My throat closes.
Who is he singing to? Me? But I’m right here. Or… someone who doesn’t exist yet? Someone he wants to exist. I shake my head, scared of the thoughts building.
I should walk away, go back to bed and pretend I didn’t hear any of this.
But I freeze.
I listen.
And the ache inside me, thetoo much too soonone I’ve been trying to ignore, grows teeth.
Vicious teeth that will maul me if I’m not careful.
But all the same, I listen as he sings the song three more times, curse myself when my throat swells every time. On the fourth, I gather the strength to pry myself from the wall.
Stumble back into bed.
Later that day, we’re helping my mom clean out the garage, and casually, without meaning to, I pay for a bunch of repairs she needs.
A few roof patches, a new water heater and a safer ramp for the back porch. The invoice is barely a drop in the ocean of what I have now.
But Zane’s eyes narrow slightly when he sees me sign a check.
“You didn’t tell me you were giving money to your family,” he says quietly. “I would’ve taken care of it, baby.”
I force a smile. “It’s my money, Zane. And there’s no need.”
He watches me too long. “Of course. I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
But the look stays. Suspicious. Possessive. A little panicked.
And that knot in my stomach tightens again.
The next morning,I leave my phone on the bed without a second thought, too caught up in helping my mom wrangle herovergrown garden to remember that I am currently living with a man who treats privacy the way a toddler treats bubble wrap.
I don’t think twice about it.
I really,reallyshould have.
When I walk back into the bedroom an hour later, he’s standing there with my phone in his hand. His posture is deceptively relaxed, his shoulders loose and his stance casual, but his expression tells a very different story. His face is composed, unnervingly calm, yet his eyes are burning with a contained thunder I can feel from the doorway.
“I didn’t know you were looking at houses,” he says, the words steady but threaded with something sharp.
My heart sinks straight into my stomach.
I swallow hard, aware that panic is rising in slow, creeping inches. “I was browsing,” I manage, trying to sound nonchalant even though my pulse is doing acrobatics.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “In Oregon.”
I rub my forehead. “It was just curiosity, Zane. I didn’t put in an offer.”
“You were looking,” he says again, voice lower now, steady in that way that signals something dangerous is approaching.
My pulse spikes and the room suddenly feels smaller. Hotter.
“Ruby,” he says quietly, “are you planning something you’re not telling me?”
And there it is. The first real crack. Sharp and undeniable.
