouse is still, save for the steady rhythm of Nathaniel’s breathing.
Each exhale skims my skin, the rise and fall of his chest following in time.
I know he’s awake, but he says nothing. And neither do I.
I stay there, unmoving, letting the silence build. The clock on his nightstand ticks softly, making each second that passes while my mind twists itself into knots around the same unrelenting thought: How long has he been watching me?
Not in the way he usually does—the soft, distant gaze when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Not like the gentle drag of his knuckles across my cheek as I sleep, or the way his lips brush over my hair, as if the simple act of holding me anchors him.
No. This is something else.
The bookstore wasn’t a lucky guess. I’m being confronted by something I’ve always sensed but never allowed myself to name. Now, I can’t ignore it.
Somehow, Nathaniel has been keeping tabs on me. Although the how doesn’t even matter right now. The why is more unsettling to consider.
Nathaniel shifts behind me, his arm tightening fractionally as if he can feel me pulling away without moving an inch. I wonder if he will speak, break this fragile moment between us that feels stretched too thin.
He doesn’t.
Instead, his lips touch my shoulder, feather-light and unhurried. A quiet offering.
I inhale carefully, fighting the instinct to recoil. I let him kiss the line of my neck, let him taste the skin beneath my ear, let him think I’m sinking into it the way I always have.
I exhale and allow my body to ease into the shape of him.
His hand drifts over my stomach, and I bring mine up to meet it, covering his with deliberate pressure, letting him know I’m with him.
I trace slow circles over the curve of his knuckles, but the motion feels mechanical, like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.
“You slept through the alarm.” Such a simple statement, but there’s a weight to it—a gentle probe, testing the waters.
I keep my gaze on the window, my thumb still moving idly over his hand. “I guess I’m still tired.”
Nathaniel doesn’t press, but I feel him shift. His arm flexes around me, his chest presses closer to my back, as if testing just how tightly he can hold me before I protest.
His fingers brush the hem of my shirt, dipping beneath the fabric to trace the bare skin of my waist. His touch is reverent, but I can’t stop the sharp edge of unease prickling along my spine.
Nathaniel has always been observant by nature, but I’ve learned that he’s also obsessive by habit. There’s nothing about me that would escape his notice.
And now…he’s waiting.
I sit at the counter, my hands curled loosely around a cup of tea I haven’t taken a sip from. The steam has long since faded, but I hold it to have something to occupy my hands.
Meanwhile, Nathaniel moves fluidly through the kitchen as he always does. He crisps two eggs on the skillet, yolks glistening on the heat, the crackle filling the silence.
He says nothing. Instead, his actions do the talking.
His hand grazes the small of my back as he passes by, lingering just long enough to show his intent.
When a stray lock of hair slips forward, he’s already there, fingers threading gently behind my ear, his thumb tracking the curve of my jaw before falling away.
He kisses my temple, slow and soft, as if he’s anchoring himself to me.
Each touch feels less and less like affection, and more like a plea. His need wraps around me, suffocating in its persistence, and I wonder if he even realizes he’s pressing in on me with the intensity of it.
Nathaniel eventually sets a plate in front of me—sunny side up, toast, and a neat pile of mixed berries. A perfectly balanced breakfast, as always.
“Thank you,” I say softly, giving him a faint smile.
He kisses the top of my head in response, brushing his fingertips over my shoulder before sitting beside me with his own plate. For a few moments, the only sound is the quiet clink of silverware against porcelain. I pick at the food, taking small bites of toast.
Ever vigilant, Nathaniel’s gaze flicks toward my plate and then to my face. He waits, patient but attentive, watching as a I half-heartedly nudge a berry with the edge of my fork.
“Is it not what you wanted?” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of worry tucked behind it. “I can make something else if you’d like.”
Guilt stirs beneath my ribs. “No, it’s not that. The food’s perfect. I’m just…not that hungry.” I say with a small shake of my head.
