All Chapters of 37 Times You Called My Name : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Mia POVThe final secret hung between us like a storm cloud as we drove back to the penthouse. Ryder’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I hadn’t pressed him in the car, but the message burned in my mind: *Ask him about the night you left Lakewood.* Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make the powerful man beside me look truly afraid.We sat on the couch in silence when we got home. He poured us both water, then finally spoke.“The night you left,” he started, voice low. “After the hallway incident. I followed you home. I sat outside your house for hours, watching your window. I was going to apologize. I was going to tell you the truth — that I was obsessed, that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But then I saw your mother crying inside. I heard her telling you to pack. To leave because of what I did.”He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t knock. I didn’t stop you. I let you leave because I thought it was better for you. But I also made sure y

Mia POVThe trust fund message wouldn’t leave me alone. I stared at my phone in the dark of Ryder’s bedroom, his arm heavy across my waist, while the words burned in my mind: *The child was only the beginning. There’s more. Ask him about the trust fund he set up in your name the day you left.* Another secret. Another layer of control I hadn’t known about. The drama of our love kept peeling back, revealing wounds I thought had healed.I slipped out of bed at dawn, making coffee in the kitchen while Ryder slept. When he found me there an hour later, hair messy and eyes concerned, I showed him the message without a word. He read it and sat down heavily at the island, running a hand through his hair.“I set it up the day you left,” he admitted. “A trust fund with enough money to give you options. I told myself it was guilt money. But it was also a way to keep you connected to me. I never told you because I knew you’d see it as control. Which it was.”The confession hurt, but it didn’t su

Mia POVThe morning after the press conference felt like the first real breath we had taken in months. Sunlight streamed through the penthouse windows as I woke up tangled in Ryder’s arms, his body warm and solid against mine. For the first time since the threats began, there was no immediate danger waiting in my phone. No new messages. No shadows from the past clawing at us. Just us, and the quiet promise we had made to face whatever came next together.Ryder stirred beside me, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder. “Morning,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. “No more secrets. No more distance.”I turned in his arms and kissed him properly, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that rebuilt everything we had almost lost. The slowed romance had served its purpose — it had forced us to see each other clearly, without the fire consuming us. But now, with the threats finally buried, the passion was returning stronger than before. We made love that morning with a new tenderness, every

Mia POVThe garden at my mother’s new house had become my favorite place in the entire world. The roses climbed the trellis Ryder had built with his own hands during one of his careful visits, their blooms heavy and fragrant with the full force of summer. I spent most mornings there with her, my hands deep in the rich soil, talking about everything and nothing at all. The final secrets had been laid bare weeks ago, and somehow the truth — as painful as it had been — had freed us instead of destroying us completely. The drama that had nearly broken everything we had fought so hard to rebuild had finally quieted, leaving behind a fragile but growing space for real healing.This morning my mother was stronger than I had seen her in months. She sat in her favorite wooden chair under the shade of the old oak tree, watching me prune the climbing roses with steady, careful hands. Her color was better. Her eyes were clearer. The garden seemed to give her life in a way the hospital rooms nev

Mia POVRoses climbed the trellis Ryder had built with his own hands during one of his careful visits, their blooms heavy and fragrant with the full force of summer. I spent most mornings there with her, my hands deep in the rich soil, talking about everything and nothing at all. The final secrets had been laid bare weeks ago, and somehow the truth — as painful as it had been — had freed us instead of destroying us completely. The drama that had nearly broken everything we had fought so hard to rebuild had finally quieted, leaving behind a fragile but growing space for real healing.This morning my mother was stronger than I had seen her in a very long time. She sat in her favorite wooden chair under the shade of the old oak tree, watching me prune the climbing roses with steady, careful hands. Her color was better. Her eyes were clearer. The garden seemed to give her life in a way the hospital rooms never could.“You look different these days,” she said softly, her voice carrying th