Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 643

Chapter 643: Don’t Want Space

Olivia’s POV

For several minutes, I remained seated on the bed as I stared at his back turned against me... his breathing steady, like he was asleep.

Feeling heartbroken, I stood up, and with tear-filled eyes, I turned to leave as I walked toward the door.

"Isn’t this what you wanted?" Lennox suddenly spoke from behind me, his voice not sounding like someone who was asleep.

I turned back, the tears finally spilling over. "I was wrong. I lashed out because I didn’t want to be vulnerable, and you’re the only one who makes me feel that way."

"Being vulnerable is a choice," he murmured. "And you chose to be ’Just Olivia.’ You can’t have it both ways. You can’t ask for the freedom of a stranger and then cry when I treat you like one."

I walked back to the bed, dropping to my knees on the floor beside where his head lay. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean into it either.

"I don’t want to be a stranger," I sobbed, my forehead resting against the edge of the mattress. "I don’t want this space anymore, Lennox. It’s too big. It’s too cold."

He finally turned over. The moonlight hit his face, and for the first time, I saw the cracks. His eyes weren’t just cold; they were exhausted. There were no more schemes in them, no more plans to "fix" us.

"Then what do you want, Olivia?" he asked, his voice cracking just a fraction. "Because I can’t keep guessing. I’m tired of being the only one fighting a war while you’re waving a white flag."

"I want you to hold me," I whispered. "Not because of a bond. Not because you’re my mate. But because you’re Lennox, and I’m lost."

He stared at me for a long beat, the silence stretching between us. Then, slowly, he lifted the edge of the blanket. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t pull me in. He just opened the space.

I crawled in beside him, shivering as the warmth of his body hit mine. I tucked my head under his chin, my hands clutching his chest as if he might disappear if I let go. He didn’t wrap his arms around me immediately. He just lay there, stiff and silent.

"I’m still mad at you," he whispered into the top of my hair.

"I know," I breathed, closing my eyes.

"And I’m not going to pretend everything is fine tomorrow just because you’re in my bed tonight."

"I know."

Finally, his arm came around me, heavy and protective, pulling me flush against him. It wasn’t the passionate embrace from the pool; it was the way you hold something dear to you.

"Sleep, Olivia," he sighed. "We’ll talk in the morning."

I nodded against his chest, the steady thrum of his heart acting like a lullaby I hadn’t heard in years. For the first time in months, the static in my brain went quiet. There were no expectations, no "rules" of the break, and no walls—just the heavy, protective weight of Lennox’s arm holding me together. I drifted into a sleep so deep it felt like healing.

When the morning light began to filter through the heavy velvet curtains, I reached out instinctively, my hand searching for the warmth of his skin.

My fingers met cold sheets.

My eyes snapped open, and the peaceful bubble from the night before popped instantly. The bed was empty. The pillow beside me still held the indentation of his head, but he was gone.

I sat up, pulling the duvet tightly around my chest, my heart racing. But before I could spiral into a full-blown panic, the heavy oak door clicked open.

I froze—but it wasn’t just Lennox who walked in.

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