Chapter 27 Making Her Confess First
Nathan could practically feel the heat radiating off Chloe whenever she was near.
It was reminiscent of how she used to beg him to explain math problems when they were kids—only now, the tension was entirely different. She constantly sought excuses to touch him. She would casually brush his hand, tug at the hem of his shirt, or let her shoulder press against his on the subway.
Lying in his dorm bed at night, Nathan would often catch himself staring at the ceiling, smiling in the dark.
But Nathan was nothing if not meticulous. He had spent hours analyzing the romantic leads in the movies she obsessed over, realizing she had a clear weakness for the shy, reserved, brooding type.
So, he played the part. Whenever she made a physical advance, he would pull back just slightly—denying her the immediate gratification, waiting for her enthusiasm to peak and falter before he took the initiative again. He kept her at a perfectly calculated distance, watching with dark, quiet satisfaction as she lit up for him, agonized over him, and became utterly captivated by him.
A year passed like this. Nathan calculated that she should have confessed her feelings by now, but she still hadn’t made a definitive move.
Every day, she would just stare at him with those wide, longing eyes, doing everything short of actually saying the words.
Nathan decided to force her hand.
On his eighteenth birthday, he invited his roommates out to dinner and deliberately drank himself into a stupor. His roommates, well aware of the scheme, made quick excuses to leave, leaving a "blacked-out" Nathan entirely in Chloe’s care.
At 6'2" and a solid 187 pounds of muscle, Nathan had figured there was absolutely no way Chloe could physically lift him. He had intentionally booked a restaurant a mere twenty yards from a nice hotel, assuming that Chloe—who loved being close to him—would take the easy way out and simply book them a room to sleep it off.
He was wrong.
Fueled by sheer panic and adrenaline, Chloe somehow managed to haul his dead weight out of the restaurant and violently shove him into the back of a taxi.
During the ride, his head banged against the doorframe and the window countless times. Because he was playing dead drunk, he couldn’t even cry out in pain; he just had to grit his teeth and endure the concussion.
When the cab reached his campus, she practically dragged him by the collar all the way up to his dorm room.
When she kicked the door open, his roommates—who had rushed back early to see the aftermath—stared at her in absolute shock.
Chloe looked equally surprised, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her forehead. "Didn't you guys have plans? Why are you here?"
"We, uh... forgot something," one roommate stammered.
"Oh my god! I should have made you carry him! He weighs a ton!" Chloe panted, using the last of her strength to violently fling Nathan onto the nearest mattress. With a dismissive, exhausted wave, she turned on her heel and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Nathan slowly sat up on the bed, his hair an absolute mess, looking thoroughly murderous. His roommates stuffed their fists into their mouths to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter.
Now Nathan knew: Chloe was incredibly timid. She loved the idea of a relationship, but when pushed to take the ultimate initiative, she panicked and ran.
He spent the entire night rubbing his bruised head, formulating a much more ruthless plan.
Jealousy.
Over the next few weeks, he deliberately let love letters peek out of his backpack when she was around. He answered calls from female admirers right in front of her. Right before winter break, he pretended to accept a Christmas date with a beautiful girl from his lab.
The day after Christmas, Chloe showed up at his dorm with massive dark circles under her eyes, her voice trembling as she asked how his date went.
Nathan didn't even look up from his textbook. "I didn't go. I decided to study in the library instead."
Seeing the physical wave of relief wash over Chloe's face made a dark, triumphant thrill bloom in his chest.
He refused to believe she could hold out much longer.
Sure enough, on Valentine's Day evening, Chloe nervously asked him to meet her by the campus lake.
Before heading out, Nathan meticulously styled his hair and put on a specific, crisp white button-down shirt. He knew she had a severe weakness for that shirt; whenever he wore it, she couldn’t keep her eyes—or her hands—off his arms.
He strolled leisurely to the meeting spot, exuding a calm, untouchable grace.
Just as he had engineered, Chloe finally confessed.
Watching her stammer and blush, Nathan felt a surge of absolute delight. He intentionally let the silence stretch, teasing her by saying he "wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship right now."
He had wanted her for years. Every single thing he had done for the past twenty-four months had been dedicated entirely to trapping her.
But when he saw her face fall—saw the crushed, determined heartbreak in her eyes—his chest instantly tightened. Terrified that if he pushed her too far she might actually give up and never speak to him again, he reached out and caught her wrist.
He pulled her into his space, his voice dropping into a low, intimate murmur. "Alright. If it's you... I'll consider it."
Chloe's eyes lit up like fireworks. Nathan smiled, his thumb brushing over her pulse point.
