They reached her apartment.
She unlocked the apartment door with trembling fingers.
Zane stood behind her like a shadow as she pushed the door open.
The smell hit her first. Old air. Fabric softener. Dust and something almost warm like a memory trapped in the walls. She stepped in and stood there, frozen, like she was scared to breathe it in.
It wasn't big. Just a one-bedroom, mismatched furniture, stacks of old books, and a broken lamp she never got around to fixing. But it was hers.
People from the building passed them, slowing down to look. A couple of neighbors threw curious glances, some smiling politely, some whispering. Jean saw it.
And so did Zane.
He smiled.
He didn't say a word, but the pride in his eyes screamed it: She's mine.
Jean hated that.
He walked in like he owned the place, like he belonged there. His presence made the room smaller, the air heavier.
She went to the corner and opened the closet. Pulled out a worn-out hoodie. A cracked mug. A pair of jeans that didn't fit her anymore but still felt like home.
She clutched them in her arms like a shield.
"These are mine," she said, voice flat but sharp. "No one bought them for me. No one forced me to keep them. I picked them. I lived in them. I wore them on days when I was still... me."
Zane didn't flinch. He just looked at her.
"You still are," he said simply.
Jean's throat tightened. "No. I'm not."
He flinched. Just barely.
And still, his gaze never left her.
She stood up, not looking at him now, only holding the hoodie to her chest like it could protect her. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't cold. It was thick. It was intimate in the way grief is intimate when someone sees all the things you don't say and still stays.
"I can give you everything," he said, voice low, tired. "Anything."
Jean didn't look at him.
"I don't want everything," she said quietly. "I just want what's mine."
And she left the apartment. Without listening to him anymore.
In the car:
The car was silent. Too silent.
Zane tapped his fingers on the steering wheel his other hand resting near the gear close enough to touch her if he wanted.
But he didn't.
He just looked at her. And she just kept her eyes outside the window, chin resting on her fist, the city lights blurring past them like they meant nothing.
"Do you want to go anywhere else?" he asked quietly.
Jean shook her head still staring out.
His chest ached. Just a glance.
Just one look from her....and he'd breathe again.
But she gave him nothing.
Not a word. Not even a flicker of attention.
So he drove.
In silence.
In longing.
They reached the penthouse. The elevator ride was cold. Heavy. She didn't speak. He didn't push.
When they entered the bedroom....their bedroom.
Jean stopped in the doorway.
"I want another room," she said.
Zane turned.
There was a pause.
And then that smile- that teasing infuriatingly soft smile he only gave her pulled at his lips.
"This is your room," he said gently. "Ours."
She flinched at the word. Her voice came sharper now.
"I'm not going to sleep here with you. Don't forget this is a forced marriage Zane. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. So don't expect me to act like your wife."
That smile vanished.
His jaw tightened.
He took a deep breath like he was trying not to break something.
And then his voice dropped calm, deep, and terrifyingly possessive.
"You are my wife. On paper. In name. In this room. In this house. You're mine."
Jean looked away.
His voice hardened.
"You'll sleep here. With me. On the same bed."
She turned sharply, her eyes flaring.
"I said-"
"I won't touch you." His voice cracked slightly. "Unless you allow it."
He stepped closer eyes locked on hers.
"But don't ask me to stay away from you, Jean. Not in the one place where I can have you near without stealing it."
She didn't answer.
Didn't nod.
Didn't move.
Zane's voice dropped again, rougher this time.
"I'll wait. I'll wait like a man starved Jean. But I won't sleep without you beside me."
Later that night:
Jean had changed into her black hoodie.
The fabric smelled like her old life cheap, worn, familiar. It was all she had left of herself. She didn't want to sleep in that bed. So she folded herself onto the couch, small and silent, and let sleep take her in slow pieces.
Across the penthouse, Zane was in the study, working or pretending to.
Every file he opened blurred with the same thought: She's here.
Midnight rolled in quiet.
Zane closed his laptop pushing back the chair with a deep breath.
He walked to the bedroom expecting to see her on the bed.
But it was empty.
And for a split second his blood burned.
She left?
She moved to another room?
No. She wouldn't-
Then he saw her.
Small. Curled. On the damn sofa like a child who didn't belong.
The rage gone.
A smile appeared at his lips. It was soft.
Addicted.
Insane.
"My bluebird," he whispered like a prayer.
He walked to her.
Bent down on his knees beside the sofa.
His eyes devoured her like she'd disappear if he blinked.
"You're sleeping so far away" he murmured brushing her cheek with his finger. "Do you really think I'd let you stay away from me?"
His voice dropped possessive and cracked with obsession.
"You belong in my arms. Not five feet away. Not cold and alone. You're mine, Jean. Mine. Even when you hate me."
He kissed her forehead his lips lingering like they had nowhere else to go.
Then, carefully like she was made of glass and flame he carried her into his arms.
She didn't moved.
He laid her on the bed.
Tugged the blanket over her shoulders.
Then slid beside her.
Close.
So close he could feel her breaths.
Zane wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her to his chest.
He pressed another kiss to her forehead softly.
