Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134

After we were done, we lay there in silence, our breathing still heavy, both of us staring up at the ceiling. I don’t know why I did it, maybe it was instinct, maybe it was hope but I reached out, searching for him. The moment my hand landed on his, I felt his reaction.

He froze.

Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away. It wasn’t rough, not forceful, but it was enough for me to feel the sting of rejection.

Without a word, he got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I stayed there, still and quiet, pulling the covers up over my body like they could shield me from whatever that moment had just done. I listened to the sound of running water, imagining him under it, washing away what we just shared, maybe pretending it didn’t mean anything.

When he came out, he was already dry, clothes in hand. He walked straight into the walk-in closet. I stayed where I was, wrapped up, watching the ceiling again, the ache in my chest louder now than it had been before.

A few minutes later, he returned, wearing only his boxers. He stood near the edge of the bed and said casually, “I think I’m gonna have to keep a few things here, just in case I need to change.”

“Okay,” I said quickly, automatically, because what else could I say? This was his house, after all. I had no right to tell him what he could or couldn’t leave in his own home.

Still, I didn’t know how to take it. It wasn’t nothing… right? If someone leaves clothes at your place, it has to mean something. It felt like a thread tying him to me, even if just a thin one.

He disappeared back into the closet, and by the time he came out again, he was fully dressed. He walked toward the door, pausing just long enough to say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I whispered, and then he was gone.

Here’s the thing, I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about any of this. It wasn’t like before, not the humiliation, and hate that used to hang over us. We weren’t the same people we were five years ago either, but still, this had to count for something.

This… this was better, wasn’t it?

It had to be. He wasn’t calling me a whore to hurt me. He wasn’t taunting or throwing my past in my face. He said goodbye, He said he’d see me tomorrow.

Maybe… maybe it’s working. Maybe we’re finding ourselves again.

That thought wrapped around me as I finally pushed myself out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and took a long, hot shower. When I came back, I climbed back under the covers, pulled a pillow to my chest, and held it tightly, burying my face into the fabric, hoping to catch a hint of Asher’s scent. Something to make it feel like he was still here, still close, even if only for a few more hours.

And with that, I closed my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me.

******

Without realizing it or maybe with full awareness we had slipped into a routine. His clothes have suddenly appeared in my closet. He always came at 10 every night. We didn’t talk much. From the moment he walked through that door, it was as if something magnetic pulled us together. Either he attacked me or I attacked him

It didn’t matter who moved first. What followed was always the same… heat, hands, mouths, bodies crashing. Then a shower. Then a quiet “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then the door closed behind him.

It had become… an arrangement. Our routine. Our secret.

But now… now I have to admit something I don’t know how to say out loud: I was enjoying it. I liked the routine. I liked him. I was having a good time.

And that, that, was the problem because one day, he didn’t show up at ten.

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