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Chapter 24 - Zach

작가: Bryant
last update 최신 업데이트: 2025-07-13 18:20:03
The moment my door clicked shut, the air felt heavier, quieter, sure, but not calm. Not peaceful.

Just… pissed.

I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck, breathing deep as if that would somehow slow the steam building under my skin. It didn’t. I’d been biting my tongue since Jane sauntered in like she owned the damn building. Like she belonged in that apartment. Like Ofelia didn’t.

And that look in Jane’s eye, the condescension oozing out of her voice like syrup gone bad. Not to mention that Spitfire had to go full Exorcist to chase her out finally. So yeah, I was done pretending this was just some annoying misunderstanding.

I paced once across the living room, resisting the urge to throw something just for the satisfaction of watching it break. My place was practically untouched—bare furniture, barely-there decor, still smelling like the last cleaning service came through a month ago. It looked exactly how I’d left it… and it didn’t feel like mine at all.

Not after the cozy chaos
Bryant

Zach’s parents need to get a clue. He left their expectations and world 11 years ago. Pretty sure over a decade put into living his life his way isn't a "phase".

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Marcia Chambers
Such racist judgmental people. Ofelia is getting her doctorate in Psychology. She will probably make more money than Zach in the future. He walked away from the trust fund to live his life in peace. Maybe he needs to go full non contact with his parents like Clay and Reese did with Sophia.
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Jade Orchid
I’m thinking there’s a lot of kids from that school don’t like the “high society crap” their parents are trying to shove down their throats. Jane’s still single because nobody likes her ‘holier than thou’ attitude she grew up with.
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Karina Vazquez
His parents said the very same thing that Jane said. I do not have high expectations for their redemption.
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  • The Purrfect Wingman   Epilogue - Spitfire

    I prowled the perimeter of the garden like any competent commander would. The sun hung low in the sky, warm and golden, casting a soft shimmer across the petals that littered the cobblestone walk like nature’s version of confetti. Humans oohed and aahed over the setup, white chairs lined in perfect rows, satin ribbons flapping in the breeze, blossoms spilling from urns that were clearly more decorative than functional. But this wasn’t about aesthetics. This was about security. Stability. Control. This was my domain. I wore the floral collar Ofelia had bribed me into with a piece of grilled chicken. Daisies. A touch of lavender. Something pale and pink I couldn’t identify, but it didn’t offend me. It sat lightly against my fur, and I tolerated it because it matched the mood. And because I looked good in it. Obviously. Mochi, bless his foolish heart, had been strapped into a bowtie harness. A powder blue disaster with tiny white stitched stars. He strutted like he owned the place,

  • The Purrfect Wingman   Epilogue - Ofelia

    It was hot. The kind of June heat that stuck to your spine and made even the fanciest robes feel like weighted blankets soaked in regret. But I didn’t care. I stood in the middle of the Rutgers lawn, diploma in hand, doctoral hood draped down my back, surrounded by so much noise and joy that it felt like my whole chest might burst from it. Four years. Four years of midnight papers, trauma rotations, clinicals, stacked shifts, patient charts, therapy sessions, burnout, breakdowns, and breakthroughs. And now? Dr. Ofelia Rosario, PhD. I adjusted the square of my cap and scanned the crowd. Zach was the first face I found, easy to spot in a sea of red and white, thanks to the two cat ears poking out of a mesh backpack carrier slung over one shoulder. Spitfire, of course, refused to miss my big day. Mochi was nowhere to be seen, probably asleep in Zach’s crossbody bag, his default travel mode. My parents were there; my dad, Jari, dabbed his eyes behind his sunglasses, while my mo

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    It had been just over a month since Jane was handed a restraining order and quietly admitted to McLean Hospital for a three-month inpatient mental health hold. Publicly, she was on a “wellness sabbatical” in St. Barts. Privately, the world was a whole lot quieter. No cryptic posts. No flowers. No flickers of her shadow on security footage. It should’ve felt like peace. But now, with Christmas looming and snow caking the windows of the train bound for Boston, I was chewing the inside of my cheek like it owed me money. “Relax,” Ofelia murmured, fingers brushing against mine. “We don’t have to stay the whole time. A day and a half. Max.” She sounded calm. But I could feel the tension in her body, the way she kept smoothing the leg of her jeans like they were going to wrinkle just from existing. The backpack carriers helped. Mochi was curled inside mine, fast asleep, tail tucked to his chin, while Spitfire rode in Ofelia’s, eyes sharp and unimpressed, watching the train’s aisle like sh

  • The Purrfect Wingman   Chapter 42 - Spitfire

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  • The Purrfect Wingman   Chapter 41 - Ofelia

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  • The Purrfect Wingman   Chapter 40 - Zach

    I didn’t expect her to say it back. Not because I didn’t think she felt it, but because I knew how heavy those words could be when they came from her. Ofelia didn’t give anything lightly, not her trust, not her time, and definitely not her heart. So when I said, “I love you,” and she didn’t hesitate? Yeah. That did something to me. We were half-buried in a blanket, kittens snoring on our legs and chest like we were glorified heating pads, and she just looked at me, sleepy and soft and sure. “I love you, too,” Ofelia said. That was it. No dramatic swell. No surge of panic or doubt. Just peace. I let my eyes close not long after that. The world didn’t end. Nothing broke. If anything, the quiet steadied me more than a kiss ever could. She stayed curled into my side, and for the first time in too long, I didn’t dream about fire or sirens or people I couldn’t save. I dreamt of her. In the morning, I slipped out as gently as I could. Ofelia was still asleep, hair tangled, mouth sligh

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