CHAPTER 21: CHAPTER 21: FROM PAIN TO PASSION

This summary is told from Evric’s POV before he meets Zayn and after their paths cross. Starting from the next Chapter, the story dives deeper into their journey together.

Continue reading, and I trust that their journey of love may be challenging, but you’ll fall in love with it. Keep supporting. Thank you always.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I told Mr. Karl, "Zayn might start thinking I’m stalking him."

But the truth was, I wasn’t stalking him. It seemed like fate had found a way to keep tangling our paths together. We bumped into each other in ways even though I couldn’t explain. Still, I felt it was starting to become too much for him.

Zayn stopped answering my calls. He left my messages unread. It was like he had started seeing me as something dangerous. A weapon, maybe. Something he needed to avoid.

During that time, my father had been pushing me to meet the daughter of one of his business partners, Vanya Martixus. She was a top model in the city, very popular and well-spoken, and she even managed her father’s company. But no matter how perfect she looked on paper, I didn’t like her. Not for me. Not in any way.

My father kept calling, insisting I meet her, but every time he brought her up, it ended in a fight. That very day, after another screaming match over the phone, I shouted for him to stop trying to control my life. I was exhausted, mentally and emotionally.

He had somehow found out I was seeing someone new. He didn’t know who, but he knew it was a man. That was enough for him to lose control. He called again and threatened me, saying that if I didn’t end things with this person, he would tear us apart just like he did with Nicki.

That broke me.

I screamed at him. I told him he had no right anymore. I warned him to stay away, that I wouldn’t let him ruin what hadn’t even properly begun yet.

The argument shattered something inside me. It brought all the pain rushing back. Everything from the past. Everything I thought I had buried.

I started crying uncontrollably, and before I knew it, I was throwing things around the room: books, pillows, and even my phone. My frustration only worsened when I tried calling Zayn again. He wasn’t answering my calls. No replies. Nothing.

Mr. Karl came into the room when he heard the noise. He tried to calm me down, but I couldn’t stop shouting. "Why isn’t he picking up?!" I cried, my voice hoarse and cracking.

He placed a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder. "I’ll try to reach him," he said softly. "But you need to calm yourself. If you keep acting like this, you won’t need your father to destroy things. You’ll end up doing it yourself."

His words stung, but they were true. So I tried to hold it together.

After everything... Zayn came later.

When he entered my room, the maid was still there, cleaning up the mess I had made. He looked around, silently taking in the chaos before him. When the maid left and we were alone, he finally looked at me.

"I thought you said you were sick," he said coldly. "But clearly, you lied."

I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him I was sick, not physically, but emotionally. My heart had been aching for days. I wanted to tell him about my father’s threats, about the pressure, the pain, and the fear. But when I looked into Zayn’s eyes, I saw no patience. No softness. Just distance.

Before I could say anything, he said quietly, "I’m leaving."

His words struck something inside me. I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm.

He stood near the door, unmoved. He didn’t even glance at me.

Not a single question. It’s not a single sign that he cared why I had been desperately trying to reach him.

That silence cut deeper than anything else.

He shrugged, avoiding my eyes, and said. "I don’t want to get involved in whatever this is anymore. Stop calling me. Stop texting me."

I stood up and held his neck, ready to argue, but my knees felt weak. My body was drained, my emotions frayed. I was desperate, and I knew it showed.

"Is that what you want?" I whispered. "To leave me?"

He didn’t answer.

So I closed the space between us, my fingers gripping his shirt. "Then have me one last time." Before he could talk himself out of it, I stepped closer and kissed him.

"You want to leave, fine," I said, breathless. "But just stay with me tonight."

What happened next wasn’t gentle.

It was raw, angry, and desperate. I needed to feel him. I needed to own him, if only for that night.

My body moved on instinct, my soul begging for something, anything, to stop the spiral. And he gave it to me. He matched my hunger, my need.

I was rough with him at first. My body moved with desperation, trying to make him feel something, anything. I didn’t care how it started. I just needed him close. I needed to feel that he was still mine... even if it was only for a few stolen hours.

When it was over, I lay there breathing hard, terrified that he’d stand up and walk away. My pride had already shattered, so I reached for him and held onto his arm like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

"Please... hate me, but don’t leave me," I whispered. My voice broke around the words. "You can hate me, but please... not like this. Don’t just walk away."

He didn’t answer right away.

But he didn’t leave either.

We didn’t talk much after that, no deep confessions, no declarations of love. Just silence filled with everything we didn’t say.

And then it happened again.

This time slower, deeper. As if we were trying to speak through our bodies, trying to fix what words couldn’t. Our movements were unhurried, his touch softer, more intentional. I met his eye, and something passed between us, something I couldn’t name but felt down to my bones.

When we both reached the peak together, I didn’t let go. I pulled him close and curled myself around him like a shield, like a silent promise.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I drifted off to sleep with his heartbeat under my cheek.

By morning, something had shifted.

I woke up first. Zayn was still fast asleep beside me, his breathing steady, his face relaxed in a way that made my chest ache. I didn’t want to wake him. He looked so peaceful, like the night had softened something in him.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed downstairs. James had dropped off some files last night, so I settled at the dining table and began sorting through them. Before leaving the room, I made sure to leave a note and a fresh set of clothes for Zayn, just in case he needed something comfortable to change into when he woke up.

I had barely made progress on the first folder when my phone started vibrating again.

Rogan.

I hesitated for a second before answering, hoping, stupidly that it might be something simple.

But of course, it wasn’t.

His voice was sharp and cold. "I heard you brought the new guy home. You really don’t waste any time, do you?"

I froze.

Then came the threat. "Either you do what I asked you to... or I’ll make sure the two of you don’t last. Don’t test me."

Something inside me snapped.

"Stop calling me!" I yelled into the phone, my voice shaking. "I don’t want anything to do with you. Not anymore!"

I ended the call with trembling fingers, but it was too late. The fear had already crept in cold and familiar. The thought of losing Zayn, of him being taken away, felt like the past was reaching up to drag me back under. My breath hitched. The room blurred.

I collapsed onto the couch, curled in on myself, sobbing. I didn’t even hear Zayn come in until his voice broke through my panic.

"Hey... hey, I’m here."

His hands were on my shoulders, grounding me. I leaned into him, clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

He wiped my tears gently, brushing his fingers along my cheek. Calm me down, then ask, "Do you want something from what the maid cooked, or should I cook for you instead?"

I looked up at him, still sniffling. "You... cook for me. Please."

He nodded, not saying a word, just got up and walked toward the kitchen. And somehow, that simple act made me feel like everything wasn’t completely falling apart.