Chapter 11: Clash Of Beliefs
Naomi’s body shivered at Zylan’s words. She had mistaken his obsession for allergies. Was he trying to downplay how he indulged in it? And here she was, unknowingly giving him free access back to his obsession.
"I... I had no idea," Naomi finally found her voice, though it trembled. She needed to change all her skincare and hair products immediately. Her mind raced as she wondered if everything she had used was suddenly repulsive to him or if this was just another one of his games. The thought unsettled her.
"What a naughty girl," Zylan spoke, his voice laced with amusement yet still chilling.
"Stop s-saying that... I’m a full-grown woman," she stammered, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity, though her stutter betrayed her.
A cold, dark laugh echoed around the room, sending chills down her spine. Why was he laughing at her? What was so funny? She hadn’t said anything amusing. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and a knot formed in her stomach. Every word from his lips felt like another layer of torment, designed to toy with her emotions.
Zylan’s expression shifted, his voice suddenly sharp. "What if I were allergic to it? Was this your way of... killing me?"
The accusation landed like a slap, leaving Naomi frozen in place. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she couldn’t comprehend the shift in his tone. Was he being serious? She could feel the anger rising in her chest, but the disbelief was stronger.
"Not even a teenager could come up with such a dumb plan," he finished, his tone dripping with mockery.
Naomi’s body stiffened, the insult cutting deeper than she expected. She shifted away from him instinctively, her emotions a tangled mess of confusion and hurt. Of course, she was used to insults from her parents and sister, but this... this was different. The man who had captivated her the night they met now seemed determined to humiliate her at every turn. It was too much.
As his hand brushed her shoulder, she trembled. Zylan quickly withdrew, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes—was it guilt, or something darker? Naomi couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Her mind was too clouded, her heart too fragile.
"D-Don’t y-you t-touch me," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper, her throat constricted by the lump forming there. It was hard to speak, hard to breathe. The tension in the air was suffocating.