Page 100 of His To Unravel
The revelation still buzzes beneath my skin: he’s been watching me for months. Long before we officially met.
What unsettles me most isn’t his admission, but the lengths he has gone to keep me in his orbit. The idea that he had been so close to abandoning his education entirely, only to reverse course when he saw me on campus, is hard to reconcile.
The rational part of me knows this kind of behavior should be a red flag. But walking away feels impossible—hypocritical, even.
A darker part of me craves the devotion he gives so freely. The way his entire world seems to revolve around me, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive—it reassures something deep within me that I’ve never dared to name.
For once, I’m not just a resource or a collection of achievements. Nathaniel doesn’t care about my accomplishments or what I can do for him; he cares about me.
And though his fixation should be a deterrent, I can’t deny how much it satisfies an unspoken need within me.
I turn my gaze to him, studying his impossibly handsome face as he sleeps.
My insecurities whisper that I’m not enough, that a man as extraordinary as Nathaniel won’t always want me with this same intensity. But his actions have never wavered. He has proven, time and time again, that he means every word he says.
My fingers trace the sharp angle of his cheekbone, down the line of his jaw. His brow furrows slightly, as if worrying about me even in his sleep. I know he’s terrified I’ll leave. He doesn’t need to say it; it’s etched into every touch, every lingering look.
I sit up slowly, careful not to disturb him. I don’t know how to alleviate his worries, but the least I can do now is let him rest.
Slipping out of bed, I pad to the chair by the window and pull on a pair of his sweatpants and a cardigan over his shirt. The floor is cool against my bare feet as I move to the door, casting one last glance at him before stepping out.
I make myself a cup of tea, grab my e-reader, and sit at the dining table. Settling into the chair, I try to immerse myself in the story, but my focus wavers. My mind keeps drifting back to last night—to Nathaniel’s confessions and to the one remaining puzzle piece I haven’t yet brought up.
His brother.
The portraits in the Caldwell mansion had been unmistakable. Nathaniel and his twin, standing side by side, identical in every way except for the expressions in their eyes.
He’s never mentioned a brother, and at dinner, there was no reference to him either. The omission feels glaring now, even as I remind myself of Nathaniel’s nervous glances throughout the evening, the way he seemed to brace himself for a question I never asked.
I sip my tea, staring out the window at the city beyond.
I haven’t asked because I trust him to tell me in his own time. If he hasn’t told me, there must be a reason. Whatever it is, it won’t change how I feel about him. I love him, regardless.
The thought stops me in my tracks.
I set the mug down carefully, the realization blooming like a warm ember in my chest.
I love him.
Before I can process the weight of the revelation, the sound of heavy footfalls shatters the stillness.
“Olivia!” Nathaniel’s voice rings out, rough and frantic. I turn just in time to see him burst into the room, his blue eyes wild with panic. His gaze locks on me, and he stumbles forward, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
I push out of my seat, alarmed. “Nathaniel, what?—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He crumples around me, dropping to his knees as his arms wind tightly around my waist. His head presses against my stomach, and I feel the tremor in his shoulders as he clings to me.
“You were gone,” he gasps, his voice breaking. “I thought you left me.”
My heart twists painfully at the sight of him, so strong and unshakable in every other moment, now reduced to this. I slide my hands into his hair, cradling his head as I murmur softly, “I’m here, Nathaniel. I’m not going anywhere.”
His grip tightens, and he lets out a shuddering breath, the weight of his panic slowly ebbing as I hold him. “I woke up, and you weren’t there. I thought—fuck.” He cuts himself off, burying his face against me once more.
“I’m here,” I repeat, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I won’t leave you.”
Minutes pass as I stroke his hair, whispering reassurances until his breathing evens out. When I coax him to the couch, he lets me guide him, though his hand never leaves mine.
He sits heavily, and when I move to settle beside him, he snags my waist and pulls me onto his lap. “No distance,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.
