CHAPTER 208: CHAPTER 208: THE MASSEUR AND THE STORM INSIDE

~Evric’s POV~

"What are you going to do about Nicki?" Zayn asked, his voice barely a breath against my chest.

I sighed softly, kissing the top of his head. "Babe, I seriously don’t know the specifics. Evans has chosen to handle the punishment."

"Babe?" he prompted.

"Yes?"

"What do you think Evans will do?"

I thought about my brother’s cold, calculating rage when someone threatens family. "Evans won’t take this lightly. He knows Nicki is a threat to you and our relationship. He might tell the police to lock Nicki up indefinitely—no bail for him—until Evans himself gives the order to unlock him."

"Okay, baby," Zayn replied, his breathing evening out. Then he shifted. "Babe?"

"Yes, baby."

"I want to sleep, but I’m also really hungry. Are we going home now so I can eat and sleep, or should I sleep now?"

I pulled him closer. "You should sleep, love. We’re passing the night here. He and I need to discuss something, and we should do it today."

"Okay, baby. I will want to sleep now," Zayn murmured, already drifting off.

"Okay, love," I whispered, kissing his forehead. "I will go out soon and ask the maid to prepare you something."

Zayn only nodded, his eyes already closed. He wrapped his arm tighter around my waist, his head burrowing into the crook of my neck, and quickly drifted to sleep.

I stayed where I was, stroking his back, feeling the slow, heavy rhythm of his breathing until I was certain he was deep in sleep. Only then, carefully disentangling myself, did I slide out of the bed. I pulled the duvet up over him and slipped silently out of the room.

When I reached the living room, Evans was there, pacing while speaking quietly on his phone. I poured myself a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to quench the lingering heat in my body. I walked over and sat down on the sofa nearby, waiting patiently.

Evans finally ended the call, tucked his phone into his jacket pocket, and turned to me. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, the kind that held nothing but good-natured mockery.

He eyed me up and down, taking in my slightly rumpled suit shirt and the look of utter contentment I was failing to hide. He sat down leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well," he drawled, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "You look considerably less like a man suffering a moral crisis than you did earlier. Did you... Apologize effectively?"

I tried to keep my expression neutral, taking a quick sip of water. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Evans. We talked. We settled things. It was a serious conversation."

"Oh, I’m sure it was very serious," he chuckled.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, maintaining a facade of professional calm.

"Before he speaks," I said, leaning forward. "Zayn needs to eat when he wakes up."

Evans waved a hand, then called out. "Theresa! Come here, please."

A moment later, the maid appeared.

"Theresa," I said directly, making sure my instructions were clear. "Please prepare something delicious. And most importantly, make sure there are absolutely no shellfish in it."

"Yes, sir," she replied, nodding before heading toward the kitchen.

As the maid turned away, I faced Evans, my voice dropping back into a serious register. "So, tell me about Nicki. What’s the status?"

Evans leaned in, his teasing expression replaced by cold focus. "Nicki seems to have run to ground, knowing you’d take action this time. He vanished right after his action at your office. Probably spooked by Karl’s quick reaction."

"Did he run far?"

"Doesn’t matter," Evans said, a dangerous edge in his voice. "You don’t have to worry about the search. I will get him no matter where he runs to."

We switched to discussing potential business strategies. After a while, Theresa returned to let me know the food was ready.

I went back inside the room, moving silently to the bed. Zayn was curled on his side, buried deep under the duvet. I sat gently on the edge of the mattress and reached out, touching his shoulder.

"Baby," I whispered, my voice low and tender. "Wake up, love."

He didn’t move, only gave a soft, sleepy groan, and burrowed deeper into the covers.

"Come on, sleepyhead," I urged, my heart melting at his cute resistance. I gently kissed the back of his neck.

"Five more minutes," he whined, his voice thick with sleep.

"No more minutes," I countered, leaning down to pepper his face with soft, quick kisses, his forehead, his nose, his lips. "I want to watch you eat. Up, up."

I was relentless, and eventually, Zayn’s resistance crumpled into a laugh. I helped him sit up, then guided him carefully off the bed. He swayed slightly, leaning heavily against me.

"Babe, my body hurts me," he mumbled, a genuine complaint, not a tease.

