ZAYAN POV
"Did you get him?" I ask, my voice calm, already knowing the answer before it comes.
There is no hesitation on the other end.
"I got the officer."
Silence settles after that, heavy and controlled, because there is nothing more that needs to be said for me to understand exactly how this ends.
Ten minutes ago, Izar called to inform me he spotted him, the same officer tied to the investigation I buried myself, the one I had transferred clean out of her reach almost two years ago.
Men like that do not return by accident, and I do not allow accidents anywhere near her.
"Send him home," I say finally, my tone even, precise. "And prepare his transfer. Somewhere far enough that he forgets this city exists, but comfortable enough that he doesn't feel the need to come back looking for answers."
"Yes, sir."
I pause for a second, my fingers tapping once against the desk before the next question leaves me, quieter but carrying far more weight.
"Where is she?"
"She's inside, eating," Izar replies. "His Highness is with her. They're talking, but I can't hear from here."
Of course he is.
I end the call without another word.
The room falls into silence again as I walk toward the glass wall, my reflection staring back at me for a brief second before my gaze shifts past it, settling on the dark stretch of the night outside.
If she sees anything from the past, it will not be by chance.
It will be because I decide she is ready to see it.
And until then, nothing touches her without going through me first.
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ARSHILA POV
The car slows as the gates of the mansion slide open, the headlights cutting across the stone driveway before fading into the familiar darkness of the place that never truly feels like home.
Rafaen stops the car smoothly, his hand resting on the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary as his gaze shifts toward me. "I'll walk you in."
"No," I say immediately, already reaching for the door handle before he can insist. My tone is calm, but there is no space in it for negotiation. "You've done enough."
His brow lifts slightly, amused, like he hears more than what I am saying.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low, edged with something deliberate. "You make it sound like you're hiding me."
I glance at him, my lips curving just a little, but there is no softness in it. "Maybe I am."
I step out before the moment stretches any further, shutting the door behind me without looking back.
I can feel his gaze on me as I walk toward the entrance, steady, unhurried, like I am not fully aware of the weight of what just got set into motion.
Learning how to aim.
Learning something that does not belong in my hands.
And more importantly, not letting Zayan know.
That part matters more than anything, because if there is one thing I know about him, it is this—nothing escapes him.
He sees everything. Understands everything. And if he even suspects something is building behind his back, he will tear it apart before it has the chance to exist.
I step inside, the door closing behind me with a quiet click that echoes more than it should.
The house is silent.
Too silent.
I move through it without stopping, my steps carrying me upstairs, straight to our room, my mind already half occupied with everything that happened tonight and everything that is about to.
I push the door open.
And freeze for half a second.
He is already there.
Of course he is.
Zayan stands near the window, the faint light outlining his figure, his posture relaxed in a way that never actually means relaxed.
He doesn't turn immediately, like he already knows it's me, like he felt me the moment I stepped into the house.
"You didn't sleep?" I ask, closing the door behind me, my tone casual even as my pulse shifts slightly.
He turns then.
Slowly.
His gaze finds mine without effort, dark and unreadable. "Where's Rafaen?"
Of course.
I almost laugh.
I don't answer his question directly, because there is no point. There never is with him.
"He left," I say instead, moving further inside like this is normal, like he didn't just ask the one question that actually matters.
He nods once, like that's enough, like he already knows everything else without me saying it.
"I'm going to change," I add, already turning away.
Another nod.
Nothing more.
I walk toward the other room, my fingers brushing against the door handle as I push it open, stepping inside without looking back.
"Did you plan something with him?"
His voice stops me.
Cold.
Quiet.
Too precise.
My hand freezes on the door, my fingers still wrapped around the handle as my body goes still without permission.
For a second, I don't move. Don't breathe properly. Because the question is not random.
It never is with him.
How the hell does he—
A low chuckle cuts through the silence behind me.
"So you did."
I close my eyes for a second, exhaling slowly before turning my head just slightly, not fully facing him. "You're imagining things."
"My wife," he says, his tone almost thoughtful now, like he is tasting the words, "plotting against me."
There is a dramatic sigh, exaggerated just enough to feel intentional.
"Impressive."
I don't turn around.
I don't give him anything.
Because anything I give him, he will use.
"Good night," he adds, his voice softer now, but it carries something sharper underneath. "I'm a little hurt, by the way."
Before I can respond, the lights go out.
The room drops into darkness instantly, the shift so sudden it feels like the air itself tightens around me.
I stand there for a second, staring into nothing, then let out a quiet breath before stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind me, locking it without thinking.
The click sounds louder than it should.
I change quickly, pulling on a loose pajama, my movements automatic, my mind running faster than my hands.
The weight of his words sits heavy in my chest, not because of what he said, but because of how easily he said it.
Like he already knew.
Like he always knows.
I slide into bed, pulling the blanket over me as I turn off the lamp, the darkness settling around me again.
Sleep should come easy.
It doesn't.
Because the way he sees through everything, the way nothing slips past him, the way he doesn't even need proof to land exactly where it hurts—
That is not normal.
That is terrifying.
I turn onto my side, forcing my eyes shut, pushing the thought away before it digs any deeper.
But it stays.
And somewhere in the dark, it feels like he already knows that too.
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The sound of the doorknob twisting pulls me out of sleep, slow and deliberate, like someone is making sure I hear it.
My eyes snap open into darkness.
The room is still, heavy, but there—
A shadow.
A dark silhouette stands in the doorway, unmoving for a second, tall and familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
Zayan?
The figure steps inside, the door closing softly behind him, the click barely audible but sharp enough to echo in the silence.
I don't move.
I watch.
He doesn't come closer.
He just stands there for a second longer, like he is looking at me, like he is deciding something I cannot hear.
Then he turns.
And leaves.
The door opens. Closes.
Silence.
I sit up slowly, the sheets shifting around me as I swing my legs off the bed, waiting a second before I move, listening.
Nothing.
I get up and walk to the door, pulling it open carefully before stepping out.
His bed is empty.
Of course it is.
I don't stop.
I move into the hallway, my steps quiet against the floor as I head toward the stairs, the house still wrapped in that same suffocating silence.
Then—
A sound.
Low.
Familiar.
An engine.
I reach the railing just in time to hear it grow louder, the deep roar of a car starting somewhere below, then moving, fast, controlled, precise.
The gates open.
The sound fades as the car slips out into the night.
I stand there, staring into the darkness of the house.
Where is he going at this hour?