CHAPTER 35
The heavy tension of the "Stalker" conversation was thick enough to choke on, but Heather was never one to let a mood stay dark for long. She jumped off the bed, striking a dramatic pose with her hands on her hips.
"Don't worry, girl," she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Because I—and your future husband—are here to help you."
My brain short-circuited for a second. "Future husband?"
"Yeah! Zack!" Heather teased, dodging a stray sock on the floor. "The way he pinned you with that bicep today? He's basically already picked out the ring and the wedding cake. You're welcome, by the way."
"Stop it!" I yelled, my face turning a shade of red that rivaled the mark on my cheek. I grabbed a pillow and swung it with all my might.
Whump!
It caught her right in the shoulder. Heather's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Oh, it is on, Frost!"
She snatched the other pillow from my bed, and for the next five minutes, the room was a blur of flying feathers and laughter. We scrambled over the furniture, ducking and diving until we both collapsed onto the rug, breathless and panting. The fear of "Person V" felt miles away.
Just as I was catching my breath, my phone started buzzing on the nightstand. Not a text this time.
The screen lit up with Zack's name and his face. It was a video call.
Heather scrambled up, peeking over my shoulder. "Speak of the devil! Or the groom. Answer it!"
I smoothed my messy hair and tried to stop giggling, hitting the green button. Zack's face filled the screen. He looked like he was in his room, the lighting soft. He looked tired but relieved.
"Hey," he said, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips when he saw me. "I just wanted to check in. Are you okay? Did everything go... alright with Heather after I left?"
Heather poked her head into the frame, grinning ear to ear. "She's great, Zack! We were just discussing your future together!"
"Heather!" I hissed, trying to shove her out of the camera's view while Zack let out a startled, warm laugh on the other end.
Zack's smile widened as he watched us bickering on the screen. He leaned back against his headboard, his eyes softening as they focused solely on me, ignoring Heather's frantic waving in the background.
"Future together, huh?" Zack repeated, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that made my stomach do a complete somersault. "I like the sound of that."
"Zack!" I squeaked, finally successfully shoving Heather off the bed. I heard her thud onto the carpet, followed by her muffled laughter. I pulled the phone closer to my face, trying to ignore how fast my heart was beating. "Don't listen to her. She's... she's had too much sugar today."
Zack chuckled, but then his expression turned serious. He reached out as if to touch the screen, his fingers tracing the space where my face was. "Actually, Jane... I've been sitting here for the last hour just... thinking. About the field. About what you said."
He paused, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about that kiss on the cheek. It felt more real than anything Ashley has said to me in years."
I bit my lip, feeling that same warmth from the field returning to my skin. "Zack..."
"Meet me tonight?" he asked suddenly. "My parents are out at a charity dinner, and I just... I don't want to talk about blackmail or photos or Ashley. I just want to see you. For real. No masks."
"I want to see you too," I whispered, my heart doing a slow, rhythmic thud against my ribs.
"Good," Zack said, his green eyes intense even through the screen. "I'll be outside your window in twenty minutes. Wear something warm—it's getting cold out."
The call ended with a soft click, leaving me staring at my own reflection. I didn't have time to process the butterflies because Heather was already off the floor, diving into my closet.
"Twenty minutes! Frost, move! We need an outfit that says 'I'm a novelist' but also 'I'm ready for a secret midnight rendezvous!'"
I ended up in my favorite oversized cardigan and a pair of dark jeans. At exactly twenty minutes, a familiar pair of headlights flickered twice at the end of the street before going dark. I grabbed my phone, gave Heather a nervous thumbs-up, and climbed out my window. The trellis creaked under my weight, but my sneakers hit the grass silently.
I ran toward the shadow of the trees where the yellow car was idling. Zack was leaning against the door, but the second he saw me, he stood up. He didn't say a word; he just stepped forward and pulled me into a hug so tight I felt like I was finally safe.
"Let's go," he murmured.
We drove in silence for a while, leaving the familiar neighborhood behind. Eventually, he turned onto a hidden, gravel driveway. At the end of it sat a house hidden by tall oaks. It was big—nearly as big as mine—but it looked quiet and untouched.
"Only I have the key to this place," Zack said as we stepped inside. "Nobody in my family knows about it. It's the only place I can truly be myself."
The living room was lit by the pale glow of the moon. I sat down in a large, velvet chair, feeling the weight of the day finally start to slide off my shoulders. Zack stood in front of me for a moment, then, with a slow movement, he removed his shirt and tossed it onto a side table. I felt my breath hitch—his muscles were defined and strong, silvered by the moonlight.
He sat on the floor right beside my chair, leaning his back against the cushion next to my knee. He looked up at me, his expression raw.
"Why did you hide it from me, Jane?" he asked softly. "If you had just told me about the photo and Ashley's threats... it would have been fine. I would have handled it."
I looked down at him, my fingers tracing the edge of the velvet. "No... it's just... I was afraid of it," I confessed. "I was afraid that if I told you, I'd lose the only thing that felt real. I didn't want you to look at me and see a victim. I wanted to be strong enough to handle it alone."
Zack reached up and took my hand, pulling it down to press a kiss to my palm. "You don't ever have to be strong alone again."
He rose up from the floor, closing the distance between us until his face was inches from mine.
The air in the lone house, which had felt so warm and inviting just moments before, suddenly turned heavy. As Zack leaned in, his gaze fixed on mine with an intensity that made my head spin, I felt the familiar spark of attraction—but then, a cold wave of reality crashed over me.
Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I placed my hands against his bare chest and gently, but firmly, pushed him away.
Zack blinked, looking startled as he sat back on his heels. The moonlight caught the confusion in his green eyes. "Jane?" he asked, his voice thick with a mix of hurt and bewilderment. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"
I pulled my cardigan tighter around me, shrinking back into the velvet chair. "I'm afraid, Zack," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm just... afraid."
The hurt in his expression softened into concern. He reached out and grabbed my hand, his grip firm and grounding. "Jane, look at me. It's just us here. No Ashley, no school, no photos. Just us."
I looked at our joined hands, then up at his face. My heart felt like it was breaking.
"It was 'just us' when we were in the car, too," I said quietly. "And it was 'just us' when we were at the park. But someone is always watching, Zack. Every time we think we're alone, someone proves we aren't. How do I know 'just us' is even real anymore?"
Zack went speechless. He opened his mouth to argue, to tell me that this house was a secret, that we were safe here—but the words died in his throat. He looked around the dark room, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of doubt in his own eyes. He realized that if Ashley had found that photo, his "perfect" privacy was already compromised.
He didn't pull away, but he didn't try to kiss me again. He just held my hand in the silence of the lone house, the weight of my words hanging between us like a physical wall. The Prince couldn't protect me from a shadow he couldn't see, and we both knew it.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could see the disappointment etched into every line of Zack's face—not because he was angry with me, but because he was starting to realize that his "secret" world wasn't enough to make me feel safe. He looked at his hands, then back at me, the light in his green eyes dimming as he realized his protection had limits.
He stood up slowly, the moonlight casting a long, lonely shadow across the wooden floor.
"Wait here," he said, his voice flat and strained. "I'm just going to go lift some weight off. Give me a few minutes, then I'll drop you back home."
He didn't wait for me to answer. He walked toward the corner of the large room where a set of heavy iron weights sat. I stayed in the velvet chair, feeling small and cold, listening to the rhythmic, heavy clank of metal against metal. Each rep seemed to echo his frustration—the sound of a guy who wanted to fight a monster he couldn't see.
I watched him from across the room. Every muscle in his back was tensed as he worked through the set, trying to burn off the energy and the rejection. He was trying to be the Prince, but I had just reminded him that we were both being played like pawns in someone else's game.
After a final, heavy set, he dropped the weights. The sound boomed through the lone house. He grabbed his shirt, pulling it back on without looking at me, his breathing still heavy.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
The sound of the weights hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot in the empty house. Zack stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his back still turned to me. The disappointment in the room was a physical weight, heavier than anything he had just lifted.
As he reached for his shirt, I couldn't stand the distance anymore. My fear was real, but so was the way I felt when he was near.
"Zack, wait," I whispered, standing up from the velvet chair.
He paused, his shirt halfway over his head. I walked across the cold floor until I was standing right behind him. Before I could lose my nerve, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his back.
"Can we just... can we just cuddle for a minute?" I asked, my voice muffled against his skin. "I don't want to leave like this."
I felt him freeze, then slowly, he let out a long, shaky breath. He turned around in my arms and pulled me into him. He didn't put his shirt back on yet. As we cuddled together, I could feel the dampness of Zack's sweat soaking into my cardigan, the heat from his workout radiating against me. It should have been uncomfortable, but instead, it felt grounding. It was a reminder that he was human, not just some "Prince" from a story, and he was hurting just as much as I was.
We stayed like that for a long time, tucked into the shadows of his secret house. No words, just the sound of our breathing syncing up. His arms were like iron bands around me, finally offering the safety he had been trying so hard to provide.
The quiet of the lone house was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic sound of our breathing. As we cuddled together, I was pressed firmly against Zack's chest. The heat from his workout still radiated off his skin, and the scent of his sweat was sharp and masculine—a grounding contrast to the chaos in my head.
I leaned down and softly kissed his chest, the warmth of his skin lingering on my lips. I felt his heart skip a beat beneath me.
"Zack?" I whispered into the silence.
"Yeah, tell me, Jane," he murmured, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. His arms tightened around me, pulling me even closer into the curve of his body.
"Well, you see... I have been thinking about this lately," I started, my voice trailing off as I traced a line across his collarbone with my fingertip.
"What is it, Jane?" He tilted his head down, his green eyes searching mine in the dim moonlight, waiting for whatever heavy secret I was about to drop.
"Well... I think Luke would be a better leader," I said quietly, referencing the internal power struggle we'd been hearing about in the student circles.
Zack didn't flinch. He didn't move a muscle to argue or defend his position. He didn't seem to care about the school hierarchy or his standing as the "Prince" anymore. He just looked at me with a soft, tired smile.
"I don't care, Jane," he whispered, his thumb grazing my cheek. "Do whatever you like. I just like you."
A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. In a world where everyone was fighting for status and "Checkmate," he was the only one willing to forfeit the game just to be near me. I leaned down again and kissed him on his chest once more, a silent thank you for being the only person who made me feel like I didn't have to be a pawn anymore.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to kiss the top of my head. "I'll get you home, Jane," he murmured, his voice finally losing that strained edge.
The drive back was quiet, but the coldness had vanished. When we reached my street, he waited until I was halfway up the trellis before he finally put the car in gear. I watched his taillights disappear, feeling a strange mix of peace and dread.
I climbed through my window, but as my feet hit the floor, I noticed something sitting on my pillow. It wasn't a text this time.
It was a small, dried black rose, pinned to a note with a single word written in elegant, sharp handwriting:
Fragile.