CHAPTER 226: CHAPTER 226: WAKING UP WITH NICKI GHOST

~Zayn’s POV~

My stomach dropped. The world, which had felt perfectly safe within the walls of our bedroom, suddenly spun into chaos. The thought of him leaving me was unbearable.

"Your mom? What happened?" I demanded, scrambling off the bed. "Zayn, what did Liana say?"

"She didn’t say much, just that I need to be there tomorrow," he gasped, already rushing to the closet to grab a bag.

The immediate, raw fear of being left alone, right as my professional life was dissolving, hit me with brutal force. Zayn was the sole reason I wasn’t falling apart. He was the only person keeping me from checking the awful comments, the only person I could fully rely on. Losing his physical presence now felt like losing the last lifeline.

This was his mother; this crisis was paramount. I swallowed the thick, emotional knot in my throat, forcing myself to prioritize his need. I could not cry or react loudly; Zayn’s mom was more important.

Meanwhile, Zayn was moving around the room, grabbing necessities, his hands visibly shaking with worry. The frantic motion caused him to pause, and he suddenly looked up and saw the cold, controlled terror in my eyes. He realized then that he wasn’t the only one facing a crisis.

He dropped the bag he was holding and came back to me, pulling my face into his hands.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft despite his panic. "Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine."

The dam I was holding finally broke. I leaned my head against his. "I’ll be alone, Zayn. I’m afraid. I can’t take this on my own. Everything is collapsing outside, and you are the only thing holding me up."

Zayn pulled me into a firm hug, his hand gently rubbing my back. "No, you’re not alone. You won’t be staying here by yourself. You’ll go to your father’s house, or to Evans’ place, anywhere but here alone.

He pulled back, his eyes unwavering. "I will call you every hour, I promise. We will face this together, but right now, my mother needs me."

He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips before turning back to finish packing.

In ten anxious minutes, Zayn packed the bare essentials. He returned to the bed, slipped under the covers, and held me. Desire was gone, only the need for closeness remained. We stayed like that until sleep claimed us both.

In the quiet, pre-dawn hours of the morning, Zayn finally had to leave.

"Call me the second you get there, and then every hour," I commanded, my voice hoarse.

"I will," he promised, giving me a final, soft kiss.

I watched him leave, the emptiness of the house settling around me like a weight. I grabbed my phone and arranged a discreet, unmarked car to take Zayn to the train station, making sure his journey remained completely private. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the walls close in.

I was supposed to go to my father’s or Evans’ place, but I wasn’t ready to face another family argument. I needed more hours of quiet.

I checked my phone. Evans had already texted me earlier, confirming his schedule. He was tied up with urgent work.

I’ll head to Evans’ house later. He said he’d pick me up once he’s done with his work.

I stayed indoors, waiting for Zayn’s call. I couldn’t move until I knew he was safe.

After several agonizing hours, my phone finally rang.

"Evric, I’m here," Zayn’s voice was tired but relieved. "I’m at the hospital."

"What did they say, babe? What’s wrong with your mom?" I gripped the phone, holding my breath.

"It’s gallstones," he said quietly, his voice low, almost reluctant to admit the truth. "The doctors said surgery is the only way to fix it. She’ll need to be admitted, and recovery will take some time... I won’t be coming back soon."

The confirmation that he would be gone for days, possibly a week, was a physical blow. The safe, warm cocoon we had built over the last three days was shattered.

Yet, I took a deep breath. "I understand, baby. You need to be there for your mom. Don’t worry about anything here. Focus on her. I’ll be fine." Even though I desperately needed him, I could not pull him away from his family during this crisis.

A few hours later, the second hammer fell. My personal phone, which I had only turned on for Zayn’s call, vibrated with a message from Karl.

The text was short, direct, and devastating. It was the final judgment on the biggest, most profitable project currently running under Draeven Holding, the very one my father’s team was trying to protect.

The call had just ended. "They aren’t stopping the project, Evric," He said. "The firm will continue, but you’ve been removed as the lead. This takes effect immediately."

I stared at the screen. Not put on pause, not put under review, but removed. My career, the future my father had worked so hard to secure, was officially over, at least within the confines of Draeven Holding’s major ventures. The downfall had moved from personal shame to professional eradication.

Hearing that message, the dam finally broke. The fear, the exhaustion, the pain of Evans’s words, and the ache of Zayn’s absence, all hit at once.

Hearing that message, the dam finally broke. The fear, the exhaustion, the pain of Evans’s insults, and the ache of Zayn’s absence, all hit at once.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t shout. I stood up, numb. I quickly pulled on a thick jacket, found the keys to my fastest, most nondescript car, and switched off my phone.

I needed air. I needed to move. I needed to drive until the crushing weight of everything I had lost disappeared in the rearview mirror.

I drove for hours, the speed giving me a hollow sense of control over my collapsing life. As the adrenaline wore off, I instinctively steered toward the only place I ever went when the pressure became too much: The Quiet bar, a private, unmarked bar tucked away downtown.

I walked in and took a corner booth. The weight of being Evric Draeven—the hated son, the reckless CEO, the gay pariah—pressed down on my chest. I drank steadily, chasing the numbness. Why is this a crime? I kept thinking, staring into my glass. Why does loving Zayn cost me everything I ever worked for?

The shame, the loss, the realization that Evans was right about my impulsiveness, it all dissolved in the ethanol. I drank until the world tilted and spun. The last thing I remembered, before the dark swallowed me, was pulling out my phone and struggling to punch in Zayn’s number, needing his voice one last time.

Then, BLANK. BLANK. BLANK.

A searing headache—a rhythmic, brutal pounding, dragged me back to consciousness. I groaned, my eyes gluing themselves shut against the harsh morning light streaming through unfamiliar blinds. My mouth felt like sandpaper, and my stomach pitched violently.

I was in a bed, but the sheets were silk, and the scent of the room, expensive sandalwood and an unfamiliar cologne, was definitely not mine.

A jolt of icy panic shot through me. I reached down, realizing instantly I was naked under the covers. I had no memory of getting here, or who I was with.

I sat up too fast, the room spinning, and clutched my temples. As the nausea subsided, I raised my gaze, praying this was just a consequence of the blackout, a dream from the alcohol.

My heart seized, slamming against my ribs.

Leaning against the dressing table, bathed in the cruel morning light and watching me with a smug, possessive smile, was the last person on Earth I ever wanted to see again.

He was wearing nothing but a sleek, dark silk robe, and holding a cup of coffee.

"You still fuck like before, Evric," Nicki drawled, lifting an eyebrow. "Even when you’re drunk, your strength is unmatched."

"No," I choked out, scrambling to pull the silk sheet up to my chest. "No, no, no..."