Page 35 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

TWENTY-TWO

olivia

The living room of Nathaniel’s penthouse is quiet, bathed in the soft gold of late-morning sunlight spilling through the expansive windows. The city buzzes below—a distant thrum that feels worlds away from the chaos of my family’s home.

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I feel a strange sense of calm I haven’t experienced in years.

This semester has been a whirlwind—a cascade of changes that completely altered the course of my life.

At the center of it all is Nathaniel.

From the moment we were paired for that project, I was cautious. I told myself to keep him at arm’s length, convinced that someone like him—brilliant, magnetic, completely out of my league—couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like me.

But Nathaniel didn’t just prove me wrong, he took his time doing it. He dismantled my walls brick by brick, with a patience so deliberate it felt like devotion. He didn’t just see me. He chose me.

Looking back, it feels like I’ve been holding my breath for years. Always worried about making the “right” choices. Always second-guessing myself, as if one wrong move could undo everything I’ve worked so hard to build. But with Nathaniel, I’m beginning to believe that maybe I can just… be .

The capstone project is just another example of how much things have changed.

When he proposed that we collaborate again, I wasn’t just flattered—I was genuinely excited.

Not just because we work well together, but because with him, I want to rise to the challenge.

He pushes me to be better, to think sharper, to reach higher.

And he does it all without ever making me feel small.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone in my corner—someone who doesn’t just see me for what I can accomplish, but for who I am.

That’s what makes saying yes to spending winter break with him feel less like a leap and more like a natural step forward.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always put my family first. Returning to Ashby during the holidays was a given, a responsibility I shouldered without question. But this year, I chose differently.

I chose Nathaniel.

This man has never asked anything of me beyond my time and attention. Even when he invited me to spend the holidays with him, it wasn’t framed as an expectation—just a possibility. An escape.

And the way his face lit up when I agreed… How had I ever considered saying no?

Now that I’ve finally come to terms with my feelings—admitting to myself, and to him, that I’m in love—I want to show him through my actions that I’m all in too.

Nathaniel has been unwavering from the start.

He never seemed to doubt his feelings for me, never faltered in his belief in us. I want him to know I feel the same.

And maybe, away from the academic rigor of Halford, I’ll finally get to know him beyond the pieces he chooses to show. Nathaniel isn’t evasive exactly, but there’s a carefulness to the way he talks about his past—a precision that keeps our conversations neatly trimmed to the present.

He’s told me about his work, his plans, even his philosophies on things like power and loyalty.

But when it comes to his family, the details taper off.

Names without stories. Places without memories.

I know we’ll be spending Christmas with them, and I can’t help the curiosity that coils in my chest. There’s something there—unspoken, fragile.

And I’m starting to want to understand the man he was before he met me, not just the man he’s become.

But, of course, my family didn’t take the news well.

I pick up my phone from the coffee table, scrolling through the latest messages from my mother, the words sharp and biting even over text.

Mom

I hope you know how much you’ve disappointed your father and me.

We were counting on you, Olivia. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you anymore.

Michael and Sampson are going to have to step up now, even though they’re just kids. I hope you’re happy.

I let out a long exhale.

Claudia Bennett is nothing if not consistent. Her words have always been her sharpest weapon, and she wields them with precision.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the buffer, the fixer, the one who makes life easier for everyone else. But now, for the first time, I’m prioritizing myself. And while a small voice in the back of my mind whispers that I should feel guilty, I force myself to ignore it.

Nathaniel has been right—about so many things. He saw the exhaustion I tried to hide, the weight of expectations I carried, and he reminded me in his calm, steadfast way, that I don’t have to carry it alone.

I stare at my mother’s messages for a long moment before tapping the screen. My finger hovers over the mute button, hesitation flickering for a split second before I press it. The small act feels monumental.

A wave of liberation washes over me, and I lean back into the soft cushions of the couch, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Everything okay?” Nathaniel’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

I turn to find him standing in the doorway, concern etched into his expression.

