Bound to my Enemy novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135: Chapter 135.

Zane isn’t exactly the type to sit down and talk about his feelings over coffee.

Once I’m done, I carry the plate over to the sink.

"Thank you again," I tell Martha.

She smiles faintly at me.

"You’re welcome, dear." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

I leave the kitchen and wander upstairs again. The house feels unusually quiet today... maybe it’s just in my head.

By the time I reach the bedroom, the weight of the morning is starting to settle into my bones so I i kick off my shoes and collapse back onto the bed..... Just for a minute, I tell myself.

The mattress is warm from earlier, and the quiet of the house wraps around me like a blanket. Before I realize it, my eyes clos and I drift off into a dreamless street.

———

When I wake up again, sunlight has shifted across the room.

I squint toward the window, the light is brighter now, more direct.

It’s Midday, probably.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my face and for a few seconds my brain feels slow and foggy.

Then it clicks....:: that I have training this afternoon. Zane said the training would continue to today.

I groan quietly as a part of me considers pretending I forgot but I know that won’t, if anything, that will just make him more annoying about it.

So I drag myself out of bed again and pull on a different shirt....something lighter this time.

My muscles are still sore from yesterday’s sparring, apparently anger isn’t a sustainable workout routine.

I tie my hair back quickly and head downstairs.

The training room is on the far side of the house near the garage area. The hallway leading there is empty when I reach it but before I even open the door, I hear it.

Thud.

A heavy sound... then another.

THUD.

Something hitting leather hard enough that the impact vibrates through the wall.

I pause with my hand on the door handle.

THUD.

Yeah.

That definitely sounds like someone beating the life out of a punching bag.

I push the door open and the sound hits me clearly.

THUD.

The punching bag swings violently on its chain, creaking with each impact as Zane stands in front of it, shirtless again, wrapped hands slamming into the leather with brutal force.

His back is to me so he doesn’t see when I come in.

Every punch lands like he’s trying to break something. Th muscles in his shoulders flex with each strike, sweat already glistening along his skin. His breathing is rough, controlled but heavy, like he’s been at it for a while.

THUD.

The bag swings so far it nearly hits the support beam before swinging back toward him but he doesn’t slow down. He throws a o punch then another.... The chain rattling loudly.

Okay.

So this isn’t normal training.

This is anger... real anger.

I lean against the doorframe and watch him for a few seconds and the difference between yesterday and today is obvious.

Yesterday he sparred with control, today he’s hitting like he wants the bag to fight back.

Finally I clear my throat.

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