And then he whispered into her hair his lips brushing her skin.
"This…" his voice was a low addiction "this is where you belong."
Right over his heart.
Where it beat wildly.
For her.
Only her.
For the first time in years Zane Thorne slept.
And he didn't dream of fire or blood or power.
He only dreamt of her.
Later that night:
The room was dark.
But not the comforting kind of dark. This was suffocating thick, unmoving, and cold.
Little Jean's breaths were shallow her heartbeat fast, the hem of her frock clutched tight in her trembling fists.
Her back hit the wall, and her bare feet froze against the marble floor.
She didn't know how she'd gotten here, why the hallway lights had vanished, or why her uncle's footsteps echoed like something monstrous in the dark.
Then she saw him.
His uncle smiled.
The kind of smile that wasn't kind at all. The kind that made her stomach twist. She moved backward instinctively knocking over a vase. It shattered. She gasped.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth.
"Did you miss me, little dove?" he whispered, the stench of alcohol crawling up her nose. His words were hot against her ear.
Her whole body stiffened. He laughed, low and slow, and that sound, she loathed it. She tried to scream, but the sound died against his palm...
"Don't.....don't do that," she said while sleeping in Zane's arms. "Please…"
Her uncle's other hand moved.
She tried to shove him off, tried to twist her body away, but he was stronger. She felt sick.
And then, in the real world....
Jean screamed.
Loud. . Her whole body shivering, her legs tangled in the blanket. She sat up in a panic, eyes wild, heartbeat fast.
Zane shot up beside her, heart beating fast.
"Jean!" he grabbed her shoulders. "What happened Bluebird?..."
She didn't hear him.
She hit his chest with her fists, once, twice, again like she was still trapped. Tears soaked her cheeks, and her breaths were coming in broken pieces.
"Don't touch me!" she sobbed. "Don't-please, don't-"
Zane froze, realizing.
It wasn't about him.
She wasn't here.
"Jean," he said softly, voice rough with fear and care. "You're dreaming. It's over. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you."
She opened her eyes as she came back to reality. Her breath barely there.
She collapsed against Zane. Her body gave up before her mind did.
She didn't meant to but somehow she just did.
Zane was scared. What happened with his bluebird that she was hurting, screaming like that?
But he didn't asked.
Instead, he wrapped her up in his arms like a shield. His hands trembling slightly as he cradled the back of her head, pressing her close to his chest.
"I've got you," he whispered. "No one's ever going to touch you again. I swear it."
She shook in his hold.
Zane kissed her hair gently. "Sleep, bluebird. Just sleep. I'll keep the monsters away."
And for the first time, she didn't fight the warmth.
Didn't speak.
Didn't pull away.
She just cried.
And Zane held her like he was holding all the broken pieces of her soul. Like he wasn't going to let them fall again.
Morning:
The sky outside was still grey.
Inside the room, everything was still except for Zane.
He hadn't slept.
Jean was curled against him, her breath light and uneven. Like even in sleep, she couldn't fully rest. Her face was buried in his chest, her fists still lightly clutching his shirt as if she didn't realize she was holding onto him.
Zane stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched.
He hadn't moved an inch.
Not when his arm went numb.Not when his eyes stung from hours of no blinking.Not even when she whimpered in her sleep, small broken sounds that stabbed through his chest like a thousand knives.
He couldn't stop thinking about it.
Her scream. The way she shoved at him like he was the monster.The way she'd said "Don't touch me."Not with anger.With fear.
His jaw flexed harder.
He didn't know what happened to her. Who did that.But he knew the look in her eyes.The kind that didn't come from nightmares.It came from memories.
Zane looked down at her.
Her hair was a mess against his chest, strands sticking to her damp cheeks. Her lips slightly parted. One knee tucked up like she was still trying to shield herself. Her body so small in his arms, like she'd shrink into nothing if he let go.
His fingers brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Gently.More gently than he thought he could ever be.
He studied every inch of her. The dark circles under her eyes. The tension in her jaw. The way she curled into herself even in rest.
"I don't know who broke you," he whispered into her hair, barely audible, "but if I ever find them..."His voice died, swallowed by the storm building in his chest.No. He couldn't say it. Not now. Not while she was in his arms like this.
He kissed the top of her head instead. A soft press of his lips. Barely there.
"You don't have to tell me. Not yet."His fingers traced small circles on her back. "But one day, I'll make it right. Even if I have to burn down the whole world."
Jean stirred.
A small whimper left her lips. She shifted slightly, brows drawn together like she was in pain again.
Zane pulled her closer instinctively. Tight. Protective. One arm under her, the other wrapped fully around her, caging her in the safety of his chest.
"Shh..." he whispered. "I've got you, Bluebird."
He didn't know when he started calling her that. But now it was all he could think of.His Bluebird.So fragile.So full of pain.And yet, still breathing. Still surviving.
Still his.
"I'll break the world," he whispered against her ear, "before I let it break you again."
Outside, the first light of morning crept through the curtains. But in Zane's arms, Jean slept on still tense, still hurting but not alone.
Never again.