Chapter 92: Oliver Reyes Feels Feelings
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The walk back to Preston Hall felt longer than it should have.
Maybe it was because my legs felt heavier than usual, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with being tired and everything to do with the weight of having hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
Perhaps my mind was stuck on replay, going over the same ten minutes again and again in a useless loop. Or maybe
..this felt closer to the truth, though I wasn’t quite ready to admit it, I was just dreading the fact that I was heading home to a person I definitely couldn’t talk to about any of this.
By the time I spotted that familiar building, I felt drained, and not from work, classes, or lack of sleep. This was a different kind of tired, the kind that seeps deep into your bones and messes with your emotions.
I pushed through the front doors and made my way to the elevator. The metal doors showed me a reflection I wasn’t keen to see, and it wasn’t doing me any favors.
My hair looked like it had given up on life by the time the flower shop closed, and dark circles had settled under my eyes like unwanted guests. Overall, I looked like someone whose evening had taken a chaotic turn for the worse.
"Great," I muttered to myself.
The elevator didn’t show me any sympathy. Neither did my reflection, which continued to look tired and slightly guilty as it carried me up to the fourth floor.
A few minutes later, I unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside.
I was hit with warmth immediately, along with the smell of food, and my stomach twisted before I could even process why.
Damien.
Of course, that man always had a way of making sure I never went to bed with an empty stomach.
The lights were on, low and inviting. The TV was quietly playing a documentary he’d probably lost interest in ages ago. I spotted Damien on the couch, a textbook spread across his lap, pen tapping absently against the page. The moment I walked in, he looked up.
I noticed a small change in his expression. Not a big shift, just enough for me to catch it, the slight adjustment that comes when someone senses something’s off before you’ve even said a word.
"You’re late," he said.
I swallowed. "Yeah."
His gaze lingered on my face for a moment longer than necessary. Then, his eyes narrowed just a bit. "Were you with your girlfriend?"
Fuck...
The word hit different tonight, girlfriend. It used to roll off my tongue easy, a quick label for a relationship I hadn’t really dissected. Tonight, it felt sharp in my chest.
"Yeah," I said.
A strange silence fell between us. Damien closed his textbook, not with a slam or anything aggressive, just a calm finality as if he’d decided the homework could wait.
"I kept dinner warm," he said.
My chest tightened. Of course he had. Of course this night, which had already done a number on my emotions, would end with Damien being thoughtful. Clearly, my life had decided I hadn’t suffered enough.
"Thanks."
"Sit."
Normally, I’d have something mean to say about being told what to do when I was an adult. Tonight, though, I didn’t have the energy to push back.
I dropped my bag near the couch and walked over to the table, where dinner was waiting for me, my favorite pasta, the creamy kind I loved, along with garlic bread. The good stuff. Not the frozen kind I had been surviving on before I moved to Preston Hall.
I glanced at the plate for a second. Then looked away, because the guilt somehow felt even heavier now.
Damien slid into the chair across from me. For several minutes, we sat in silence, the only noise coming from utensils occasionally clinking against plates and the soft murmur of the TV.
Usually, our silences felt comfortable, no need to fill the gaps. But tonight felt different...heavier. Like we were both carefully navigating around something neither of us wanted to touch.
Unfortunately, Damien was never one to let things lie. Especially when it came to me.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
His voice was low and careful, lacking his usual teasing tone.
I shook my head immediately. "No."
Absolutely not. There was no way this conversation would end well. ’Hey Damien, funny thing...my girlfriend tried to take things further tonight, and the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, haha!’
That sentence had no good destination. None.
Damien scrutinized me for a moment. I focused hard on my plate, concentrating on a piece of garlic bread like it held the answers.
Eventually, he sighed. "Trouble in paradise?"
I looked up. He was attempting to be teasing, the corner of his mouth doing that familiar thing. But underneath, the concern was impossible to ignore, visible in his eyes and the way he was watching me too closely for someone who was just making small talk.
I narrowed my eyes. "Don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"You know exactly what."
"I genuinely don’t."
"Liar."
A small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. There it was, the rhythm of banter we’d built over the weeks, the back-and-forth that usually made everything feel lighter.
But tonight, it just made my chest ache, the contrast between how easy this used to be and how complicated everything felt now sitting uncomfortably together.
Damien must have sensed the change. The smile faded.
"Okay," he said, his voice softening. "What can I do?"
I frowned. "What?"
"To cheer you up."
His question took me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. "What?"
"It’s a simple question."
"Why?"
The word slipped out before I could stop it, sharper than I intended, frustration flooding in behind it along with exhaustion and confusion and a bunch of other emotions I didn’t have the energy to sort through right now.
"Why do you even care so much?" I asked softly.
I had been nothing but outwardly mean and rude to him to hide what I truly felt towards him. But somehow, he always still seem to care deeply about my stupid ass.
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Damien’s face changed completely, teasing gone, replaced by something steady and serious.
"I don’t want anyone hurting you."
His answer came fast, like he meant it. No rehearsed words, just a genuine response, the kind that doesn’t need time to think.
My stomach dropped, fuck...this was not helping my feelings towards him.
He leaned forward slightly. "Did she say something?"
"No."
"Did she do something?"
I flinched at the question and looked away. My reaction was automatic, quicker than thought, and of course, Damien caught it, his jaw tightened, his grip on the fork tightening just enough not to make a scene, but I noticed.
There was a flash of protectiveness there, not directed at me. But aimed at whoever, in his mind, might have caused this.
"Oliver."
I stood up so fast that the chair scraped loudly against the floor. "I...I’m doing the dishes."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting tonight."
I grabbed both plates and retreated to the kitchen, turning the tap on hard enough that the water filled the silence I’d left behind.
For a few precious seconds, I thought I’d successfully wrapped up the conversation.
Then Damien appeared by my side.
Damn, guess he really was determined to get to the bottom of my emotions.