[BL] CRAVING HIM: Addicted to His Voice Chapter 265: Where Love Holds Its Breath

~Evric’s POV~

My blood turned to ice. It was era’s voice. Before I could even breathe, let alone ask what the hell was going on, the line went dead.

I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the static, the deafening silence that followed era’s voice. My entire body locked up. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

Just tell him to stop calling you already!

The words played on repeat. It was a command, not a question, and it had been instantly obeyed. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. He was with her. They were together, and she was already dictating his actions. The agony of the gamble had just beco a terrifying reality.

I forced my hand to lower the phone. I didn’t call back. I didn’t text. I had given him the space to choose, and I wouldn’t undermine my own risk, no matter how much my fingers ached to dial his number. I had to hold firm.

I walked to the window, the city lights blurred by the tears I didn’t realize were falling. My mind went completely wild, spiraling into the worst possibilities. If she was there late at night, one thing was certain: she was going to pass the night under the sa roof. His bed. Our room.

What would happen between them? Will they...

No. No, no, no. Stop, Evric. This is total nonsense. It’s impossible. Zayn won’t do that.

But the insidious voice of doubt whispered back: But era is passing the night in Zayn’s house, and you and Zayn haven’t had a good, proper sex life for months now, thanks to all this stress. What if... what if that feeling of closeness and familiarity, what if she...

"No," I whispered, the sound raw in the empty air. "I trust him. I trust my Zayn."

I kept pacing, repeating the mantra, clinging to the promise we shared, but the image of her hand on his chest, her mouth on his, was a relentless hamr blow. I finally crumbled onto the carpet, the dam of my composure breaking.

"Please, Zayn," I pleaded to the quiet, empty room. "You can’t let down now. Not after we’ve gone this far, after everything we’ve fought for. Please, my love... please."

I buried my face in my hands, letting the torrent of fear and pain wash over . All I could do was wait for the morning and endure the torturous silence I had imposed upon myself.

The next day, I expected the phone to ring. I expected a flurry of texts from Zayn, an imdiate explanation for era’s voice, and the abrupt hang-up. He had to call . He had to reassure that last night was a mistake, an unavoidable mont era forced.

But the phone remained silent.

I spent the morning in a state of brittle calm, staring at the screen, resisting the urge to break my own boundary. Every minute felt like an hour.

Lunchti arrived, and I was in my private office with Jas and two other senior staff mbers, discussing a new investnt portfolio. The conversation was technical, but my focus was fractured, listening for any external noise.

Suddenly, there was a single, soft knock on the door, and before anyone could call out, the door began to push open.

My breath hitched. It was Zayn.

The world narrowed to him standing in the doorway. He looked tired but undeniably handso. I didn’t hesitate. I needed him alone.

"Excuse ," I said, my voice sharp, cutting off Jas mid-sentence. I stood up quickly. "We’ll resu this in an hour. Please step out, I’ll call you when I’m done."

They collected their notes and left, shooting confused, curious glances at Zayn, who remained by the door holding a small paper bag.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I crossed the room, my protective, loving instincts overriding the fear from the previous night.

"Babe, you didn’t tell you were coming," I said, a wave of genuine relief hitting .

"I didn’t know you were busy," Zayn replied simply, holding up the bag. "I brought you lunch."

"That’s thoughtful of you," I said, forcing a smile, trying to push the image of era’s voice and my paranoia aside. This was my chance to reconnect, to reset the clock.

I reached out, trying to cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss—a quiet thank-you for the al, a tender affirmation of my love, and a silent reassurance that we were okay.

But as my hand neared his face, Zayn flinched backward, a small, involuntary recoil, pulling his head slightly out of reach.

I froze, my hand suspended in the air. The subtle rejection was a punch to the gut. I tried again, slower, reaching for him, but he just managed a strained smile and turned to put the lunch box neatly on my mahogany desk, avoiding contact completely.

I stepped back, my heart sinking to my stomach. The silence was thick.

"Did you bring a lunch box," I asked, my voice soft and even, "or did you co here to talk?"

Zayn sank into the sofa in my office, looking completely tired. "Both," he said.

I sat opposite him, leaning forward slightly. My composure was crumbling, but I had to maintain the illusion of control. "Then we should talk."

I stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Waiting for the explanation he owed . Waiting for the reassurance that everything I feared had not co true.

Zayn’s expression suddenly changed, becoming devastatingly serious. He opened his mouth, but no sound ca out. He swallowed hard, trying and failing to et my gaze. My mind started to scream, every defensive wall I’d built dissolving into pure dread. I was terrified.

"I’m waiting, baby," I said, my voice barely a whisper, forcing patience into the terrifying silence.

Zayn finally spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "Evric..."

Just hearing my na, stripped of any endearnt, felt like a prelude to disaster. He started talking about the past—the way we t, the confusion, the first ti we kissed, everything we had overco. It was that slow, agonizing emotional rewind. He was laying out history to explain his decision.

He paused, gathering his breath, his eyes glassy. "You asked to choose between you and era."

Zayn fell silent for a long, painful mont. He took another deep breath, ready to deliver the verdict. "Here is my answer."

I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t. I knew exactly what was coming, and I couldn’t let those words be spoken in this sterile office.

"Stop!" I yelled, jumping up, my chair scraping backward. "Just stop, please, stop!"

Zayn looked up, startled. "I can’t continue this..."

I rushed toward him, my hands reaching out. "Stop, babe, please, just stop!" I cut him off again.

He tried to speak again, a miserable, apologetic look on his face. I didn’t give him the chance. I grabbed his face and pulled him to , kissing him deeply to silence the words that would destroy us.

I pulled back and held his face between my palms, my thumbs brushing away the tears trailing down his cheeks. "Zayn... Saturday night marks exactly three months, the deadline you asked for." My voice softened. "I’m truly looking forward to it, babe."

"I understand what you were about to say," I continued, my voice shaking with adrenaline and fear. "But you shouldn’t say it now. Our agreent was for three months. That ti isn’t up yet."

I stood, pulling him up with , my eyes locked on his. I was staking everything on one final, desperate maneuver.

"On Saturday night, it’s going to be exactly three months," I said, my tone now a cold, determined contract. "I’m going to send you the location—a place I’ve prepared. You are to arrive there anyti from 8 p.m. onward."

I stared deep into his eyes, making sure he understood the weight of my words. "I will wait for you there. Once it’s exactly midnight, and you did not show up, I’m going to accept what you were about to say."

"But note this, Zayn: if you do show up that night, there is no going back to era or to that other life. The choice will be permanent."

I released his face, the emotion draining out of , leaving utterly exhausted. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I turned my back, walking toward the large window.

"Now leave my office," I ordered.