Chapter 89: Looks Like Her
Naomi and Zylan sat at the dining table, breakfast already served. Naomi picked up her toasted French bread, biting into it slowly as her thoughts raced. She kept her gaze fixed on her plate, her grip on the fork tightening ever so slightly.
This time, she resolved, she needed to respect him—his space, his silence, his decisions. No matter what happened, she would hold her curiosity in check. They weren’t married out of love; this was something she had to remind herself of repeatedly. The sooner she accepted it, the better for both of them.
The air between them was calm but heavy with unspoken tension. Naomi sensed Zylan wasn’t ready to share anything personal with her, and forcing him to talk would only widen the gap between them. This wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted—no, needed—was to respect their boundaries, just as he respected hers. And yet, even as she told herself this, the silence gnawed at her.
Her thoughts spiraled as she continued eating, methodically chewing the bread without tasting it. The soft clinking of silverware echoed faintly in the dining room, blending with the occasional rustle of fabric as they shifted in their seats. If the atmosphere was supposed to be peaceful, it was a fragile peace, threatened by the storm of questions in Naomi’s chest.
Finally, Zylan broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. "Is the food good?" he asked.
Naomi glanced at him briefly, her golden eyes meeting his intense gaze before she quickly looked away. She nodded, her response quiet and reserved. "Yes. It’s good."
Zylan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as though he were searching for something beyond her words. Then, without another comment, he reached for the water bottle on the table. Naomi studied him from the corner of her eye, wondering if he wanted to say more but chose not to. She couldn’t help but feel that there was always something he held back, locked away behind that unreadable expression of his.
Just as Zylan placed the bottle back on the table, the door creaked open, and Rylan stepped in. His expression was pale, his usual composed demeanor tinged with an unusual urgency. Naomi’s fork hovered midair as she looked up, catching the unease in his eyes.
"We have a visitor," Rylan announced, his tone flat yet laced with an underlying tension that made Naomi’s heart skip a beat.