บททั้งหมดของ Your Dad's Perfect: บทที่ 271 - บทที่ 280

IzzyI wake with Zade’s arms wrapped securely around me, his warmth chasing away the remnants of sleep. Earlier, when he woke me, he looked lighter somehow, like the weight of the world had shifted just slightly. But now, worry knots in my stomach—did he drink? Take something to dull the edge?I crack my eyes open to see him sitting upright, his phone glowing softly in the dim light. His expression is focused, intent. It’s his personal phone, not the business one. I’ve come to learn the difference over the months of being with him. Whatever he’s doing, it holds his full attention.Pushing myself up, I move onto his lap, needing to feel the connection between us. He looks up, his lips curling into a small smile as his hands instinctively settle on my hips.“What time are we leaving?” he asks, his voice warm but a little distant, like his mind is still tangled in whatever task held him moments before.I shrug, leaning in closer, letting a playful grin dance across my lips. “Anytime afte

IzzyThe drive has been quiet, not in a tense way, but calm, almost soothing. Still, after an hour, I’m bored out of my mind. The hum of the road and the monotony of the scenery are lulling me into a near trance. My fingers tap idly against the doorframe, the rhythm unsteady as I try to shake off the restlessness creeping in. Zade glances at me, his lips twitching into a small smirk.“You should’ve prepared for the drive, Izzy,” he mutters, his tone teasing but warm.“Oh, I’m plenty prepared,” I reply, grinning as I turn toward him. “In fact, I think I’ve got just the thing to pass the time.”His brow arches slightly in curiosity as I reach over and grab his hand. He’s confused for a moment until I guide his palm to my thigh, sliding it higher, until it brushes against bare skin.“Izzy,” he says, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. “What are you doing?”“Nothing. Or maybe something,” I reply, giving him a sly wink. “Why don’t you slide your hand a little further and find out?”His finger

ZadeI leave the house and drive aimlessly, my thoughts swirling until I find myself pulling into the parking lot of a small café. It’s tucked away, quiet enough for me to blend into the background. Grabbing a seat in the far corner, I dial the number I’ve been dreading. My heart beats louder than I’d like to admit as the line connects, and the voice on the other end greets me.I don’t want to do this. Hell, I’ve never wanted to do this. Therapy, counseling, whatever name they give it, I’ve always dismissed it as pointless. Something for the weak. Something for people who can’t handle their own shit. And if I’m being brutally honest, I’ve always associated it with women. Women cry. Women talk. Men drink, fight, bury their problems. That’s what I’ve told myself for years.But now? Sitting here, staring at the worn wood of the table, I feel the weight of those lies pressing down on me. Maybe it wasn’t a belief so much as an excuse—a wall I built to avoid ever having to face my own refle

Zade POVThe room feels like it’s closing in on me, the coppery scent of blood suffocating, clawing its way down my throat. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help—if anything, it makes it worse. The images come flooding back, vivid and unrelenting. Blood. So much blood. It’s on my hands, on the floor, in my mind. My breathing grows shallow, and I struggle to push it all down, to shove it into that dark corner where I’ve buried everything else.I hear the knock at the door, sharp and urgent, but it sounds distant, like I’m underwater. My legs move without thinking, carrying me to unlock it. I know who it is. Grayson. It’s always the same knock.I step back as he pushes through the door, his eyes scanning me, then landing on the carnage. His expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “What the fuck happened?” he demands, shoving past me.Behind him, Joel and the others follow. Their faces flicker with unease before they mask it, but I can see it. I can feel it. The air is heavy with judgment,

ZadeThe tension is unbearable as we sit in silence. The weight of what just happened, of where I found her, hangs heavy between us. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s staring at her lap, twisting her fingers together. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, and the sight of her breaks something inside me. I can’t do this—can’t let this go unresolved.I take a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Let’s talk inside,” I say quietly, forcing my voice to remain calm. She doesn’t respond, just nods and climbs out of the car.Once we’re inside, she moves to the couch and perches on the edge, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold herself together. I stand across the room, pacing, unable to sit. My thoughts are a fucking mess. How do I even begin to approach this?“Why didn’t you tell me, Izzy?” I finally ask, my voice rough with emotion. “Why didn’t you think I deserved to know?”She looks up at me, her eyes red and swollen. “Because I was trying to pr