Chapter Twenty - Two
Chapter
Twenty-Two
GIDEON
Idon't like Asher.
Never have. Probably never will.
It's not that he's incompetent—because he's not. He's quick, sharp when he wants to be, dangerously clever when he bothers to use his intelligence. That's what makes him so irritating. He pretends like the world is a joke, like everything is a game, when in reality, it's not fucking funny.
And right now, as I step into the gym and see him all over Sage, I find myself dangerously close to breaking his damn jaw.
He stands behind her at one of the machines, too close, hands on her arms, adjusting her grip, touching her like it's effortless.
I grind my teeth.
I should have expected this. Asher can't resist pushing boundaries.
Sage doesn't seem to notice, or maybe she just doesn't understand. She's smiling timidly at something he just said, looking down shyly, her eyes uncertain. She's not resisting his proximity. Not enough.
The irritation in my chest flares hotter.
I clear my throat. Loudly.
Sage startles visibly, Asher doesn't even look up.
"You need to get ready for dinner, Sage" I say, barely acknowledging her as I glare at Asher.
Asher finally looks up, arching a brow. "Dinner, huh? Sounds fancy."
"It's a private dinner. With Malachi."
Asher laughs outright. "Oh, so now Malachi is planning romantic candlelit meals? Adorable."
I narrow my eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing.
"You're not coming," I say flatly.
Asher clutches his chest dramatically. "Wow. Harsh."
"It's not for you."
Sage looks down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "It's just dinner."
I shake my head. "It's not just dinner. Malachi requested this time with you. Alone."
Asher tilts his head, mocking, amused. "Oh? And you're just the personal messenger now?"
I exhale slowly, forcing control. "Asher?—"
"Nah, let Malachi tell me himself." Asher shrugs, stretching lazily. "I'm coming too."
My patience snaps.
"You're not going to keep interrupting every single moment between her and Malachi," I say, voice low, controlled, deadly.
Asher smirks. "Why not? It's fun."
We're seconds away from a fight when something makes me stop.
The quiet.
The absence.
I turn sharply—and she's gone.
"Fuck."
Asher whistles lowly. "Damn. She's getting good at that."
I shoot him a murderous glare before storming out after her. Most people don't slip past me. Most people don't even try.
And yet, Sage keeps doing it.
I search methodically, not rushed, not frantic—just efficient. She's smart, but she's also new to this world. She wouldn't leave the estate. Not yet.
I pass room after room, the familiar dark wood paneling, the grand chandeliers above casting long, flickering shadows along the marble floors. The house is too big, too decadent, but Malachi wouldn't live anywhere else. He thrives in places like this.
Finally, after checking the main corridors, I turn toward the east wing, stopping just outside her room.
The door is slightly ajar.
I push it open, stepping inside.
She's standing by the large bay window, arms folded, gazing out over the sprawling grounds beyond. The fading sunlight filters through the glass, catching the edges of her loose hair, making her look... vulnerable.
I ignore the way my chest tightens at the sight of her.
"You need to get dressed," I say, keeping my tone even.
She doesn't turn. "I'd rather not go."
I exhale slowly. Of course.
"It wasn't a request," I tell her, stepping further inside.
That gets her attention. She turns to me, her expression uncertain, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. "What if I'm not ready to talk to Malachi again?"
I resist the urge to soften my approach. "It's not about what you want. It's about understanding what's happening to you."
She hugs herself tighter. "I'm trying to understand."
"Are you?" I tilt my head. "Because you keep running."
She looks down. "I keep running because everything is overwhelming."
I let out a slow breath, reining in my impatience. "You spoke with Elias. You had your talk with him."
"Yes, and that helped," she admits quietly. "But I still have questions."
"Then go to dinner."
She hesitates, chewing her lower lip. "First, I'd like to know more about you."
I blink, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes," she says, her voice soft but persistent. "You're obviously devoted to Malachi. Why? What's your connection to him?"
I hate this question.
It's too personal, too messy.
I straighten my shoulders, closing off. "Leave it be."
She doesn't push further.
She watches me carefully, waiting.
But I don't answer.
Instead, I nod toward the dressing room. "Get changed."
Her lips press together, but after a moment, she nods, turning toward the wardrobe.
"I'll be outside," I tell her, stepping back toward the door. "When you're ready."
Then I step out, shutting the door behind me.
I lean against it, closing my eyes for a long moment.
And I try—really fucking try—not to think about my past.