186

186
“I’m not coming over tonight, Derek,” she said, her voice steady but quiet. She offered no more explanation, because she didn't want to lie to him. 

The silence that followed was absolute. It wasn't just a pause; it was a void. Derek stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen, his hand tightening around the phone until his knuckles went white. He was a smart man—too smart to fall for an excuse about a late meeting or a headache. He knew exactly what this was. This was Olivia retreating into her shell. This was the wall going back up, brick by brick.

He let the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable. “Alright, Liv,” he said finally. His voice was flat, stripped of the warmth it had held seconds ago, an acknowledgment of the distance she’d just put between them. “I'm glad you're okay. Goodnight.”

He didn't wait for her to respond. He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the counter, the plastic cover clattering against the marble. The loft was quiet again, but the peace was gone.

—--------

He gave her three days. 

Derek had spent those three days in a state of controlled agitation. He’d tried to be the man who gave her space, the man who understood the weight of a big decision, but by the third day, the silence in the loft had become too much for him. He was used to having her around a lot now, and those three days without her around or speaking to her felt like torture. 

He didn't go home after work. He couldn't. Instead, he found himself parked outside her building, his grip on the steering wheel tight. It was obvious that she was avoiding him, and that didn't sit right with him. As far as he was concerned, he'd given her enough space to think about it, and he wasn't about to let her push him away again. He wasn't going back to that hell hole. 

Inside, Olivia had just stepped out of the shower, the bathroom still clouded with the scent of her soap. When the knock came, it was sharp—three rhythmic, heavy raps that she felt in her marrow. She didn't even need to check or ask who it was when she heard it. Three days had passed since Derek dropped the ‘let's live together’ bomb on her, and after the surprise had faded, worry had taken its place.

She'd known it wouldn't take long before he showed up, but that didn't stop her heart from doing a frantic, uneven dance against her ribs as she pulled her robe tight, knotting the belt with trembling fingers. She opened the door, and there he was. He didn't look angry, but he didn't look pleased either. He stood in the hallway, his shoulders broad and blocking out the light, his expression a mask of hardened patience that was clearly about to crack.

“Hi, Derek,” she said, her voice sounding breathless to her own ears. She stepped back, an unspoken invitation to come imside, and he took it.

He stepped inside, the heavy click of the door closing behind him sounding like a gavel. His gaze was a physical weight, drifting slowly from her damp hair to the way she was clutching the lapels of her robe, before finally anchoring on her eyes. He looked like a man who was done being patient.

“It’s been three days,” he said. He didn't return her greeting or offer a polite preamble. “I was starting to wonder when you were coming home, Liv.”

The word ‘home’ was the spark that hit the powder keg. Olivia felt her jaw tighten, her defensive walls rising in an instant. “I am home, Derek,” she said, her voice firmer now as she met his gaze, refusing to blink. “This is where I live.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He took a step closer, and the air in the room seemed to charge with static. “Is that your way of telling me something?” he asked, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that usually meant trouble. He stopped a few feet from her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to keep himself from reaching out. “Is that your way of telling me you don’t want to come live with me?” 

The air in the room grew heavy, the kind of stillness that preceded a catastrophic storm. The question was a challenge, a raw admission of the insecurity she’d triggered by staying away. Olivia saw the muscle in Derek’s jaw tick—a clear sign that her words had landed like a physical blow. She realized then that she was walking a razor’s edge; one wrong step and the fragile peace they had spent so much time building would shatter.

She didn't want to hurt him. She truly didn't, and she didn't want to fight either. “Derek, I don't think moving in together is the right step for us,” she said, her voice soft but resolute.

The silence that followed was deafening. Derek didn’t move. He stood like a statue carved from shadow, his gaze boring into hers with an intensity that made her want to look away. But she held it. She owed him that much.

“Mind if I ask why?” he asked finally. His voice was frighteningly calm—the kind of calm that signaled a man holding back a tidal wave of emotion. “I thought things had been going pretty well between us lately. Or was I the only one living in that reality?”

“They have,” Olivia countered quickly, her heart aching at the bitterness in his tone. “It’s been perfect, Derek. It really has. And that’s exactly why I don't want to ruin it.”

“And how, exactly, would moving in with me ruin things?” He took a slow step forward, his shadow stretching across the floor. “Most people see it as making things better,”

Olivia didn't answer immediately. She turned and walked further into the sitting room, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin. She felt his eyes on her back, a constant, burning presence. She sat down on her sofa, the familiar cushions offering a small measure of comfort. As she crossed her legs, the robe slipped, exposing the long, creamy curve of her thigh.

Derek’s gaze dropped, his pupils blowing wide for a fraction of a second before he jerked his eyes away, his throat working as he swallowed hard. The familiar raw attraction buzzed between them like high-voltage wires, but right now, it wasn't enough to bridge the gap.

“Sit down, Derek,” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “Please.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to stand,” he replied, his voice clipping the end of the sentence. He remained rooted in the center of the room, looking like a man ready to defend himself or strike back.

Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers knotting together in her lap. “Alright then. If you want the truth, here it is: I don't think it's a good idea because we've sorta had this conversation before,”

She looked up at him, her eyes searchingly honest, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.

“And when we did, you didn't seem very thrilled about it,”