CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER 195: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

~Evric’s POV~

I took the stairs two at a time, the residual annoyance from my brothers fading instantly. The moment I entered the room, Zayn was already turning, his arms open.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice soft and husky.

I smiled, moving quickly to the bed. I didn’t get beside him; instead, I gently climbed right on top of him, settling my weight onto his chest. He was warm and solid beneath me. As I rested there, he started stroking my back, his touch slow and comforting.

"Babe," he said finally.

"Yes," I answered, my voice muffled against his shirt.

"Tomorrow, after I’m done at my restaurant, I’ll be meeting my friends," he explained, his fingers tracing patterns along my spine. "Once I’m done with them, I’ll call you so you can pick me up."

"Okay, baby," I agreed.

Just as we were settling into the quiet, Zayn’s phone rang on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, picked it up, and immediately locked it, swiftly flipping the silent switch. I saw the action but chose to ignore it, assuming the call wasn’t important enough to break our moment.

We lay there, talking about nothing in particular, his presence dissolving the tension of the evening. Suddenly, I dipped my head and gave his nipple a quick, teasing bite through his shirt.

Zayn let out a surprised yelp. "Hey!" He grabbed me, trying to pin me down, but I was faster.

I wrestled him playfully, managing to straddle his hips and trap his arms. I whispered, leaning down to pepper his jaw with kisses. "I needed to remind you I’m your husband."

"Oh, you did, did you?" he challenged, his eyes sparkling. He managed to free one hand and immediately used it to tickle my ribs, my absolute weakness.

I shrieked with laughter, my attempt at dominance quickly devolving into chaos. "No, stop! I take it back! I’m sorry!" I squirmed until he finally relented, breathing heavily, our bodies tangled together.

He looked up at me, his smile wide. "That’s what you get for attacking me when my nipple," he teased, brushing the hair from my face.

I looked down at his beautiful, laughing face. I lowered my head and gave him a deep, long kiss, pouring all my affection into the contact.

After the kiss, I rested my head back on his chest, sighing contentedly. The rhythmic stroke of his hand on my back was instantly soothing, a comfort I craved more than I cared to admit. He kissed the top of my head in return.

"My lonely baby," I murmured, tightening my arms around him. "I’m not leaving this spot tonight."

He chuckled softly. "Good. Because I’m not letting you go."

All the tension from the night, the drama with my brothers, the worries, faded away. There was only the gentle thump-thump of his heart beneath my ear. I closed my eyes, feeling the peace settle over me. Minutes later, the steady rhythm of his breathing deepened. I followed him easily into sleep, secure and warm in his arms.

In the deep quiet of midnight, I woke up and slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. After I was done, as I was settling back under the covers, my gaze snagged on Zayn’s phone sitting on the nightstand.

I picked it up and checked the screen: a notification for a missed call, logged an hour ago. I felt a quick spike of curiosity, who was calling him so late? I started to unlock the screen, wanting to check the contact, but stopped myself.

In the morning, he might sense I’d checked his phone, and I didn’t want to break the fragile peace we’d achieved. I set the phone back down and forced myself to sleep.

The next morning, I woke first and gently roused Zayn. We both had work, so we quickly showered and dressed.

When we reached downstairs, everyone was already there: Evans, Chrisly, and Nuala. It looked like Evans and Nuala had already made their amends, or at least called a temporary truce. Zayn and I joined them, exchanging "Good mornings." We had breakfast together, the chaotic but familiar energy of my family surprisingly pleasant.

***************

Before Evans got into his car, he stopped me, his hand resting briefly on my arm. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low whisper meant for my ears only. "Evric, I actually came here to see you for something important, but I changed it to family time."

He pulled back, giving me a direct, serious look that belied the calm morning. "Maybe next weekend I’ll invite you over so we can talk. Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

Evans drove off in his own car. I held the back door open for Zayn, and we both slid into the leather seats. The driver pulled smoothly onto the road toward Zayn’s restaurant.

The drive was quiet and easy. When we arrived, Zayn leaned over and gave me a quick, sweet kiss before stepping out. He gave a small wave and walked confidently toward the entrance of his restaurant.

My driver continued the route to my office.

The day dragged on. When it was evening time, I was almost ready to round up my work for the day.

Then, my phone buzzed. I checked who sent the message: it turned out to be Nicki.

I didn’t want to check it at first; I immediately felt a defensive surge of annoyance. But that nagging curiosity, the same one from the previous night, made me check it anyway. I swiped open the notification.

The content of the message hit me like a physical blow:

Zayn might have been tired of being gay already. I bet you don’t know his ex-girlfriend is right now in his house. And they have been together for almost six hours now.

I read the text once, then again. The words were simple, calculated poison, and I felt my heart practically stop in my chest.

I didn’t reply to Nicki’s message. I didn’t want to dignify his toxic rumor with a response, but the chilling possibility he planted wouldn’t leave me alone. Instead, I called Zayn straight up. I called several times, letting each ring out until it hit his voicemail. He didn’t pick up.

The lack of an answer fueled the suspicion. I didn’t want to believe Nicki, but the chilling thought persisted: if it wasn’t true, why would he bother sending it?

I abruptly rounded up everything at the office, grabbed my phone, and called my driver to get the car ready.

I slid into the backseat and told my driver, "Zayn’s house, straight away." By the time we arrived, it was around 8 PM.

I didn’t get out immediately. I stayed in the car, watching the familiar front door, the doubt battling against my frantic need for reassurance. Should I confront him? Should I just leave?

But I couldn’t stop myself. I got out, walked to the door, and rang the doorbell once. Then a second time. On the third ring, the lock clicked, and the door opened.

It was not Zayn.

Standing there was a woman in an oversized, familiar Zayn shirt. She froze, her eyes wide with shock.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

"Who is it?"

I heard Zayn’s voice call out from the hallway, near the bedroom. He walked out, his head down, clearly asking the question of the woman. His hair was wet; he was using a towel to rub it dry, looking as though he had just had a shower.

The lady couldn’t speak, completely paralyzed by my presence.

I walked closer, my breathing shallow. Zayn must have caught my scent or felt the tension in the air. He slowly raised his head. His eyes widened when they met mine, and his voice came out as a shaken gasp. He didn’t know whether to call me Babe or Evric.