Desired by All and He Threw Away 89

Chapter 89 

Taylor – POV 

+25 Bonus 

Heat clings to me long after the chaos ends like the day itself refuses to let go.even a day later i swear i can still hear the sharp snap of voices the shuffle of feet the way my brother’s fingers shook when they curled around my wrist. 

It sits under my ribs like a bruise that hasnt decided what color it wants to be yet. The way Aiden stand up us 

that steady calm he carries sits right behind his eyes like a locked door nobody’s allowed to open.but i cant shake this crawling feeling under my skin like i dragged him into something too personal too messy too…me. 

By the time aiden reach the penthouse that evening. I’m hollowed out. Not sad. Not tired. Just… scraped clean on the inside. 

The penthouse is too quiet. 

Somehow, the stillness is louder than any noise from earlier. 

soft city sounds float through the floor to ceiling windows the distant hum of traffic a siren fading somewhere blocks 

away someone on a balcony down the street laughing too hard. It should comfort me. 

Familiar background noise.but right now everything feels razor sharp against my nerves. 

i set the stack of papers on the kitchen island and start sorting receipts appointment reminders random notes my brother leaves that never make sense unless he explains them out loud. 

I keep my head down. 

If I don’t look up… maybe I can pretend the day didn’t follow me home. 

But Aiden notices. 

He always does. 

His presence lands behind me before I hear him.i dont know how he does that how his quiet takes up space like it has weight.when i glance up he is leaning against the island arms folded loosely expression unreadable but not cold. 

Curiosity flickers across his eyes subtle but intentional like hes peeling back layers i didnt offer. 

i shift a stack of receipts just to give my hands something to do. 

he waits a full beat. long enough for the silence to settle for my pulse to trip over itself for the unspoken questions between us to get loud. 

Then he asks, “Where did it all go?” 

I look at him confused, what is he talking about 

He tilts his head. “The money. From our agreement.” 

His voice isn’t sharp. Not accusing. Not anything like that day in the field when his voice dipped and hit 

1/3 

wanatiány, Halide me I ka’t yn hetek tuum, &‘zim at reading the man 

My fingers are eat at the paper the hair on one of for any way to guaster. 

of all the things he could’ve red patio. Mos of it waconda The des They land in the air bew with a stray fully 

Men strades a Wetle, “Dotad?! 

1 nod, posting one sty of payer mid, “Sour wer to disability poops Cometodamies ko struggling.” Myodica sexys cal, like goed of explaining why empted my eyes. 

‘a laring 

“A few donations were anonymove. Mums faut swaded the support but we grating ang ” 

Silence unfolds slowly–thick, almost sticky, 

His brows tighten, not with anger but something closer to surprise. Or confusion or both tangled the 

Then he asks, softer this time, “Why?” 

My throat goestijn. 

Not because it’s a hard question. 

But because it’s a simple one… and I don’t know how to make the answer sound roal to someone like tim 

1 focus on smoothing one of the creases in a receipt. “Because I knew I could work, I say quietly, I wasn’t going to fall apart without it. Not long term. I knew I’d figwe it out” 

He watches me like he’s listening to something beneath the words. 

“But the people I helped?” I continue. “They weren’t starting from the same place. They didn’t have the same options. So it made sense.” 

He looks stunned but not in a dramatic way not wide eyed or shocked. More like someone just rearranged the furniture in his worldview and he doesn’t know when it happened. 

I hate that the silence after feels heavy, like the weight of my explanation is sitting on the counter next to the receipts. 

“It was the right thing,” I add. Not defensive. Not proud. Just… a fact. Something I decided years ago before the contract even existed that if I was ever going to making good amounts of money I would donate it 

Something soft flickers across his expression–something that feels too gentle, too intimate. Admiration. Worry, Something else I can’t name because it makes a tight ache bloom behind my ribs. 

He leans in slightly, elbows on the island. “Taylor… you shouldn’t have given everything away.” 

The words hit me like a wrong note in a familiar song