CHAPTER 205: CHAPTER 205: WHERE PAIN MEETS CLARITY

~Evric’s POV~

I couldn’t sleep deeply all night. The chemical urgency had faded into a dull, agonizing ache, and the image of Zayn’s face as he’d slapped me replayed on an endless loop. I rose early, my body exhausted but my mind racing. I moved silently, dressing quickly in a dark suit.

I was finishing adjusting my cufflinks when the mattress shifted behind me.

Zayn’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t just wake up; he bolted upright, guilt and panic etched onto his face. He quickly stood up and rushed toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

"Good morning, baby," he whispered into my back, his voice thick with unsaid apologies.

"Good morning, love," I replied, my voice flat. Nothing had changed. The rejection from last night still felt like a physical wound.

He tightened his embrace. "Where are you going?"

"I’m going to see Evans," I answered, turning to face him.

Zayn’s expression crumpled. He knew he couldn’t hide the truth any longer. "I... I heard what happened with you and Nicki," he whispered, looking down. "Karl explained everything. What are you going to do about it?"

Relief washed over me that I didn’t have to break the news myself. "That’s why I’m going to see Evans," I said, my voice hardening with intent. "Before I do anything, I need his advice on planning the next move."

"Can I come along?" Zayn asked immediately, his eyes pleading.

"Okay," I agreed. "I’ll wait downstairs for you."

After a while, Zayn came downstairs, dressed and ready. We sat down for a silent breakfast. Neither of us dared to speak about last night’s argument or the terrible words exchanged. The priority was Nicki.

Soon after, we arrived at Evans’s house. This time, Zayn was careful. When Evans opened the door, Zayn greeted him casually and quickly created distance, ensuring he didn’t stand close enough to trigger any spark of jealousy in me.

We settled down in Evans’s luxurious living room. After a few minutes of strained conversation about the weather and the golf game, it was clear that Evans noticed the awkward, electric tension hanging between Zayn and me. He caught my eye, a silent question passing between us.

"Evric," Evans said, rising from his chair. "A word, outside."

I turned to Zayn, offering a formal nod. "I will be back."

Evans led me out of the living room and through a set of French doors into his rear garden. It wasn’t just grass; it was a serene, manicured space with stone benches tucked beneath trellises, exactly the kind of place reserved for private, serious discussions. We sat down on a cool, granite bench.

Evans didn’t waste any time. He looked straight at me, his gaze both sharp and patient. "Spill it. What happened? I could feel the distance between you two from the moment you walked in. You look like hell, Evric. What is the problem?"

I didn’t hold anything back. Evans was the one person who would listen without judgment, but who would also call me out. I was an honest person, and I needed to be honest now. I started with the golf course.

"I was jealous of you, Evans. Ridiculously, shamefully jealous. You and Zayn were talking, and I couldn’t focus on the game, so I dragged him into the restroom." I explained the entire idiotic fight, my jealousy, my possessiveness, and how Zayn had called me a tyrant.

Then I moved to the office. I described the food delivery, the note, the immediate, sickening rush of heat, and the horrifying realization that I had been drugged. I detailed Nicki’s entrance, his taunts, and the way he had cornered me.

"He was trying to force me," I said, the memory making my voice tremble. "And Zayn wouldn’t pick up. Nicki just kept saying he was going to destroy us."

But the worst part wasn’t the violation; it was my reaction.

"When Zayn finally got home... I was desperate, Evans. The drug was still ripping through me. I needed the relief, and I needed him. I didn’t tell him about the drug, I just kept pressing him." My voice broke. "He thought I was just doing my normal push for sex. When he tried to leave, I lost control. I blocked the door. I forced myself on him, just long enough to tear his shirt open."

I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands. "Then he slapped me. He hit me across the face, and he screamed that I was a sex addict." The phrase, spoken aloud, carried a different kind of pain, a crushing confirmation of my deepest fear.

I looked at Evans, my eyes begging for his judgment. "I was fighting a chemical urge that felt like fire, but to him, I was just a monster, a desperate man trying to overpower him. That word... it killed me, Evans. I didn’t feel anything but shame when he left. And I just lay there, hurting, holding myself, until I passed out from the pain of the drug and the shame of the insult."

I took a shaky breath, letting the whole ugly truth sit in the quiet garden air. "I need you to tell me where I went wrong. All of it. I need to fix things with Zayn; that is the most important thing. What happened last night... I really want to work it out and apologize if there is anywhere I was wrong. And then," I added, my voice turning to cold steel, "I need to know what we are going to do about Nicki."

Evans listened to the entire, ugly confession without interruption. When I finally finished, the only sound was the faint trickling of water from a nearby fountain.

He drew a long, slow breath. "Evric," he started, his voice firm but laced with compassion. "Listen to me. I’m going to give you the truth, even if it hurts."

I nodded, utterly defeated. "Tell me."

"The truth is, you are the root of this fight. For Zayn’s reaction, I don’t blame him. Look at the facts: you met Zayn as a straight man; it was you who flipped his world and made him a willing to giving to you. Now, he’s navigating a life and a dynamic that is entirely new. You had him desperately in the morning, then you hadn’t even settled your emotional fight, and you wanted him again at night."

Evans leaned forward, his gaze direct. "You need to understand, Evric, that immense physical demand can be overwhelming for him. You need to manage that energy. Stop pushing for pure conquest. A body you want to use every time should be taken care of first. You can’t exhaust him in the morning without knowing the stage of his body and still expect him to be ready at night."

He laid out the practical advice, his voice dropping to a serious, brotherly tone. "Aside from sex, you need to focus on care. Learn proper aftercare for his body. Care for his mind. If he doesn’t want to go out with you, fine. Learn massage techniques, do it yourself, or hire someone to come do home service. Don’t exhaust him in the morning and expect him to be ready at night. You can’t just be a dominant force; you need to be a sanctuary. Make him feel welcome in your space, make him want to submit, not feel obligated to it."

He settled back, emphasizing his final point. "Zayn is not my boyfriend, but I can tell you this: he fears losing you as much as you fear losing him. That is why he accommodates you and listens to your demands. But you, Evric, you need to learn to control your own instincts. You need to learn how to be a mature man—a true partner—to keep your man."

He then shifted, his expression turning cold. "Nicki is trying to destroy your relationship, and you can’t let him win. But don’t worry, I will deal with him myself. Now, go inside. Talk to Zayn. Apologize for everything, but most importantly, apologize for trying to force him. It is wrong, Evric, no matter what the situation or the drug. Do not ever use force; it will destroy him. Do you understand?"

I looked at my brother, my throat tight with gratitude. "Yes, I understand. Thank you, bro."

Evans clapped me on the shoulder, a familiar, playful grin flashing across his face. "Go talk to your man. Apologize, and then go... fire him!" he teased. "While you handle your business, I’ll handle that goat called Nicki. Don’t worry about the noise, all the beds in this house are strong. I order them from that specialized manufacturer in Germany."

I stood up, shaking my head in a mixture of relief and affection for my brother.

I didn’t waste another second. I re-entered the living room and found Zayn exactly where I’d left him: sitting rigidly on the edge of the sofa, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

"Babe," I said, my voice soft but firm, causing him to look up quickly.

I walked over, took his hand— it was cold and resistant and pulled him gently toward me. "Come with me. Let’s talk."