CHAPTER 71: CHAPTER 70: KITCHEN DISASTER & OLIVER...

That truth hit like a knife. Her smile vanished. Her chest felt tightened, shame blooming under her ribs. She blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway, uninvited, slipping down her cheeks one after another until one landed on his skin.

Oliver stirred, brow twitching before his eyes slowly fluttered open. For a second, confusion, then concern.

"Athena?" His voice was still heavy with sleep, low and rough, but it snapped her right out of her spiraling thoughts.

She panicked. Tried to wipe her eyes too fast, her movements clumsy. "I’m fine," she whispered but her voice broke mid-word.

Oliver sat up instantly. "Hey..." His hand found her face, his touch firm but careful. "Sweetheart, look at me."

She shook her head, pressing her palms over her eyes. "I’m fine, I just..."

He didn’t let her hide. He gently took her hands, pulled them down, and brushed his thumb across her wet cheek. "You’re crying," he said quietly. "What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

Her breath caught. No dream could do this to her, maybe her vision though. But this was the guilt. The ugly truth she couldn’t say out loud.

She looked at him, those green eyes that held nothing but love and safety and something inside her broke. The dam gave way.

She threw her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. "I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking apart. "I’m so sorry."

Oliver froze for only a second. What happened?

Then he held her tighter, his hand sliding up her back, his chin resting on her head. "Hey, hey...it’s okay my love...what are you sorry for?"

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe past the knot in her throat. Because how could she tell him? How could she tell him that her heart trembles for another. Four other. For eyes she shouldn’t remember, for the pull of something that wasn’t supposed to exist?

Her tears soaked his shirt, and the words broke through between shaky breaths. "I don’t deserve you."

His grip tightened instantly. "Don’t say that," he whispered against her hair. "Don’t ever say that."

He leaned back just enough to see her face, brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. "You’ve been through hell, Athena. You’re still standing. You don’t owe anyone perfection...least of all me."

"But I..."

He cut her off softly, his forehead resting against hers. "You’re allowed to feel lost," he said. "You’re allowed to not know. I’ll still be right here until you do."

Her chest cracked open. She couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop shaking, because it hurt to be loved this gently when she didn’t know how to give it back right.

He didn’t move. Just held her. Whispered quiet things words that wrapped around her guilt and made it ache worse because he meant every single one.

When her tears finally slowed, Oliver kissed her forehead softly. "No more crying, okay?" he murmured, his voice warm and light again. "You’ll make me think I said something wrong."

A weak laugh escaped her, muffled against his chest. "You didn’t. You never do."

"Then stop crying like I a child." he teased quietly, brushing her hair behind her ear.

She looked up at him, her eyes red, cheeks damp, heart heavy and raw. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Oliver smiled faintly, his hand resting over her heart, right where it still raced beneath his touch. "You’d still be you," he said. "And that’s enough for me."

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something more, but no sound came. Just silence, the kind that spoke louder than words.

Because she knew.

He deserved more.

And she didn’t know how to give it. And it hurts as fuck.

"Oliver..." she murmured, her voice trailing off, unsure what she even wanted to say.

He reached out and gently brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. "Hey baby," he said softly. "It’s okay."

She blinked. "What is?"

"The way you’re looking at me again," he whispered. "Like you’re here, not miles away."

Her throat tightened. For a second, she wanted to look away, because his kindness burned. It was too much, too real. But he didn’t let her. His hand stayed where it was, grounding her.

"Oliver..."

He smiled. "Don’t overthink it, Athena. Just breathe."

"I am breathing," she muttered, but her voice trembled.

"Good," he teased, his grin tugging back to life. "Because I was about to perform mouth-to-mouth. You know, medically, of course."

She laughed through a small gasp, pushing at his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And ou’re beautiful..." he said easily, catching her hand mid-push and holding it against his chest.

Her breath hitched again from the quiet warmth that crept up between them. His hand lingered over hers, thumb tracing slow circles against her skin.