His brow furrows slightly. “Are you feeling all right?”
I hesitate, fingers tightening around the fork. “I have a headache,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie. My head has been spinning since I opened my eyes, and his constant touch only made it worse.
Nathaniel’s already shifting closer, his fingertips ghosting along the inside of my wrist, as if measuring the pulse beneath my skin. His other hand brushes gently over my forehead, testing for heat.
“You don’t feel feverish, that’s good…” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me. “Do you want something for your headache?”
Before I can answer, he’s already standing, heading toward the cabinet above the sink. I watch as he searches the shelves, his movements swift but controlled—until he pauses, fingers tapping against the empty space where the painkillers should be.
Nathaniel sighs, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “We’re out,” he says simply. Then, in the next breath, “I’ll run to the store.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words never come. Instead, I nod, seizing the opportunity. The thought of even ten minutes alone seems like oxygen to lungs that haven’t drawn a full breath in hours.
He steps toward me, bending to press a lingering kiss to my lips before disappearing into the bedroom to get dressed.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
My fingers drift to my necklace, the diamond cool against my skin.
I trace its edges absently, feeling the slight curve of the bezel setting.
I smile at the memory of the night he gave it to me, our first “proper” date.
He certainly made an impression…in more ways than one.
But as I turn the pendant over between my fingers, I also remember his insistence that I never take it off—how he made me promise I never would. And so, I never have.
Suddenly, an irrational thought creeps into my mind unbidden—could there be something inside it? I almost laugh at the absurdity. But the weight of yesterday’s realization—that he’d known where I was without ever being told—settles over me like a second skin.
I frown, tilting the necklace in the soft kitchen light. The impulse to unfasten it, to pry apart the bezel and confirm my suspicions, tugs at me like an itch.
But I can’t.
Nathaniel will notice the moment it’s gone.
The sound of his footsteps returning pulls me from my thoughts. I release the pendant, letting it fall gently against my chest as he emerges from the bedroom.
He crosses the space between us, reaching up to caress the side of my face. “I won’t be long,” he says, but I catch the way his eyes linger, searching for something in my expression.
I hesitate, and then the thought strikes me—a way to buy more time.
“Actually,” I begin, and his gaze sharpens instantly, waiting. “Could you get me something else while you’re out?”
Nathaniel stills, his brows lifting in faint surprise. The tight line of his shoulders loosens, relief flickering across his face like I’ve just given him permission to breathe. He wants to feel needed.
“Anything,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
I smile, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “A blueberry muffin from The Nook… I haven’t had one in a while.”
His lips twitch, amusement lighting his expression. “That’s all?”
I nod.
He presses a tender kiss to my forehead, his hand warm at the curve of my waist. “You should rest,” he says, his breath ghosting against my temple. “I’ll be back soon.”
I watch as he moves toward the door, his movements calm, unhurried. When the lock clicks softly behind him and the elevator hums to life, I exhale, slumping back in my seat.
The quiet settles in again. My hand drifts immediately to the necklace, and I unclasp it. Cradling it, my fingers brush over the delicate monogram engraved at the back—Nathaniel’s initials, neat and understated. It’s still beautiful, a piece I’ve cherished from the moment he gave it to me.
But now, it feels different beneath my touch, even though I can’t immediately discern anything suspicious about it.
I set the necklace down on the counter, the cool weight of it leaving an imprint on my palm. But even without it around my neck, I can’t shake the unease that coils in my chest.
My traitorous mind drifts to all the times Nathaniel has known things he shouldn’t.
Conversations I had over text or whispered calls with friends and family.
Casual plans I hadn’t yet mentioned, already accounted for in his mind.
At first, it was small things—like knowing which friend I was meeting before I’d told him, or what we’d decided to do.
But then there was that final Castor & Wyatt interview… I swallow hard.
I’d kept it from him intentionally. Still, he was able to not just find out that it was happening, but exactly who I was meeting with. He was even able to put in a good word…