Olive’s POV
I spent the entire morning cleaning my apartment like a crazy person.
Not because it was dirty. But because I needed something to do with my hands, something to keep me from obsessing about the conversation I was about to have with Zane.
By 9:45 am, my apartment was spotless, and I was a nervous wreck.
I’d changed outfits three times. Settled on jeans and a simple black top. Nothing fancy. Nothing that said I was trying too hard.
At exactly 10 am, there was a knock on my door.
Of course, he was on time. Zane was nothing if not punctual when it mattered.
I took a breath and opened it.
He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept. Hair messier than usual. Dressed casually in jeans and a t- shirt instead of his usual expensive clothes.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied, stepping aside to let him in.
He walked in slowly, like he was afraid I’d change my mind and lick him out. Stood in my living room, looking lost and uncomfortable and so unlike the confident, controlling man I’d gotten used to.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said.
“You said there was something I needed to know,” I said, crossing my arms. “So talk.”
Not flowing with his pleasantries.
He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I’d never seen him make before.
“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. His face still looked cold, but there was something tender beneath his eyes, enough to make my chest swell, but I pushed the thought down.
“How about the beginning?” I suggested. “How about the truth? All of it. Not just the parts you think I can handle.
“The truth,” he repeated, and something pained crossed his face. The truth is I can’t tell you the truth. Not now.”
My stomach dropped. “What? You came all the way here just to tell me this?”
I huffed, my anger rising like a tidal wave I couldn’t control.
“Not about everything, Muffin, please. Will you listen to me?” he clarified quickly, taking a step toward me.
“Don’t muffin me,” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut. “I thought you were finally going to open up. About everything. About you not keeping more secrets. About treating me like I actually matter instead of-”
“I can’t…”
“You can’t tell me. Why?” I demanded, my hands shaking. “You don’t trust me enough to know about this? You think I’m not capable of handling whatever darkness you’re hiding? Is that it?
“I think this is all a game that will end in one month for you to be too involved in my life.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
The room became silent, as my lips trembled, his words echoing again and again and again in my head until they were all I could hear.
A game.
One month.
Not involved in his life.
I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Couldn’t believe after everything we’d done, everything we’d shared, after he had claimed me and I his handprints plastered in my body. And he still saw this as nothing more than a temporary arrange
“Get out,” I whispered, my voice so low I barely recognized it.
“Olive…” He said it softly, about to walk towards me with his hand outstretched like he could fix this with a touch.
“I said GET OUT NOW!”
My voice came out feral, raw, breaking on the last word, and he instantly halted. His fist clenched beside him, knuckles going white, jaw ticking like he was holding back words that would only make this worse.
I thought we were here to solve the issues between us. But instead, it became worse, and now, I understood where I was in his life.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
But I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let him see how much his words had destroyed me. Because it made me realize how right Paloma had been. I was a fool who’d taken the same punch again and again and allowed men to treat me like I was disposable. Like, I didn’t matter.


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