Chapter 8: The Other Blue

Zade’s office looked more like a private museum than a workspace. Quiet. Grand. Too perfect to touch.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls stretched across the room, revealing the dull, exhausted sky of Washington. A messy mix of sleet and snow streaked across the treetops like someone was trying to erase the whole forest with one aggressive swipe.

I sat on a massive leather couch that, for some reason, felt more comfortable than my actual bed. A fleece blanket draped across my lap, a slice of cold pizza in one hand, and an old ‘90s movie playing softly on a screen the size of hell’s front gate.

Zade was downstairs in a meeting, probably leading a pack of expensive ties with egos bigger than their offshore accounts. Or maybe he was on a single call that would quietly end someone’s future.

Who knew. My husband was nothing if not versatile.

I reached into the pizza box on the coffee table, not because I was hungry but because I needed to chew something. Or crush it. Either worked.

My eyes drifted back to the window. Fog curled over the treetops like bad news still deciding where to land. And somehow, Darius’s face crept into my mind—like some corrupted file my system forgot to delete.

Darius. Rhys. The monster from my past in a new suit and a smile polished with revenge.

And the worst part? I felt nothing.

Not because I didn’t try. I waited for the panic, the chaos, even one damn pulse spike to remind me that I once loved that man like my life depended on it.

But there was nothing.

No rage. No longing. Not even a flicker. Just silence. Like a TV on mute, left running all night in an empty room.

And that should’ve scared me, right? The fact that I could sit here, remembering the man who once made me cry until I threw up… and now his face couldn’t even make me blink.

I took a sip of soda. It tasted more bitter than usual.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be that orphan girl in a crowded group home in Bahia, Brazil. Starved for love, quick to fall, too desperate to believe a tight hug meant safety. I used to beg to be seen. I used to pray someone would choose me.

Darius was the first one who did.

And also the first to teach me that being seen wasn’t the same as being owned.

He liked knowing where I was. Who I was with. What time I ate. When I slept. He liked my hand clinging to his arm—not because it was romantic, but because if I didn’t, he’d ask why not.

Back then, I thought that was love. Turns out, it was surveillance dressed up as affection.

Zade’s different. He’s not the guy who checks your location. He’s the guy who’ll map the whole city and kill anyone who tries to hurt you—but still let you leave if that’s what you want.

Ironically, that’s the part that made me stay.

I sighed and set the pizza down in my lap. Ever since “Rhys” showed up, I thought I’d be a mess. But it’s been the opposite. Everything feels… calm. Like the storm already passed, and all that’s left is the rubble of my own foolish youth.

I glanced toward the door, hoping to hear Zade’s footsteps. Instead, the room answered with nothing but its own expensive silence.

He gave me space, and somehow that made me realize… I didn’t need anyone to feel whole anymore.

Turns out, belonging to someone doesn’t mean losing yourself.

And with Zade… I never felt lost.

//

Outside, the sky had started to darken. The lights from the distant buildings shimmered through the glass like tiny wounds scattered across the city’s skin. I was still on the couch, caught somewhere between lazy and existential, when I heard it.

Zade’s footsteps.

His walk always sounded like he knew the world spun just for him.

The couch dipped slightly when he sat down. He didn’t touch me right away, just leaned back like he had all the time in the world—long limbs, expensive cologne, and that calm, dangerous kind of presence that made me forget I ever had trauma related to men.

"Pizza without me," he said quietly.

I didn’t answer. Just lifted the last slice and took a slow bite, still staring out the window like maybe my answers were hiding behind those trees. But there was nothing out there. Just snow and fog and maybe a deer regretting its life choices in Washington.

From the corner of my eye, I caught him watching me. A small smile tugged at his mouth. Not the kind of smile I used to see. Back then, it always felt like a taunt—sharp, like he took quiet pleasure in the fact that I had nowhere to run. Back then... during our first year of marriage, he was cold. Not cold like distance. Cold like polar ice. One sentence from him could make me want to throw a plate, and one look could make me feel like a prisoner on a contract.

"You should be grateful I haven’t thrown this couch out the window for the crime of having pizza on it," I muttered, half joking, half poking the bear.

Zade let out a low chuckle. "That’s only because you’d throw me out first."

Now I turned to face him. That face—too symmetrical for God to be forgiven for. The sharp jaw, the lazy stubble I knew existed only because he couldn’t be bothered to shave, those icy blue eyes that used to cut too deep. But tonight, they were soft.

I remembered our first year. He was a wall. Not just cold—passive-aggressive. He used to pretend I didn’t exist in a room unless I spoke more than two sentences. We exchanged barbs like sitcom characters trapped in the wrong script.

I once threw a spoon at him just because he said I chopped onions too slowly.

And he just caught it. Told me I was slicing emotions slower than the onions.

Asshole.

But now… he was here. Sitting next to me, shoulder brushing mine, and I didn’t feel trapped. I didn’t feel guarded. I didn’t feel like I had to shrink myself to avoid setting him off, the way I used to with Darius.

Zade—the man I once thought would be my prison—somehow became the one thing I started to look forward to.

"You look like you’re murdering someone in your head," he said lightly, brushing my hair with his fingers before letting it fall.

"I’m thinking. Don’t interrupt, Wrath of God," I mumbled.

He was quiet for a beat. "Am I in there too?"

I gave him a side-eye, rolled mine. "I’m mostly wondering who taught you to flirt at thirty. You should ask for a refund."

Zade laughed under his breath. Then he leaned in a little, slow and casual, like a man who knew he’d be waited on forever. His arm draped over the back of the couch, settling behind me in a way that didn’t look like a hug… but felt like one. I felt him. The weight of him. His presence. His quiet protection.

And strangely, I didn’t want to move.

I used to be afraid of him. Now I was afraid of losing him.

Great. Since when did I get this soft?

He pressed a kiss to my temple. Warm. Silent. Asking for nothing. And without meaning to, I leaned into him.