ARSHILA POV
My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the silence, sharp and sudden.
I glance down at the screen.
The prince.
My thumb hesitates for half a second before I answer, pressing the phone to my ear while my gaze drifts toward the empty doorway like I expect someone to be standing there already listening.
"Where are you?" Rafaen's voice comes through, low and impatient, like he has already been waiting too long.
"At home," I reply, my tone flat, my fingers tapping lightly against the table.
There is a pause on the other end.
Not short.
Not casual.
Heavy.
"Is Zayan there?" he asks again, slower this time, like the answer actually matters.
I shrug even though he cannot see it. "Maybe. I don't know."
Another pause stretches, thicker now, charged with something I cannot name.
Then he exhales sharply. "Get dressed. We're going out."
My brows pull together. "Where?"
"Just get ready, Arshila," he snaps, his patience snapping with it. "Now."
The call cuts.
I stare at the screen for a second, my jaw tightening. The audacity of him to order me around like that makes something in me itch with irritation.
He talks like he owns the right, like I belong in his plans instead of my husband's house.
"Unbelievable," I mutter under my breath.
But I am already moving.
My feet carry me down the hallway without thinking, straight toward the study. The door is half closed, and I push it open without knocking.
He is there.
Of course he is.
Sitting behind the desk like nothing in the world can touch him, wearing a simple black T-shirt and glasses that rest low on his nose, his focus fixed on whatever is in front of him. He looks calm, normal, almost untouchable in the quiet.
And it hits me again.
His lips.
Soft.
Warm.
Too fucking perfect.
The memory flashes sharp and vivid, and for a second I just stand there, staring at him like an idiot, thinking how insane it is that I actually tasted that.
"Pervert."
His voice cuts through the silence without him even looking up.
I choke on my breath, caught off guard, my eyes snapping wider as heat crawls up my neck. "What—"
He lifts his gaze slowly, that familiar smirk pulling at his mouth as his eyes drag over my face like he can see every thought I just had.
"You stare too much," he adds lazily.
I roll my eyes, forcing myself to move past it, to act like he did not just catch me red-handed in my own head. "I'm going out," I say, my tone sharp.
He nods once, like he expected that. "With who?"
"Rafaen."
His hand stills on the desk.
Slowly, he looks up again, this time fully, his gaze locking onto mine with something darker underneath it.
"With who?" he repeats, quieter.
I fold my arms, meeting his stare without backing down. "With the prince."
For a second, nothing moves.
Then—
He smirks.
Slow.
Dangerous.
"Don't get too pretty," he says, his voice dropping into something softer but far more threatening.
I scoff, turning on my heel. "Jealous bastard."
His low chuckle follows me out of the room, sliding down my spine like something alive.
I don't look back.
I just walk faster, heading straight to my room, my pulse not as steady as I want it to be.
______________
ZAYAN POV
I watch her leave.
The door doesn't slam, but it might as well have with the way the silence shifts after she walks out.
The smirk on my lips fades slowly, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of it. I lean back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight as I tilt my head, sliding the pen under my nose while my gaze drifts toward the door she just disappeared through.
Rafaen.
The name sits wrong in my head.
Too deliberate. Too timed.
He has been quiet for too long, and men like him do not move without reason.
I already know he tried once to pull her out, to drag her into something that does not belong to him, and that attempt got ruined faster than he expected.
That alone is enough to tell me he is not done.
He is preparing.
The only problem is, I don't know what.
My jaw tightens slightly, the pen pressing harder against my skin as my thoughts sharpen into something colder.
If this is just another one of his games, I will end it before it even begins. If it is something more, something that even brushes close to danger around her—
My gaze hardens.
He will not get a second chance.
I reach for my phone without hesitation and dial.
It barely rings once.
"Izar."
"Yes, sir."
"Go with her," I say, my voice calm, controlled, but there is enough weight in it to make the air feel heavier. "Stay out of sight. If anything happens to her…"
I let the sentence hang.
I don't need to finish it.
He already knows.
There is a pause on the other end, then, "Understood."
The line cuts.
I set the phone down slowly, my fingers tapping once against the desk before I push myself up and walk toward the monitors.
The CCTV screens flicker softly in the dim light, every corner of the house laid out in front of me like a map I built myself.
And then—
There she is.
Walking down the stairs.
Simple.
Too simple.
A long skirt brushing against her ankles, a crochet top that should not look that good on anyone, and yet on her it does something else entirely.
It makes her look softer while hiding absolutely nothing. She looks like she belongs nowhere near this place and at the same time like she was born to ruin it.
My gaze lingers.
Too long.
Then shifts.
Rafaen steps in.
Perfect posture. Controlled smile. That prince charm sitting exactly where it should be, like he wears it as naturally as breathing. Anyone else would see nothing wrong.
I don't.
I lean back against the wall, arms folding slowly across my chest as I watch the screen, my expression unreadable now, my mind already moving ahead of them.
She walks toward him.
Close.
Too close.
My lips curve slightly, but there is no amusement in it this time. Only something darker, something colder, something that has already decided how this ends if he crosses a line he should not even think about touching.
I tilt my head slightly, watching them like pieces on a board I control.
I hope you don't make a mistake that costs your life, Your Highness.