Semua Bab Beneath His Ice: Bab 61 - Bab 70

The silence stretched, loaded with tension and possibility. I was acutely aware of everything — the way the lamplight played across his features, the way my pulse was beating so loudly in my ears it almost drowned out rational thought.My pulse was so loud in my ears it almost drowned out everything else.Then his voice dropped, quieter but no less certain. "You stay late when I'm gone."It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Sometimes. It's easier to focus without… distractions."The word hung between us, loaded with meaning. We both knew I wasn't talking about phone calls or meetings or any of the usual office interruptions.Something flickered in his expression — there and gone too quickly for me to name. Satisfaction, maybe. Or vindication. "And am I a distraction, Emery?"The way he said my name — no title, no formal edge — made something twist low in my stomach.It was such a small thing, the absence of "Miss Quinn," but it felt monumental. Like a wall coming down, like s

The words were quiet but certain, and for a moment, the tension in my shoulders loosened slightly, the knot of anxiety in my chest easing just enough for me to draw a full breath. He knew I'd just been trying to help. He knew his reaction had been… more than it needed to be. There was genuine remorse in his voice, real regret in the way he was looking at me now, like he was seeing the hurt he'd caused reflected in my eyes.But I didn't point it out, didn't voice the obvious observation that his response had been disproportionate to my gesture, that pulling away from someone trying to help was the kind of thing that required explanation.I let it go. Not because it was okay, not because I wasn't hurt or confused or suddenly uncertain about what was happening between us, but because I could still see that storm in his eyes, could feel the electricity crackling in the air around him, and the last thing I wanted was to feed it. The last thing either of us needed was for whatever was clawi

One corner of his mouth tilted — not in amusement. It was the kind of expression that made my chest tighten, the kind that suggested I'd said something particularly naive. Like watching a child insist that monsters don't exist while standing in a room full of them. His next breath came out as a scoff, short and sharp. "Yeah. But make sure to discuss personal life."The sarcasm slid under my skin before I could block it.There it was. The jab.A quiet reminder that I'd been digging into things he didn't want discussed. Family things. Private things. The questions I'd asked about relationships, about history, about the careful way he and Zayn moved around each other like dancers who knew all the steps but had forgotten how to enjoy the music.Every casual inquiry I'd made suddenly felt calculated in retrospect. Every seemingly innocent question about his background, his family, his past. I'd thought I was just making conversation, building rapport, getting to know the people I worked wi

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water — no drama, no raised voice, no theatrical pause for effect. Just simple, devastating truth delivered in the same tone he might use to comment on the weather. But with enough weight to send ripples through everything I thought I knew.For a second, my mind refused to catch up. The information bounced off some protective barrier in my consciousness, too big and strange to process immediately. Half-brother. Brothers. Family.It made sense, in the way that missing puzzle pieces make sense when they finally click into place. The familiarity between them that had always felt charged with history. The way they moved around each other like dancers who knew all the steps but had forgotten how to hear the music. The careful distance they maintained, as if getting too close might result in some kind of explosion.And at the same time, it made everything far more complicated.He didn't stop there. "We ha

His eyes didn't match his voice. They never did when he was lying to himself. I could still see it there, that sliver of care he was desperate to smother, buried beneath layers of cynicism and carefully constructed indifference. As if admitting that Zayn's betrayal had hurt him would undo the years he'd spent hardening against it, would crack open the armor he'd built around his heart and leave him vulnerable all over again.And for some reason, watching him lie like that — watching him try to convince himself as much as me — didn't make me angry. It didn't make me want to challenge him or push him to be more honest or point out the obvious contradictions between what he was saying and what I could see written across his features.It just made me tired for him. Because carrying that much weight and pretending it's weightless has to be exhausting. Because spending years convincing yourself you don't care about someone who shaped your understanding of love and family