For a moment, neither spoke. The light shifted again, stretching across the counter, bathing them both in gold.

Finally, Oliver cleared his throat and said, "All right, sit tight, princess. Your royal chef is about to create something legendary."

Athena blinked, half laughing. "You can’t cook."

"Wrong," he said, pointing a finger at her dramatically. "I can burn toast and still make it look intentional."

"Oh, please," she giggled.

Oliver had her in his arms before Athena could think. One moment she was blinking up at him from the bed, asking, "Where are you going?" and the next...she was flying.

"Oliver...!" she yelped, startled laughter bursting through the remnants of her tears. He spun her once, the blanket tumbling to the floor, sunlight streaking across his bare chest as her hair brushed against his face.

Her laughter came in gasps, uneven at first, then freer wild, bubbling up like she hadn’t laughed in ages.

"Put me down!" she half-laughed, half-gasped, clutching his shoulders.

He grinned, boyish and shameless. "No can do, princess. You looked sad, and I don’t do sad."

"Oliver..."

"Kitchen disaster..." he declared dramatically.

She laughed harder, almost breathless now. By the time they reached the kitchen, she was buried against his shoulder, laughing so much she couldn’t even speak.

He set her down on the counter, still grinning like a man who’d just saved the world. "There," he said proudly. "Mission joy: accomplished."

Athena tried to steady her breath, still smiling, her cheeks flushed. "You’re crazy."

He put a hand on his hip, the other raking through his messy hair, pretending to look offended. "Crazy? No, no, no. Genius, maybe."

She snorted. "You wish."

"Ah, but behold," he said suddenly, stepping back with mock solemnity. "The ultimate cure for heartbreak."

Before she could ask what he meant, he started dancing.

Oh no...

Athena blinked. "What are you?" Then she froze, staring. "Oh my God... Oliver."

He was actually doing it. The worst dance moves she had ever seen. A shimmy, a spin, a ridiculously dramatic shoulder roll all with a perfectly serious face.

Okay...she didn’t know there is this side of him.

"Oliver, stop!" she cried between fits of laughter. "You’re...you’re insane!"

"I know," he said, still dead serious, still moving. "But look."

He stopped suddenly, breathing slightly, watching her laugh. "You’re smiling again."

Her laughter softened, tapering off until it became a small, fragile thing. The kind that carried warmth instead of pain.

His grin faded into something gentler. "I like that better," he murmured.

The air shifted, tender now, quiet except for their breathing. She looked at him, her eyes shining with something unspoken. "You’re ridiculous," she whispered, voice trembling between affection and ache.

He stepped closer, leaning a hand on the counter beside her. "And you’re," he murmured, teasing but soft, using the same words on her."Beautiful."

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You know someone has to supervise your bad decisions."

"Excuse you," he said, pretending to be hurt. "These are brilliant decisions. Look at you, laughing, beautiful, alive..."

Her heart stuttered at that last word. Alive.

He didn’t mean it the way it hit her, but it still did, deep, aching, twisting through the guilt that had begun creeping back.

Her smile faltered, barely noticeable, but Oliver saw it instantly. He sighed, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Hey. No more sad thoughts, okay? Just us. This morning. That’s all that exists... please."

Athena swallowed hard. "You make it sound so easy."

He smiled softly. "That’s because it is. You just... forget everything else for a while."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded weakly. "And what about later?"

"Later," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "we’ll deal with later. Together."

Her lips trembled into a small, fragile smile. "You always know what to say."

He chuckled lightly. "It’s a gift."

Then, just as she started to relax, he turned back to the counter with sudden energy. "Now," he said, clapping his hands once, "I, the culinary god of chaos, shall prepare breakfast."

Athena groaned. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," he shot back with a grin. "Today’s special: burnt pancakes with a side of charm."

"Oliver, you can’t even fry an egg."

"That’s because eggs fear me," he said seriously, already rummaging through the drawers. "They know I’m too powerful."