Chapter 106 Chapter 106
Every drawer had something. Michelle found the first photo of me and Zaiel together; I guess Zaiel had taken it of me.
I found Andrew and Damon staring at my picture that Zaiel had enlarged. They turned and looked at Him as He walked past.
“What?” he asked, looking at them. They turned back towards the picture and then at him.
“Leave him alone,” Dahlia said, smacking her brother in the head.
The bedroom took the longest. There was another picture in there; we took our time. There were two apartments to pack up; it wouldn't be an easy task. He kissed my hair once and then went right back to directing traffic like a general with a clipboard.
By mid-morning the place sounded hollow. Shea noticed first.
“You good?” she asked softly near the kitchen.
“I am,” I said. “Just weird.”
“Good weird or sad weird?” she asked.
“Both weird,” I said with a laugh. She squeezed my hand. “New chapters always feel like theft at first,” she said.
“That was deep for someone holding bubble wrap.”
“I contain layers,” she said with a flair.
“You contain sugar.”
“Also true,” she said with a laugh.
Loading took forever even with help. Damon treated every box like a gym challenge. Kevin narrated everything like a sports match. Andrew quietly solved problems before anyone asked. Michelle updated lists like mission control. Daliah kept feeding people between lifts.
At one point Zaiel and Damon tried to carry the same oversized crate without speaking and nearly took out a wall.
“Use words!” I yelled.
“We were using strength,” Damon said.
“That’s not a language,” I yelled back.
The drive to the estate happened in convoy-style trucks and cars, with noise, music, and the group chat blowing up even though we were ten feet apart. When the gates opened, everyone went quiet. Even Damon.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Yeah. This is rich-people rich.”
I laughed. “They were thy rich people.”
“I’m saying it exactly like that.”
Shea leaned forward between the seats. “I’m claiming a guest room now.”
“You’re not moving in,” Zaiel said.
“We’ll see.”
Unloading round two started immediately. The house swallowed sound. Big spaces always did. Footsteps traveled. Voices bounced.
“Library boxes LEFT WING,” I called.
“Kitchen center,” Michelle echoed.
Zaiel’s security team was already there installing panels and cameras like ghosts in black uniforms. Quiet. Fast. Serious. Damon watched them. “I feel like I should behave better.”
“You should,” Zaiel said.
“I won’t, but I should,” he retorted.
My favorite moment came stupidly simple. Dad’s gardening crates arrived. I stopped everything and directed them personally. Soil kits. Tools. Seed boxes. I had them placed near the back sunroom. Zaiel watched me like it mattered more than the furniture.
“It does matter,” I told him.
“I know, you missed a lot with him; you’ll have time to catch up now,” he said.
By late afternoon everyone was sweaty, loud, and starving. We sat on the kitchen floor eating from Daliah’s containers because the table hadn’t arrived yet.
“This is the official first meal,” Shea declared.
“On tile,” Kevin added.
“Luxury tile,” Damon said.
I leaned against Zaiel’s shoulder and looked around at the mess boxes, laughter, and half-built rooms. It felt alive already.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“I am,” I said. “I really am.”
And this time I meant it fully. Outside, the sun dropped behind the trees. Inside, our people filled the house with noise and heat and movement. Moving day wasn’t gentle. But it was right.
Zaiel
The house sounded different once it was lived in; the noise changed shape. Footsteps had rhythm. Doors opened without echoing. Morning came with real sounds: kettle clicks, distant gardening tools, cabinet doors, and someone laughing somewhere down the hall.
Arthur had been there two weeks and already claimed the soil like it answered to him. I watched him from the office window that morning, sleeves rolled, hands in the dirt, fully at peace. Men like him didn’t pretend at quiet; they earned it. Tessa was standing beside me with a mug in both hands.
“He is happy,” she said softly.
“I knew he would be.”
“And that is all I ever wanted for him,” she said.
She turned her head and looked at me. She smiled and leaned into my arm. I rested my hand at the back of her neck without thinking. The wedding week was starting in four days.
The house had been loud all week in the best way. People came and went, planners laughed in the halls, and my mother and aunts argued about flowers like it was a global crisis. Nobody locked anything down; normally I would, but now, with Tessa, I just let it go for her happiness. Besides, there was security. When my family loved something, we celebrated it out loud.
I trusted them. Always had, I didn’t need to watch every detail because they handled things like a unit. Efficient. Sharp. Calm.
And Tessa, she moved through all of it like sunlight through glass. No pressure sticking to her, no panic, just that steady warmth she carried everywhere. She stood beside me with her mug, her shoulder brushing mine.
“You’re watching everything,” she said.
“I was admiring the chaos,” I answered.
“You’re tense.” she said
“I was thinking.”
“You won’t admit you’re nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous.”
She laughed into her mug. “You were lying.”
I looked down at her. “I was excited.”
“Same thing in your language.”
Yeah. She wasn’t wrong. Nights got quieter the closer the wedding came. Not just socially, but emotionally. Big events pulled people inward before they stepped forward. I saw it in her first. She moved softer. Thought longer before speaking.
That night the house slept early. Arthur turned in after dinner. Staff cleared out. Security rotated perimeter shifts. The halls dimmed to low gold. She came into my office barefoot, wearing one of my shirts, with her hair loose down her back.
“You’re still working,” she said.
“I was finishing.”
“You were avoiding sleep.”
“Also true.”
She walked behind my chair and slid her fingers into my hair, slow and gentle, claiming without asking. My eyes closed for half a second.
“You’re overloaded,” she murmured.
“I am fine.”
“You’re not,” she said.
I turned and pulled her into my lap. My voice dropped. “You were diagnosing me?”
“Yes.”
“Your treatment plan?”
“Come to bed.”
I studied her face. No makeup, just her.
“Effective,” I said.
She smiled small. Victory smile.
Our bedroom in the house felt different bigger, yes, but warmer. Windows open to trees. She stood by the bed watching me loosen my cuffs like it was a ritual. Sometimes I wondered what she saw when she looked at me: threat, safety, or both.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“You’re mine, so I can stare as much as I want,” she said.
Possession from her mouth hits different. I crossed the space between us slowly, on purpose. My hand slid along her waist, and her breath changed. I lowered my forehead to hers.
“You’ve been thinking too much lately,” I said quietly.
“Can’t help it.” She said with a sigh,
“Then let me change that.”