I instantly cupped his face in my hands, concern flooding me. "I’m sorry baby. We went a little too hard." I kissed him softly. "Listen, forget Evans. We’re going home today."

"Didn’t you say you had something important to talk to Evans about?" he asked, trying to sound serious despite his current state.

"You are more important, baby," I insisted, rubbing his still-sore lower back. "We’ll go home, and I’ll book a massage therapist to come over and work out those muscles. How does that sound?"

Zayn’s face brightened immediately. He nodded. "Okay."

I took his hand and led him out to the dining area. We ate together in comfortable silence, the maid having prepared a perfect, savory meal. Once we finished, I told Evans we were leaving immediately.

Within the hour, we were in the car heading back to my place. As we drove, I quickly made a call, booking a professional home massage service for that afternoon. When we finally arrived home, the only thing on my agenda was getting Zayn comfortable and easing his physical pain.

A few moments after we got home, I had Zayn settled comfortably on the large bed upstairs. I lay beside him, gently rubbing his back, trying to soothe the lingering soreness, while telling him some ridiculous, cute story. He was already half-dozing when a soft knock came at the bedroom door.

"Sir." my maid, called softly from the hall. "Someone is waiting downstairs for you."

"Ah, that must be the masseur," I said, kissing Zayn’s forehead. "Send him up," I instructed.

I took Zayn’s hand, pulling him gently to a sitting position. "Come on, baby. Time for your real treatment."

A minute later, the therapist walked upstairs. I had stepped out of the room to greet him personally. My jaw tightened instantly. Standing there was a man who looked less like a therapist and more like a Greek statue on holiday. He was tall, impeccably groomed, and possessed a quiet confidence that immediately put me on edge.

"Good afternoon, sir, I’m Arden," he said, offering a professional smile and a sleek case.

I led Arden straight to the sunroom, where the massage table was set up. In a minute, Zayn was already draped in soft towels, lying face down and completely relaxed.

Arden paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, clearly expecting me to leave. "Ah. Usually, clients prefer complete privacy for this kind of treatment."

"We’re fine," I replied, my voice holding a note of finality. I pulled a chair right up to the table. I crossed my arms and settled in. "I’ll be staying right here."

Zayn, even under the towels, sensed the intensity radiating off me. The sight of another man touching him—a good-looking one, at that, was nearly unbearable, but I knew my baby desperately needed the relief. I forced myself to endure it.

I could tell Zayn was laughing, his face buried in the cradle of the table, but he hid it well.

Arden, sensing the peculiar dynamic, simply offered a small, understanding nod and began setting up his oils.

"Just relax, sir," Arden instructed Zayn gently.

"He will," I murmured from my chair, my eyes fixed on Arden’s hands as they began their work. I didn’t move, serving as the extremely obvious, silent security guard.

During the entire session, I found myself instinctively issuing instructions. "Mind the shoulders, they’re still sore from the bed," I prompted, then, "Don’t overwork the spine," all the while avoiding eye contact with Arden, instructing him without directly instructing him.

What felt like forever finally ended. Arden packed up, gave his professional recommendations, and left. Zayn, despite his post-climax sleepiness, stayed awake, knowing I would whine about the session the moment Arden was gone.

The door clicked shut, and Zayn instantly burst into laughter, sitting up on the table, clutching the towel.

"Babe! Stop laughing!" I demanded, though a smile was fighting its way onto my own face.

"Okay, Daddy," he said, but he was still shaking with suppressed giggles. "You literally looked annoying and cute at the same time when you’re jealous, you know."

"It’s not funny," I protested, walking over to help him down. "The guy was touching you and..."

Zayn cut in, his eyes wide with mischief. "What? What if he touched my cock?"

"No, babe!" I shouted, my pretense of calm shattered. I immediately grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it tightly around his waist myself. Then I turned and walked toward the door, pretending to sulk deeply. "You have already cheated on me. You let another guy touch you."

"Evric!" Zayn laughed, leaping off the table. He snatched a second towel and ran after me, his bare feet slapping softly on the polished floor. "Wait! You’re being dramatic!"

He caught me by the waist, his arms wrapping around me, pressing his warm, naked body against my back. The fight was over, replaced by laughter and undeniable, solid love.