After years of planning, he finally had her. He seamlessly laced his fingers through hers, exactly where they belonged.
Later, during their marriage, whenever Chloe would proudly brag about how hard she had worked to chase him down and win him over, Nathan would just chuckle and kiss the top of her head.
Silly girl, he would think. I was the one who made you chase me. If I hadn’t already been completely obsessed with you, you never would have caught me.
But that was the past.
In the present, Nathan seemed to vanish from Chloe's life completely.
He stopped waiting for her in the lobby. He stopped arranging the Bentley to pick her up. He no longer appeared in her kitchen to cook her dinner.
It was as if her brutal speech in the apartment had truly severed the invisible thread keeping them tethered together. He had obeyed her. He had returned to his own world, leaving her to struggle in the freezing reality of a life without him.
To survive the deafening silence of the apartment, Chloe drowned herself in work.
Her latest perfume ad design underwent relentless, agonizing revisions from a demanding client. After the fourteenth round of nonsensical changes, Michael finally walked over to her desk and dropped a folder on her keyboard.
"Just leave it," Michael ordered flatly. "These people are impossible. Once the launch date hits, they’ll have to use whatever we give them, even if it’s a blank piece of paper with a sharpie smiley face."
Chloe listened to him and stopped revising.
Sure enough, within a week, the deadline panic set in and the client hastily approved her original, unedited design.
A fortnight later, Chloe’s ads were plastered across department stores, subway stations, and bus stops throughout the city. She spent an entire Saturday riding the bus route just to look at them, her chest finally brimming with a small, desperate sense of accomplishment.
When she returned to the office on Monday, Michael completely dismissed her minor victory. But as he packed up his briefcase to leave, he paused and looked over the cubicle partition.
"By the way, Chloe."
She looked up.
"I haven't seen Mr. Archer waiting in the lobby to pick you up lately."
Chloe didn't miss a beat. "And I haven't seen your dad dropping off greasy steaks lately, either."
Michael froze. He stared at her for a long second, the ghost of a bitter, cynical smile touching his lips. He nodded once. "Point taken."
What else was there to say? They were both experts at breaking the things that mattered to them.
Though Michael genuinely cared about Nathan, he knew better than to pry into the man's private agony. He picked up his briefcase and headed out to scout a filming location.
The agency had a new campaign that required authentic campus scenes, and Michael had pulled a favor with an old friend who worked in administration at an elite Chicago high school. He didn't strictly need to scout it in person, but getting clearance for commercial shoots on school grounds was a nightmare these days; he figured he should go express his gratitude directly.
By the time Michael pulled his car up to the prestigious academy's gates at 5:30 p.m., the final bell had long since rung. The sprawling, ivy-covered campus was eerily quiet in the fading winter light.
After registering at the security desk, he walked toward the main academic building, where his friend was waiting by the heavy oak doors.
"Michael."
"Randy." Michael quickened his pace, shaking the man’s hand firmly. "You’ve been a ghost since the wedding. How have you been?"
"Ever since Melissa had the baby, I’ve been rushing home every single day to sterilize bottles and wash tiny socks," Randy sighed, though his eyes crinkled with warmth. "I’m too exhausted to go out. I’m not like you, living that ruthless, carefree bachelor life."
"Sounds like you regret it," Michael deadpanned, reaching into his coat pocket. "I’ll call your wife right now and tell her to cut you loose."
"Don't you dare," Randy laughed, batting his hand away. "Come on. Let me show you the courtyard so I can file the paperwork and go home."
"Let me take you out to dinner tonight. My treat," Michael offered as they walked down the echoing halls.
"No need. Besides, if I'm even five minutes late for dinner, Melissa will legitimately murder me."
"I thought you'd offer to have Melissa cook for me," Michael teased.
"Are you insane? She just pushed a human being out of her body. If I invited my bossy corporate friend over and asked her to cook, I'd be sleeping on the lawn."
Michael laughed heartily. Despite Randy's constant complaining, the absolute, unshakeable contentment in the man’s voice was obvious. It was the kind of domestic warmth Michael hadn't felt in twenty-three years.
As they walked out the rear doors toward the athletic fields, a small group of boys came clattering down the stone staircase.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Wright," the teenagers chorused politely as they passed.
"Why are you guys still on campus? Go home and eat dinner," Randy scolded playfully, adopting his stern administrator voice.
"Got it, sir!" The boys scattered in a flurry of backpacks and laughter.
But Michael didn't laugh. He stopped completely dead in his tracks.
His sharp gaze locked onto a single, tall boy lingering at the back of the group. The aristocratic posture, the dark, intelligent eyes, the familiar, quiet reserve.
Mason.