Fated To Not Just One, But Three

Chapter 400: Dreaming

Olivia’s POV

For a moment, I went dumbfounded. Frederick... apologizing? That was something I never saw coming. What the hell! This man kept surprising me, and I wondered what he would do next. I raised a brow slowly. "Are you apologizing?"

"Yes." He answered with a curt nod, his tone calm, almost too calm.

My frown deepened as I studied him carefully. This wasn’t what I expected. Who was this soft-spoken Frederick sitting in bed, staring at me like I mattered? Where was the cruel, carved man I knew? Where was the monster who claimed me, threatened to kill me?

"Now," his voice lowered, gentler than before, "could you please change and come to bed?... It’s late." He wasn’t ordering this time. He was pleading.

The sound of it made my chest tighten with unease. My wolf snarled inside me, unsettled. Pleading wasn’t his style. It felt wrong. Off.

I tilted my head, arms still folded. "And what if I don’t?" I asked, trying to annoy him.

His eyes held mine, calm, unblinking. "Then I’ll still be here, waiting. Because no matter how much you fight me, Olivia, I want you close. Not across the room. Not on a sofa. Beside me."

The words rattled through me and I swallowed hard, forcing my mask of irritation back into place. He was playing a game; he had to be.

But goodness — he was playing it well.

Huffing, I stood to my feet, grabbed the shirt he’d laid out for me, and stalked into the bathroom. The water was quick and cold, doing little to settle the emotions raging inside me. My wolf paced restlessly, snarling at the thought of wearing anything of his, but for the sake of the plan—I forced her quiet.

When I stepped out, the shirt clung loosely to my damp skin, its fabric carrying his faint scent. It made my stomach twist.

Frederick was still on the bed when I came out, reclining against the pillows, a wine glass resting on the nightstand. His gaze lifted instantly, sweeping over me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

voice smooth, unreadable. "My shirt suits you much

moved over to the sofa, dropping onto it with a thud. "Don’t get used to it," I snapped, tugging

fighting me. I’m not asking you to

lips curved in a bitter smirk. "You expect me to believe that? Who knows—you

locked with mine, calm but serious. "I expect you to trust that I meant what I said. I don’t force. Not food. Not

ever had. I looked away, feigning annoyance, but my chest tightened in

stretching out, his eyes fluttering shut.

eyes, he spoke gently. "Come

a heavy sigh, I finally pushed myself up from the sofa. Frederick hadn’t moved, though I could

leaving only the dim wall sconce glowing in the corner. Without another word, I slipped under the covers, careful to keep as much

closer. He only exhaled deeply, as though

silence. My eyelids grew heavy, and sleep

a sound. A

chest. My eyes fluttered open, the dim light still glowing faintly, and I turned

were closed, his brow furrowed, and his lips parted in soft,

breathed, so faint I almost thought I imagined it. His voice cracked, low and raw, like a man

his

couldn’t understand... It was as if he was seeing her in his dream and conversing with her. I noticed his brow furrow as he kept speaking in a strange French language, and

me to know what was happening. Frederick was pleading. Longing. Like he was begging her, holding on to

there in his bed, listening to him pour his soul out to another woman in his dreams. I swallowed hard, not knowing

body jerked. His eyes snapped open, filled with something raw and

sharply, his gaze

between us. His chest heaved, his lips parted, but no words came. Whatever he’d seen, whatever he’d felt—it was still clawing