The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 160

Chapter 160

ASTRA

》

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Fear clawed up from the pit of my stomach and lodged hard in my throat, shrinking every breath until it felt

useless.

“So,” the man said, voice even and almost mild, “come sit down. I won’t repeat myself.”

I stared at him. The silence stretched. I still had no idea what he wanted-money, or something else. Every instinct warned me not to test him further.

On shaking legs I forced myself away from the front door and crossed the room. The kitchen island sat between us like a thin, useless shield. I climbed onto one of the wooden stools as carefully as I could.

My eyes found the knife in his gloved hand and my heartbeat lurched against my ribs.

He noticed, of course. Those silver eyes flicked from the blade to my face, and a quiet sound almost a chuckle -left him.

“That’s better,” he murmured. “Much better than running around like a headless chicken.”

Then he started slicing the vegetables with slow, practiced strokes. The knife made soft, rhythmic sounds against the board.

“Don’t worry.” Another clean cut. “If I wanted to hurt you, Astra… I wouldn’t have waited until now.”

A chill slid over my skin. I couldn’t tell if the words were meant to comfort or terrify but they managed to do

both.

My fingers tightened on the edge of the stool.

“What do you want from me?”

“You’ve asked me that several times.”

“Because you won’t answer.”

He set the knife down for a moment.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

He slid the chopped vegetables into the pan without looking at me. “Because you’re asking the wrong question.”

My brow furrowed. “Then what’s the right one?”

For the first time since he’d brought me here, something shifted in his expression, not a full smile, just a

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Chapter 160

strange glint in his eyes.

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He turned the stove on. The soft hiss of the flame filled the space between us.

“You should be asking,” he said calmly, “what I want from the Ashton family.”

The words pulled the air straight out of my lungs.

My heart started hammering again. This wasn’t about me. Or at least… it hadn’t started with me.

“The Ashton family?”

The words left my mouth thinner than I meant them to be.

He didn’t look up. He simply reached for a wooden spoon and began stirring whatever simmered in the pan, slow and unhurried. The smell of onions and garlic drifted between us, warm and ordinary, almost cruel in how normal it felt.

“What does this have to do with them?” I asked.

“Everything.”

I waited.

Nothing.

Only the soft scrape of the spoon against the pan.

“I don’t understand.”

The silence stretched.

“How do you know them?”

No answer.

“Did they do something to you?”

Still nothing.

The spoon stopped.

Just for a second.

Then it began moving again.

A cold shiver slipped down my spine.

“So…”

My voice caught. “Is this some kind of revenge?”

Those silver eyes finally lifted to mine.

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“You ask far too many questions.”

“And you don’t answer any of them.”

“Not yet.”

His gaze drifted back to the pan.

I swallowed hard.

“If this is about the Ashton family… then why am I here?”

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He turned the stove off. The click of the burner sounded too loud in the quiet kitchen. When he faced me fully, there was nothing soft left in his expression.

“Because,” he said, almost gently, “you matter to them.”

The words landed low in my stomach.

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m just their nanny.”

“You’re more than that.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t made myself important.”

“You have.”

He took one step closer. Not enough to touch me. Just enough that I could feel the heat still clinging to him from the stove.

“They’re looking for you.”

My throat closed.

“How do you know that?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then…

“Because I’ve been watching.”

“Are they… are they really looking for me?”

The tears came before I could stop them.

They knew.

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They knew I was gone.

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For the first time since waking up in this place, the fear that I’d been forgotten loosened its grip. Relief hit so hard it almost buckled my knees.

It lasted only a second.

Because the man across from me spoke again, voice almost kind.

“Cry if you need to. It won’t change what happens next.”

A cold shiver ran the length of my spine. “What… happens next?”

He held my gaze. Then, with the same frightening calm, he said,

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

He broke the eye contact first.

Without another word he crossed back to the counter and picked up a plate. Steam curled from the food as he spooned vegetables beside roasted potatoes and thick slices of grilled chicken.

He carried the plate over and set it in front of me.

“Eat.”

I looked down at it.

The smell should have made me hungry.

Instead it turned my stomach.

“I can’t.”

“You will.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

His tone never changed.

He pulled out the chair opposite mine, sat down, and served himself another plate as though this were any ordinary Sunday morning.

My hands stayed folded tightly in my lap.

He didn’t tell me to eat again.

He simply began his own meal.

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The television mounted on the far wall flickered to life. Morning news replaced the quiet that had settled over the cabin.

I barely paid attention.

Until I heard my own name.

“…the search for eighteen-year-old Harrington Academy student Astra Hawthorne entered its second day this morning…”

My head snapped toward the screen.

A photograph of me filled the television.

The same picture from the student council website.

My school uniform and that ridiculously awkward smile.

Across the bottom of the screen a red banner scrolled without stopping.

MISSING STUDENT – POLICE APPEAL FOR INFORMATION

My chest locked.

“….police have confirmed they are treating the incident as a suspected abduction following CCTV footage recovered from Harrington Academy…”

Images flashed across the screen.

Police cars lined up along a road.

Search dogs pulling at their leads.

Officers moving through dense woodland.

Helicopters circling overhead.

Then the academy gates, reporters crowded behind yellow tape.

They really are looking for me.

The thought should have brought a bolt of hope.

It didn’t.

Mom.

Had someone told her?

Would the nurses say anything, or would they just keep the television off in her room?

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Would she wake up asking for me the way she always did when the medication started to wear off?

I lowered my eyes to the untouched plate in front of me. The lump in my throat turned painful.

Only after that did another face surface.

Green eyes.

That crooked, knowing smirk.

The nickname he used like it belonged to him alone.

Trouble.

What was Zane doing right now?

Was he also searching?

Or maybe he was relieved I wasn’t there to annoy him anymore.

The thought stung far more than it should have.

Across the table the man continued eating in silence. Every so often those silver eyes lifted from his plate to the television… then settled back on me, watching every reaction I couldn’t quite hide.

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