13
I couldn’t imagine what I’d see if I walked into that bathroom with the robe. The last thing I needed was another compromising image of Zane burned into my brain. Worried he might catch a chill, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed the house staff, making up an excuse about not being able to find a fresh robe.
A few minutes later, Zane emerged from the bathroom, moving slowly, feeling his way through the furnitures. He had thrown on the robe that the butler had brought in, but the dampness at the edges suggested he hadn’t been able to fully dry off before putting it on. I swallowed hard, keeping my gaze averted, but my mind was still reeling.
I had just told him I’d personally take care of him, prepared myself for moments of unavoidable closeness–but! chickened out.
That because Zane wasn’t just any man.
As a sculptor, I’d studied anatomy, worked with nude models before. I had seen bodies–studied proportions, muscle structure, symmetry. But Zane? He wasn’t just perfectly built. He was effortless in a way that made it impossible to look at him objectively. And that terrified me.
Because after that first moment of stunned admiration, something else had crept in–a flicker of something shameful, something I had no right to feel. I had been discarded, cast aside by Cassian like an old trinket. What right did I have to stand here and admire someone like Zane?
I forced the thoughts from my mind as Zane walked past me, heading for a small bedroom attached to the master suite
“You should take the main room,” he said, voice quiet. “I’ll be in here. Now, get some rest.
Before I could protest, he closed the door behind him.
I stood there, frozen. And for some reason, that tiny action–his retreat, his resignation–felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I had only been here for a day and I had already broken my first promise.
Zane was a proud man, but he wasn’t made of stone. He may not have said a word, but his disappointment was deafening.
I sank onto the edge of the massive bed, pressing my fingers to my temple. This was not how I wanted to start this marriage. I had told myself I would make this marriage work. And now, here I was, failing before we’d even begun. If I truly intended to make this work, I couldn’t keep pushing him away
Then, I remembered–he had mentioned twisting his ankle earlier, yet the housekeeper hadn’t treated it. Was he trying to hide his injury so his grandfather wouldn’t find out?
Something about that thought made my chest tighten.
Zane had protected me today, made sure Cassian couldn’t reach me, all without ever bringing it up. He had shielded me from a scandal I didn’t even know was unfolding. And I had repaid him by avoiding him the second I felt uncomfortable.
G
Guilt gnawed at me as I pushed myself off the bed. If I wanted to fix this, I had to start somewhere. I found the first aid kit tucked neatly inside one of the bathroom cabinets and hesitated for only a second before knocking Zane’s door.
“Mr. Kensington,” I called softly. “Are you awake?”
Silence.
I hesitated. “I remember your ankle. You haven’t had it treated. Let me help.”
More silence. I exhaled, pressing my forehead against the door for a moment. I had no idea if he was asleep or
if he was simply ignoring me. Either way, I had no choice but to return to my room, curling up beneath the heavy silk sheets. But no matter how tightly I shut my eyes, I couldn’t fall asleep.
tossed and turned, my mind restless–antit suddenly, a sudden crash from inside the room sent my heart
Dont Love WoLLİ
lurching. Glass shattering. A sharp inhale of pain.
I bolted upright, switching on the light before rushing to his door, throwing it open. The glow from the hallway spilled into the darkened room, revealing a scene that made my heart stop.
Zane was on the floor, one hand braced against the ground, the other clutching his palm–where fresh blood had begun to bloom, sending him crashing down again.
I rushed toward him, heart pounding. “Don’t move,” I whispered, voice trembling as I reached for him. “There are shards everywhere. Let me clean it first.”
This wasn’t even a proper bedroom–it was more of a spare room, probably meant for the household staff to rest while tending to the mansion. I couldn’t imagine how his six–foot–three frame had managed to squeeze onto this narrow, barely four–foot–wide bed. He lowered his head, his expression tinged with quiet embarrassment.
“I was thirsty,” He exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “Got up for water and forgot I wasn’t in my usual room.”
“It’s just a small injury, Liv I’m fine. Back to bed.
