CHAPTER 89: I DON’T SHARE

The ride home was brutal.

Not because Nicholas was shouting or accusing or even glaring.

It was the silence.

The kind of silence that was too composed. Too sharp. Cold.

Ella sat curled into herself in the passenger seat, her hands twisted in her coat, her nails digging faint crescents into her palms.

She hated this silence more than shouting. Shouting, she could handle. Anger meant feeling. But this?

This was Nicholas putting walls back up, brick by steady brick, like he was trying to protect something inside himself.

He didn’t slam the door when they pulled into the penthouse parking garage. That almost made it worse. If he’d raged, shouted, done something messy—it would’ve matched the storm breaking loose inside her chest. Instead, he moved like he was being careful with himself, like he didn’t trust what might slip through the cracks if he made one sudden move.

She followed him up the elevator, standing at a polite distance as if she were a stranger. As if the silk of his sheets didn’t still cling faintly to her skin from the night before.

By the time they stepped into the penthouse, her throat was a tight knot of guilt and frustration.

Nicholas slipped out of his coat with deliberate precision and folded it carefully over the back of a chair. Methodical. Measured.

The opposite of how she felt inside.

"Nicholas," she finally said, breaking the tense quiet, "please don’t do this."

His shoulders tensed for the briefest second, a flicker of something like restraint, before he moved further into the room. His back to her. Giving her a view of the brutal set of his shoulders through his suit tailored perfectly to his frame but creased now from wear.

She hated how controlled he could be when he was furious. He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw things.

Nicholas froze her out with elegance.

And she wasn’t going to let him do it this time.

Ella crossed the room and pressed her palms lightly against his back. The warmth of his body bled through the thin material, grounding her like nothing else could.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, desperate now. "I didn’t know Adrian would show up. I didn’t even know he was in the city."

Nicholas’s response came after a long, brutal pause. "You don’t have to apologize for what he does."

"But you’re upset."

"I’m annoyed," he corrected quietly. "And jealous. Mostly annoyed that he thought he could walk back into your life like he hadn’t already blown it to hell."

She pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades, the solid weight of him steady beneath her skin. "You know I freeze. You know that about me."

"I know." His tone softened slightly. "I also know I could’ve broken his jaw for breathing near you, but I didn’t. That should earn me something."

"That earns you—five points." She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning into his back harder, needing the contact. "Five whole ones."

For a second, silence again. Then, faintly, the start of a chuckle, low and reluctant, curling at the edges like reluctant forgiveness.

She grinned against him. "That’s your laugh. I heard it."

"You imagined it."

"Did not."

Finally, finally, he turned, slow and deliberate, until he was facing her. The sharpness was still there—but she could see it softening, edges rounding, like ice starting to melt under steady heat.

"I don’t like it when you go cold," she admitted quietly, tipping her chin up to look at him. "Feels like I’m fighting with a brick wall."

"I’m a very expensive, hand-crafted brick wall," he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Imported marble. Limited edition."

It was ridiculous. Stupid. Perfect. Her smile cracked fully then, breaking past the nerves into familiar territory. "Asshole."

"And yet." His gaze softened fully now, like glass melting at the edges. "Here you are. Still following me home."

Ella’s stomach flipped—not from fear this time, but from that ridiculous, heart-thudding way it always did around him. Like she was teetering on the edge of something impossible and wonderful at the same time.

"Of course I followed you home," she whispered, sliding her palms up his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath her touch. "This is home."

That landed harder than anything else she could’ve said. His throat worked around something unspoken before he finally gave up pretending to be mad.

He exhaled, soft and slow, pulling her closer by the waist like he’d finally lost the will to keep her at arm’s length.

"Christ, I hate you," he muttered against her hair.

"No, you don’t."

"I could’ve fought him."

"You didn’t."

"Barely."

"You’re maturing. Look at you. A whole adult."

That earned a proper laugh this time—a real one—low and warm and curling down her spine like silk.

Ella smiled, breathless, the tension breaking in pieces around them like thin ice. But before she could bask in the relief, the words slipped out before she could stop them.

"I don’t deserve you."

Nicholas pulled back sharply, fixing her with that knife-like stare, sharper than any anger he’d thrown her way before. "Don’t ever say that again."

"But I—"

His thumb brushed across her lips before she could finish. Silencing her. Owning the space between them with one simple touch.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, voice devastatingly soft, "but I’m selfish. So I’m keeping you anyway."

Ella’s laugh cracked around the edges of tears, her throat thick with everything she couldn’t quite say. Relief. Fear. Love.

"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered. "I’ve chosen you."

"Good," he growled, closing the last of the distance between them. "Because I don’t share."

Then came that smile—the dangerous one, the one that always undid her at the seams. The wolfish grin, all teeth and charm.

"You’re stuck with me now," he added, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. "Mrs. Carter."

Her eyes widened. "I haven’t even changed my name yet."

He smirked. "Paperwork’s on the desk."

"You’re insane."

"Possessive."

"Infuriating."

"Yours."

And when he kissed her this time, it wasn’t gentle.

It was possession dressed as tenderness. A brand pressed onto her lips like a silent promise: Mine.

When he finally pulled back, breath slightly ragged, his forehead resting against hers, he murmured, "You don’t get to run anymore. And if that bastard so much as looks at you again—I’ll ruin him so thoroughly he won’t even remember his own name."

Ella’s breath hitched, a soft laugh breaking past the last of her tears. "I believe you."

"Good." His grin deepened. "Now come here properly. We’ve got more paperwork to fill out."

And when she kissed him next, it wasn’t fear guiding her.

It was certainty.

And finally—finally—Nicholas smiled like he hadn’t just nearly lost his mind over her.

Like he’d won.