I smile, slipping my phone back onto the table. “Yeah,” I say softly. “It’s more than okay.”

And for the first time, I truly mean it.

He crosses the room with that effortless grace that still undoes me, his lips curving into an easy smile. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead before brushing his lips against mine.

“Coffee?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

I nod gratefully. “Please.”

He heads toward the kitchen, and within moments, the scent of ground beans fills the space—warm, rich, unmistakably his.

I sink further into the cushions, letting my head rest against the back of the couch as I watch him work.

He moves with practiced ease—grinding the beans, tamping them down, and pulling the perfect shot of espresso.

It’s a ritual I’ve seen him perform countless times now, one of the many small acts of care he’s lavished on me during these weeks of “nesting.”

It was Nathaniel who suggested I stay here while we prepared for finals. “It’s more efficient,” he reasoned, framing it as a practical solution rather than what it really was: his way of keeping me close. But I didn’t put up a fight this time.

For once, I let myself be taken care of.

As a study partner, he’s helped me organize my notes, quizzed me on key concepts, and nudged me to take breaks when I started to spiral.

As a housemate, he takes care of everything else—cooking every meal, keeping the penthouse immaculate, and making sure I have nothing to think about but my exams.

And as a lover…

I feel my cheeks warm at the memory of how he soothed my anxieties in ways no one ever has, with an attentiveness that made me feel worshipped.

Thanks to him, for the first time, I’m going into finals without the suffocating grip of anxiety that has plagued me for years. Instead of drowning in pressure, I feel anchored.

Nathaniel returns a few moments later, holding two mugs of coffee. He eases into the seat beside me, his thigh brushing against mine, and offers me a cup.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip before letting out a contented sigh.

Before I can lose myself entirely in the bliss of the moment, my phone lights up on the coffee table. The subject line stops my breath: Second Round Interview Invitation from Castor & Wyatt

My heart stutters, a rush of anticipation stealing the air from my lungs.I set my mug down hastily, fingers trembling as I pick up the phone.

It had been weeks since that first interview—slotted in just before finals prep began, before Nathaniel had practically moved me in. I hadn’t told him about it. At least not yet.

With a swipe, the email opens, and the words blur for a moment before settling into clarity. I’ve advanced to the next round. Relief mingles with disbelief, and giddy excitement floods through me.

“I got it,” I say breathlessly, the words spilling out before I can stop them. I turn to Nathaniel, wide-eyed. “Castor & Wyatt—I made it to the next round.”

For a moment, his expression is unreadable, the words still registering. Then, a radiant smile breaks across his face, one that makes my chest ache with its intensity. His joy isn’t just for me—it’s with me, as though my success is his as well.

“Of course you did,” he says, his voice laced with pride. He leans in, cradling my face in his hands as his lips press against my forehead, lingering there. “I’m so proud of you, baby. That’s my capable girl.”

Emotion wells up in my throat as I lean into his touch, his arms folding around me, enveloping me in his comforting scent.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I was so nervous.”

“You didn’t have to be,” he murmurs, his hands gently running along my back. “You’re brilliant. They’d be fools not to see it.”

His faith in me is overwhelming, like standing too close to the sun. But before I can let myself fully bask in the glow of his reassurance, he says, “Castor & Wyatt’s headquarters is in Manhattan, isn’t it?”

The question lands with precision, like he’s been waiting to ask it. His tone is easy— too easy —but there’s something beneath it. Hunger. Possession dressed as possibility.

“This could be perfect,” he continues, his thumb stroking along my jaw. “You’d be incredible there. And…we’d be together.”

His eyes search mine, full of that unrelenting intensity that I’m still learning to navigate. The idea clearly delights him—it’s written all over his face. Like he’s already decided how the pieces should fall, and all that’s left is for me to say yes .

And in that moment, I wish I could mirror his confidence, let his certainty sweep me away.

Instead, a pang of hesitation tugs at me, sharp and unexpected. I force a small smile, nodding as I try to steady my voice. “It’s an incredible opportunity,” I say instead, letting the words hang there without offering more.