She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 965

Her words struck Morris as completely absurd. He didn't see how taking care of her needs was a betrayal to anyone, nor did he consider it 'causing drama.'

So who was she talking about?

*Knock, knock.*

Both of them turned toward the door. Swain stood there, holding a heavy toolbox. "Am I interrupting? The front desk called and said the lights in this studio were acting up. I came to take a look."

Helena instantly masked her panic, pasting on a look of mild surprise. "You know how to fix lights?"

"I do a little bit of everything. Lights, plumbing, fixing computers—you name it," Swain said with an easy smile. He nodded at Morris. "Hope I'm not interrupting the creative process. Do you want me to come back later?"

"No, it's fine," Helena said quickly. "I was just wrapping up anyway. Go ahead and do your thing."

"Oh." Swain studied her face for a moment, his eyes lingering on her features. "Do you want to grab dinner after this?"

Helena looked at Swain. His face was open, his gaze entirely devoid of hidden agendas or dark complexities. It was just pure, unadulterated sincerity.

Her throat suddenly felt tight.

She had meant what she said to Morris—she couldn't stay chained to a toxic, secretive dynamic anymore. She needed to step into the light. She needed to make normal friends. Maybe a normal life would actually fix her.

"I'd love to," Helena said.

Swain's face lit up, a massive grin breaking across his face. "Awesome. It's a date. I'll text you the second I'm done with this." He turned back to Morris, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. "Mr. Lonsdale, do you want to join us?"

Helena's fingers curled into her palms. Before Morris could even open his mouth, she answered for him. "He has plans with Ms. Yates tonight. He's busy."

She refused to look at Morris, but she could feel the sheer weight of his stare—heavy, questioning, and aggressively dominant.

"Right, well, maybe next time, Mr. Lonsdale," Swain said cheerfully, already setting up his ladder to deal with the flickering ceiling lights.

Helena shoved her sheet music into her tote bag and walked past Morris, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

Morris watched her walk away, a faint crease forming between his brows.

Something entirely outside his control was happening.

***

The bar Swain chose was tucked into an alley behind the art district. It wasn't flashy, but the moment they pushed through the doors, the warm, comforting scent of draft beer and grilled food hit them.

The place was packed. The walls were plastered with vintage rock posters and faded Polaroids. In the corner, a guy was strumming an acoustic guitar, while a burly bartender slid a pint across the counter. The noise was loud, chaotic, and oddly grounding.

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